****
Lisa groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. It barely muffled the irritating sound of Justin Bieber, who was wealthy and frankly had a more feminine voice than Lisa's and therefore could have been someone to envy. Except there were lesbian Justin Bieber look-alike contests and a wealth of craziness that Lisa was just as glad to take a pass on. She sat up, fumbling at her nightstand, but she'd moved her clock radio across the room for just this reason. By the time she'd stood up, crossed the room, and smacked the hell out of the mute button, she was awake.
Downstairs she could hear her parents in the kitchen. They would be surprised to see her at this hour on a Saturday, and there was the issue of her car being in the shop again. It might be better to just sneak out. But she really wanted a shower and had to shave, and by then they'd know she was up. With a small sigh, she went to the bathroom.
It was tough looking at herself in the mirror straight from her bed in the mornings, but even harder to shave without doing so. She did that first, to get it over with. She'd hoped that starting hormones would reduce her facial hair, but so far it wasn't doing much. She scraped her skin smooth, and jumped into the shower. By now she was an expert at the twelve second clean but not lingering version of a shower, and she was out fast. She hadn't shaved her legs or down there in two days, and didn't want to tuck with tape over hair, so she did a makeshift job and pulled on two pairs of briefs and looser-fitting jeans. The hormones had at least started to give her an A-cup chest and she enjoyed hooking on a real bra with just normal girl-type padding in it.
Then she made time for a quick session with the drier and round brush, to get her hair sleek and straight. She plucked her eyebrows more perfectly, put on a light touch of makeup, and she was good to go. She decided to skip breakfast, and brushed her teeth.
Sure enough her parents were at the dining room table, chatting over their coffee when she came down the stairs. They glanced at her and her dad said warmly, “Hey there. Plans for the day?”
Her mom gave her that smile Lisa was used to by now - the one that said, “I love you but don't quite know who you are,” - as she got pushed her chair back and turned toward the kitchen. “Can I make you some breakfast, sweetie?”
“No, thanks. I'll grab coffee. A friend will be picking me up soon.”
And didn't it just say something about how pathetic Lisa was that the simple statement made both of them come alert like bird dogs on point. Dad said cautiously, “A friend? That's good.”
Mom added, “You look very nice this morning. Very, um, pretty and, um, nice.”
Nice. Sheesh. Lisa said, “Just a casual friend. Don't get all excited.”
Dad said, “Well, that's still good, right? It's a shame your car's out of commission. But you say your friend has transportation?”
“He has a truck.” Lisa smiled to herself just a little, as she headed to the kitchen to find the damned coffee. She was betting that bald statement was not making them think of someone like Zeke. Not that everyone didn't drive trucks these days, but Zeke really should have had a Miata, or maybe a 1950's-vintage Ford. Not a beat-up old Ram. Unless maybe Zeke did think driving his brother's truck somehow made him look more butch...? Lisa pondered it, through her first heavenly sip of the dark brew, and decided even Zeke couldn't imagine what he drove would fix his image. No doubt it just came down to the money.
Zeke was a good guy. She'd noticed him before, although she'd kept her distance because she seriously didn't need the kind of heat he got, on top of her own. But for all his bopping and annoying chatter, and the flaming obviousness of his clothes and gestures and conversation, some of the kids clearly liked Zeke. She liked him too, after yesterday. She finished her coffee in one long swallow, and set the cup in the sink.
Zeke arrived on time, and Lisa walked down to the truck before he could get out. The ride to Claude's was brief, and quieter than she expected. Zeke was blinking sleepily and drinking an extra-humongous, coffee-smelling something. She eyed it skeptically, and he grinned at her at a stoplight. “Just fueling up.”
“Did you ever think maybe less caffeine would be a good thing?”
“It's decaf. Still wakes me up. I am not a morning person.”
By the time they reached the house he was less bleary. The neighbor still didn't answer her doorbell, but when they rang Claude's, just in case, the door opened a moment later. Claude stood there in a dark terrycloth robe, with his arm in a sling.
Zeke said, “Here. We wanted to return your key.” He held it out. “We couldn't find your neighbor last night, sorry. And we weren't sure which other neighbor you might want to have a key to your house, because you know, neighbors vary. There's a guy next to us I wouldn't want within ten feet of anything valuable I owned. So we fed the cats, and we were going to do it again, but you're here. So we don't have to. So here.”
Claude took the key, but said, “You were the ones who fed them?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. I wonder. Would you be willing to come in for a moment and...” Claude shrugged painfully. “You have no idea how hard it is to use a can opener with one hand. I think the little beggars are about ready to trade me in for a better owner if they don't get their Fancy Feast soon.”
“Sure,” Zeke said eagerly. “I'd be happy to help. We would. I mean, opening a can or two is the least we can do, really.”
“Great.” Claude pulled the door wide, and let them in. They followed him back to the kitchen. The two smaller cats immediately began winding around Claude's ankles as if intent on finishing the job the Great Dane had started. The big grey cat sat on the top of a cabinet and stared at them.
“Watch out for Morton. He likes to pounce.” Claude pointed to the counter, where a can opener, a rubber glove, a clamp, a screwdriver, and two unopened cans of cat food bore witness to his frustration. “The bowls are in the sink.”
“We meant to wash those.” Zeke made quick work of the cans. “Really. But we weren't sure if you wanted us in the house that long, and one of the cats was eating slowly, and...” He trailed off.
“Lottie, I bet.” Claude flicked a finger at the black cat, who was now standing on her hind legs flexing her claws into his bathrobe. “She acts like she's starving, and then takes an hour to eat.”
“Yeah.” Lisa got the bowls out of the sink, and held them for Zeke to divide up the food. “Oh, there was an open can in the fridge from last night.”
Claude shrugged. “I'll toss it. And the leftovers from this morning. This crew are the ultimate divas. They would never eat rewarmed food.”
Lisa thought he looked a little pale. She pulled out a chair at the table. “Here, you should sit down. I'm surprised they let you out of hospital.”
Claude sat and smiled gratefully at her. “I checked myself out late last night. I'm AMA actually. Against Medical Advice. But I didn't have a concussion and all they wanted to do was watch me for fifteen more hours while forcing me to eat hospital food and listen to my insomniac roommate's TV shows. I thought I might have a relapse from the pathos of it, so I caught a cab home.”
“Well, we'll feed the cats again,” Zeke said eagerly. “And maybe clean the cat boxes, if you tell me where they are. Whatever you need.”
“You...” Claude frowned. “What are your names again?”
“I'm Zeke, and that's Lisa.”
“And I'm Claude. Well, Zeke, I'm grateful for the help, but seriously, you shouldn't be acting so guilty. When an indoor cat gets out, they sometimes have no sense at all. You did what you could for Marnie, and I'm just grateful it was you and not some bastard who wouldn't even stop, like when my neighbor's cat got hit.”
“God! Who would do that?” Zeke looked horrified.
“There's all kinds in this world. You're clearly the good kind.”
Zeke blushed and hurried to set the bowls down for the cats. Big Morton launched himself off the cabinet, rebounded from the edge of the counter and landed with a thud that shook the floor. Claude
said, “Morty, old boy, you're giving cats a bad name. What happened to stealthy and graceful?” The big cat buried his face in a dish and ignored him.
“So,” Lisa said, “The cat boxes?” Not that she had a particular desire to clean kitty litter, but Zeke had offered.
“There are a couple spread out around the house.” Claude moved and then winced. “If you're really offering, I'll show you, but how about if we sit for a bit and you let an old man get his energy back before we traipse all over? Come sit. Grab a cup of coffee if you like.” He waved at the coffee-maker on the counter.
“Would you rather have a friend come over?” Lisa eased into a chair.
“I'm ancient enough to have outlived most of them, unfortunately.”
“You're not that old,” Zeke protested.
“I'm eighty-four.”
“Seriously?” Zeke leaned closer to peer at Claude and then flushed. “I mean, you don't look nearly that old.”
“Thank you. Have a seat and tell me about yourselves.”
Lisa sat quietly and let Zeke field most of the questions. Claude soon had him chattering away about school, and his older brother moving out, and the band his younger brother was in. Claude might have been old, but he was clearly pretty sharp. He tried a couple of times to turn the conversation to Lisa, but she answered briefly. Moved here recently. No siblings. No pets. After the third monosyllable, he just smiled at her and gave his full attention to Zeke.
Lisa got up and picked up the two finished bowls to wash in the sink. Lottie eyed her coldly and went back to licking each morsel slowly with her tiny pink tongue, so Lisa left her to it. When she was done, she set the bowls back where they had been. Morton came over and wound around her legs once, and she rubbed his broad cheeks. His fur was long and silky under her fingers.
Claude said, “He likes you. That says a lot for your character. He's a misogynist. The only other woman he ever warmed up to was my wife.”
Lisa pulled her hand away as if she'd been burned, and Claude gave her a narrow look. Then he stood slowly and carefully. “Come on. If you're really willing to help with the boxes, I'll show you where they are. Although you have to let me pay you something for your time.”
“Oh, we couldn't do that!” Zeke's protest was immediate, and Lisa nodded.
The first box was inside a clever cabinet in the bathroom. The next two were apparently down in the cellar. Lisa made sure she got ahead of Claude on the stairs, so if he fell she might have some hope of catching him, but it went okay. He turned on another light at the bottom of the stairs and they stared around in surprise.
The room was crowded with props of different kinds, bright standing painted screens and tall coffin-like boxes, small tables and silky red drapes on a frame. The walls were lined with picture after framed picture of smiling people in fancy clothes.
“I was a magician,” Claude said with a note of pride. “My wife was my assistant. Here.” He led the way to one of the bigger pictures. “My wife Mary.”
“She's very pretty,” Zeke said. Lisa looked at the young blond woman in the picture. She was short and slender, with her hair in a fancy up-do and a stunning evening gown slit to her thigh.
“She was a contortionist when she was a child. Her family were performers. She could fit into spaces you would never believe. We did some stunning illusions together. Look here.” He showed them a picture of himself standing next to an upright coffin, which had its middle section hinged out. His wife's face smiled out of the top section, while her shoes were just visible in the bottom one. Where the middle half of her was, given the way the coffin was nearly cut in three, Lisa wasn't sure.
“How does that even work?” Zeke sputtered.
Claude laid a finger next to his nose. “A magician never tells.” He turned to Lisa, as if to say something, and then just stared at her. There was a silence, as Claud's gaze stayed fixed on her with an odd intensity. Lisa resisted the temptation to turn away, or ask Zeke if she had something on her face. But then Claude relaxed and moved on along the wall.
“There are a lot of old memories in these. A lot of old friends. Morrie the Magnificent and his twin assistants Betty and Bridget. They weren't really twins, but they looked alike and dressed alike, and no one could tell. Nice girls, both of them. Or here.” He tapped another picture. “Amanda Grace. One of the few female magicians of that era. She had to put some ballet movements into her routine, and bill it as a Dance of Illusion, to get the jobs. Or this one.” He pointed at a tall blond man with his sultry dark assistant. “Sylvester.” Claude's smile looked bittersweet. “He was a friend of my wife's more than mine. God, he could make her laugh. He passed in nineteen eighty-nine, and his assistant Louise a year later. They'd been together forty years at that time. My wife and I managed fifty-five years, before she died four years ago.”
“I'm sorry,” Lisa said.
“I miss her every day,” Claude admitted simply. “You know, there have to be two dozen magicians on this wall and they were all different. Some were playboys, some were quiet family men. Some dated their assistants, some married them, some had pretty boys in the dressing room after a performance.” He was looking at Zeke as he said it, and Lisa could hear the whoosh of Zeke's breath.
“And you didn't care?” Lisa asked, because Zeke looked a bit stunned.
“Well, maybe I did somewhat. At first, when we were all starting out. It was a different time and I was raised an all-American boy, even with the Cajun name. It was Mary who got me thinking differently. Ah, my Mary.”
Claude looked sad, or perhaps tired. Lisa said, “Why don't you sit somewhere and point us to those litter boxes?”
Claude patted her arm. “You're a thoughtful girl. There's one in each back corner of the room, and a toilet in that little half-bath. And there should be a couple of chairs over there, under the wardrobe chest.”
Lisa said, “Zeke, you wanted to deal with cat sh...poop. You do the boxes, I'll find the chair.” She lifted a heavy old trunk to the floor, and sure enough there were a couple of straight chairs under it.
Claude sank into one, and gestured her toward the other. “Sit and keep me company and let that nice boy work off his guilt.”
Zeke was currently puttering with one of the cat boxes, while Esther, who had followed them down, got in his way. Zeke paused in his cleaning to pet the cat, and surely didn't look like he needed help, so Lisa sat.
“My Mary was something else,” Claude said reminiscently. “Daytimes she'd look like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Perfect suburban housewife. But in the evenings, she'd dress in those show-girl costumes that looked so fan-damned-tastic on her and wiggle and bat her eyelashes and divert the crowd so much I could have driven to the pet-store for a rabbit instead of pulling it out of hat and they'd never have noticed.”
Lisa snorted a laugh, and Claude grinned sideways at her. “Yeah. She had a mouth on her too, when she was around friends. But she didn't judge anybody, except by what was in their hearts. And she taught me to do the same. I got the picture more slowly, but I learned. By the time Sylvester and Louise came along, I was half-trained. And after a year or two of being friends with them, well, I'd figured out that who a person sleeps with is the least thing about him.”
“You're saying Sylvester was gay too?”
“Yeah. Well, bisexual I guess. And Louise, wow, she was a hoot. She liked to play, bring other guys home, and her favorite was drag queens. Some of whom are straight I guess. Who knew. Or maybe they mostly got it on with Sylvester. I didn't ask. Point is, I met a lot of interesting folks in their company, and learned to hold my tongue and get to know people before judging them. A man can be a good person even if he likes to wear a dress. You understand?”
Lisa said faintly, “Zeke doesn't wear drag.” A quick look showed that Zeke had wrapped a swath of red satin curtain around himself and was teasing the cat through it, and she modified that to, “I don't think.”
Claude pointed a gnarled finger at Lisa's n
eck and said quietly, “You missed a spot shaving this morning.”
She clapped her hand to her neck, feeling the heat rise in her face. Sure enough, a patch of stubble rasped against her palm. She couldn't breathe. There had to be something she could say, but her mouth opened and closed like a dying fish out of water. Finally she managed a strangled, “I should go.”
“No, wait, I said that badly. You're fine. I didn't mean anything, and I surely don't want you to go. I don't meet many interesting people any more, just the mailman and the lady at the grocery check-out and my doctor, who is a boring as a person can get. You and Zeke are a breath of fresh air. Are you a drag queen?”
“Um. No.”
“But something like that?”
“Sort of.”
“Well, I don't know all the terms. You did seem a bit young. Not like Daphne and Angela, the two we got to know best. They were in their thirties. Those were some of the raunchiest, funniest, and bravest men I ever met. Holy cow, the sharp wit on both of them. They could slice your pretensions to ribbons and make you laugh doing it. I miss that, you know, the days when life had that kind of color. Now it's more beige, like oatmeal and Metamucil.”
Lisa had to laugh, and relaxed slightly. “I've never met a drag queen.”
“Well, you should sometime. Although, God, maybe not for a few years yet. How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Oops. Yeah, maybe wait another year or two. You wouldn't want to miss out on the jokes. Lots of stuff about sex and hormones.”
Lisa thought she probably could follow those jokes. She knew hormones. She'd done the research. From finding out she'd missed the chance for puberty-blockers, to researching every estrogen under the sun and eating soy, flax and miso until they came out her ears, she felt like an expert. As for sex, well, maybe not so much. But the Internet was a big, big place, and not all experience had to be up close and personal. “So, Daphne and Angela? Were they, like, taking hormones to become female?”
“They joked about it, but I doubt it. I don't know, though. This was the seventies, dear, and even among friends you didn't ask those questions. Daphne was just, um, big. When she was Richard she looked like a biker, and a tough one. Angela, well, maybe. She had that softness, even as Harold. But mostly they were just fun. We drank and laughed and partied with them, and they were a bit like the kids Mary and I never had. And after we would go home in the evening, we never asked who ended up where. So sad.” His face fell.
“Sad?”
“Damn.” Claude reached out and put a hand over hers. Lisa was startled but didn't shake him off. “They all died, dear. It was the eighties and nineties, and we were in New York in those days. And they enjoyed parties and sharing people around like party favors. Then AIDS ripped through the community and by the late nineties, it was only boring old fogeys like Mary and me who were left standing.”
“Damn.” Lisa's eyes got blurry for people she'd never even met.
“Well, it was a good life first. So if you're not a drag queen, what do you call yourself?”
“I'm trans. Transgender. M to F.”
“Uh huh. I'll try to remember. Not that it matters, because I can just call you a girl, right? You're who you say you are. Now Chloe over there,” - he waved at a picture of a man in a turban and his exotic-looking assistant with what looked like a live snake around her waist - “She claimed to be the reincarnation of Cleopatra. About had a fit if you said otherwise. I didn't argue. How would I know? Maybe she was. You gotta just let people be. She was a kind woman, under the drama.”
Lisa wasn't sure she liked having transgender equated with the delusions of someone who thought she was the reincarnation of an Egyptian queen, but clearly Claude meant well. She sat and nodded as he went on telling her about some of the other characters on his wall, and his career with Mary and the time he got to perform in front of Sammy Davis, Jr. in Las Vegas. After ten minutes, Zeke was done with both litter boxes, only somewhat delayed by a game of string-chasing with Esther, and repacking a case of hats and balls and scarves that popped open when he bumped into it.
He came over to them. “Claude, you have some of the coolest stuff. But anyway, the cat boxes are clean now.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you okay to get back up the stairs?” Lisa asked Claude softly.
“Oh yes, dear. It's my arm, you know, not my leg.” Still, Claude climbed carefully, one step at a time, and both Lisa and Zeke heaved a sigh when he was safely sitting in the kitchen.
“I guess you kids have to go,” he said sadly.
“Yeah. We should.” Zeke brightened. “I could come back tonight. You'll need someone to open cans again.”
“I was thinking I might go out and buy myself an electric can opener.”
Lisa nodded. “That's probably smart. But you should wait until you're a bit better, like tomorrow. Or maybe we can get you one and bring it by tonight?”
“Oh, would you? I'll pay you back the money.” Claude sighed. “You know, this broken arm and Marnie's leg are no fun, but meeting you two is one of the best things that's happened all month. Maybe all year. Are you sure you want to hang around an old has-been magician?”
“Sure,” Lisa said, before she could stop to think. “It's cool. I like your cats.” And your stories.
“Me too,” Zeke added.
“I just wish Marnie hadn't had to get hurt to do it. And I wish I knew how she got out. I swear the house was closed up tight. This is the second time in the last two weeks. I had to fetch Esther from a neighbor's vegetable garden last time.”
“Would you like us to check the windows before we go?” Zeke offered. “Make sure nothing is open?”
“Well, I did that last night when I got back home, but I was a bit out of it. Sure, that might be good. Fresh eyes and all. Just excuse the mess.”
Zeke leaned over the sink to test and tug on the window, which seemed solid. “That one's okay. Do you want to follow us around?”
Claude waved a hand. “I'm a bit tired, actually. You two go ahead.”
Zeke led the way into the hall, and they checked the living room windows – locked – and the bedroom – open but with solid screens neither of them could budge. There was a second bedroom, and a spare room full of books. Both were well secured. Lisa turned back into the hall, and found a mudroom, leading to the back door. The door was both locked and dead-bolted. She turned to the little window next to it and yelped in surprise, as it canted open enough for a small hairy hand to reach in and tweak her nose. “What the fuck!”
Zeke leaped to see, jostling her, and then laughed and pointed. “It's a monkey!”
The window clicked shut and the little brown monkey scampered across the lawn, shinnied up a downspout and disappeared in through a second floor window of the house across Claude's garden.
Lisa rubbed her nose, and laughed. “It's Mr. Pebbles.”
“Who?”
“That lady's pet.” The mudroom window moved when Lisa pressed on it. She tugged it firmly shut and tried to lock it. The latch was stiff and barely moved.
Zeke took a turn wrestling with it, then said, “I'll ask if Claude has some kind of grease.”
Before he could go ask, Claude hurried in, clutching his bad arm against his chest. “You screamed.”
“I yelped,” Lisa said, trying to sound dignified. “You would too, if someone grabbed your nose.”
“If who what?” Claude glared at Zeke. “Were you manhandling the lady?”
“What? No! Anyway, she's not a...” He stopped at the glare he got from both of them. “Sorry.”
“I should think so.” Claude tilted his head. “Are you two, um, boyfriends then?”
Lisa choked. This old guy never quit.
Zeke said, “No. We're not.”
In the helpless spirit of full disclosure she was in, Lisa said, “I don't think either of us is butch enough for the other. Now Derek Robertson...”
Zeke made a little Mmmm
sound, and then blushed. “You've got a shot, you know. With Derek. I've seen him watching you.”
“Really?” Lisa sucked in a breath. Derek had come to her rescue twice now, but she hadn't dared think anything of it...
“Yeah. I'm so jealous, you bitch.”
Claude demanded, “Wait. I don't get it. Why did Zeke grab your nose then?”
Lisa was jolted out of thoughts of Derek Robertson's broad shoulders. “He didn't. It was...” A motion caught Lisa's eye, and she stopped and pointed. “Look.”
Across the back yard, that second floor window opened again slightly. The monkey's lithe form slipped out, and back down the drain pipe. Halfway across the lawn the monkey looked up and caught sight of them watching him through the window. With a sudden jump, it whirled around and bolted back up to its refuge.
Claude laughed. “That grabbed you?”
Lisa pushed on the frame and stuck a finger through the opened window in answer.
“Oh heavens. That little brat let my cats out!”
“Looks like it,” Zeke said. “Do you have some lube? I mean grease, lubricant, like oil?” He was blushing again. “If I oil up this bolt, maybe it will slide all the way into the frame again and then the monkey won't be able to jiggle it loose anymore.”
“Kitchen drawer next to the stove.”
When Zeke hurried out, Claude looked at Lisa. “You sure you don't want that boy? He's got a good heart.”
“I don't think he'll want me,” she said, a bit heavily. “Not once I get where I'm going.”
“Oh, well.” Claude gave her a little pat on the back. “You'll find somebody. I never wanted the drag queens that way either. But they were excellent friends, and friends are a good thing.”
“Yes,” Lisa agreed wholeheartedly. Something soft brushed her arm and she grabbed Lottie before the little cat could reach the window, holding onto her as gently as she could. Lottie turned in her arms and purred, willing to exchange a shot at freedom for a cuddle. Lisa rubbed her slightly-stubbled jaw against the soft cat, and closed her eyes. She felt really relaxed for the first time in a long time. She murmured, “Friends are excellent.”
####
Variations
~Picture prompt: Two boys lie sprawled on their stomachs, side by side on a bed, dressed in T-shirts, jeans and socks. They're each propped up on their elbows, in front of a big bedroom window. The lighter-haired boy has his leg draped possessively over the back of the other boy's thighs as he gazes at him, but the dark-haired boy's attention seems focused through that window into the brightly-lit space beyond.