Girl, you don’t make a queen wait, else we gonna thrown down, the ghost hissed.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Shero asked as he looked around the room and out the window. The snow had stopped — literally. Flakes the size of balled up panties were hanging in the air.
Who am I? Bitch, I is the Ghost of Christmas Fabulous! The specter squee’d and snapped its fingers in the strangest of gestures. And honey, you and I has a date, so won’t you just be grabbin’ hold of my dress and let’s get up out this bitch. Again with the gesture.
Snip snap girlfriend!
What is it with drag queens and snapping fingers?
Shero slowly stood, his unsteady legs reminiscent of their first time in stilettos (Ah, youth!), and approached the Ghost of Christmas Fabulous.
You wrinkle this dress and we’ll have words. M’kay? The spirit warned.
With a delicate touch, Shero clasped his fingers to the gossamer material and, in the bat of a false eyelash, all swell broke loose. The room around them started to swirl, colors faded into gray tones, lace window treatments dripped off their hangers as if melting, the finest of silk stockings flew about the room. Any moment a house would fall. A witch would die.
Wrong queen’s dream. Sorry.
Finally, all vanished.
Here we are! Fabulous announced.
“What the?” Shero’s legs wobbled as the duo appeared inside the hallowed halls of the Society for Super Heroes (SSH for short. Remember that for later, I don’t want to have to spell it out for you again and again.) “How did we?”
Oh honey, you’re a superhero, you’ll figure it out. Anyway, that’s not the raison d’etre of this little trip. I gots sights to show you. Now, walk this way. Scrap that, you’re not in heels … just follow me. The Ghost of Christmas Fabulous giggled at his little jab and marched on, hips swinging like a three dollar hook —.
Eh hem.
When Shero and Fabulous entered into the Majestic Hall, the heart of SSH, Shero was startled to see what looked like a massive party in full swing. Holiday music danced out of the bass-heavy speakers, women twirled around in the most beautiful of satin and tulle skirts, and lilting laughter added to the beauty of the music.
Christ, that dress is divine! Fabulous pointed at Bella Donna, who was wearing a black, full-length gown trimmed in red and white. She was such a gift of pure lovely to the world. Come this way, Shero. Fab marched on.
The duo arrived at the center of the room, where, to his surprise, Shero found himself standing front and center, surrounded by his dearest of friends. Shero was wearing the sexiest Santa costume. His top was red silk, tight-fitting number with capped sleeves. His arms were covered by elbow-length satin gloves. His skirt was mini, edged with fluffy white faux fur, and would reveal just enough hey now should Shero bend over. Finally his legs were glistening with the sexiest patent thigh high boots a cross-dresser could ever imagine.
Ho, ho, whoa!
“I just want to thank all of you for being so amazing.” The Santa-Shero started to speak, but was interrupted by an uproar of cheers and wolf whistles. “The Society of Super Heroes would not be what it is without you — the city, not as safe.” Someone from the crowd shouted We love you Shero! “I cannot begin to tell you how honored I am to be a part of this organization, this family.” Another voice shouted out We couldn’t be fabulous without you!
Everyone laughed. Shero teared up.
Such a touching moment.
Out of nowhere, one of the newest members of SSH stood up and addressed their leader. AniMe was a witch of Japanese origin. She was as stunning in looks as she was in spell. Nary a foe could look into the young hero’s eyes without melting into a big puddle of yum.
“We have a gift for you!” AniMe squealed in delight and clapped her hands.
“Why are you showing me this oh specter — .” The real Shero started.
Oh can the Dickensian, girl. I get so damned tired of the ‘Oh spirit’ this and the ‘Ye ghost of blah blah bitty blah…’ I’m showing you this because you were crying and whining about being alone on Christmas. Next you know you’re pissing and moaning that you have no friends and that no one loves you. Well dear, behold!
A hiss of steam poured out from around the Christmas tree serving as a backdrop for the event. When the steam cleared BuXom appeared. Yet another new entry in the SSH lineup, BuXom was a teleporter of particular, and eclectic, tastes. Part Victorian corsetry and part clockwork robotics, BuXom could not only fill out a corset to stop a man’s heart, she could teleport from anywhere to anywhere with nothing more than a blink of her left eye. BuXom was a coquette and a seductress wrapped up in a curvaceous package to send the mind into erotic apoplectic fits of joy.
Dare I say hubba hubba? I dare, oh yes, I dare.
In BuXom’s hands was a gift. The gift was wrapped in the pinkest of pink paper with the most delicate black velvet polka dots. When the clockwork diva offered the gift, the crowd of heroes once again was given to near-spasms of joy.
The dream Shero blushed and bowed his head, overcome with honor and love.
“You go girl!” One of the crowd shouted out Shero’s catchphrase.
Cliché, I know. But this isn’t your story, so get over it.
With nervous, satin-clad fingers, dream Shero carefully popped open the gift. Underneath the precious pink paper was a framed print of each and every member of the Society of Super Heroes. At the bottom of the print was a delicately engraved plate that read:
‘You are the superhero’s hero. We love you!’
Well, now what do you have to say for yourself? Embarrassed much? Don’t ya wanna just go back home and bite your pillows, big boy? the barely-there spirit sassed Shero.
Shero shook his head. What he saw was a thing so touching, but the rest of his life was far different. Those people knew and loved him. Shero’s biggest nemesis was the public at large constantly frowning upon the man who saved their lives. Their scorn cut deep. Their mockery ultimately made Shero live a life alone, afraid of the court of public opinion.
“No. I’m not convinced. I need to see more.”
The spirit huffed and placed her hand on her hip. Hooker, it’s late and I have a drag queen ball to attend. You do not want to make this bitch late to her balls.
I know what you’re thinking. Trashy, just trashy. I bet you’re reading this book on a couch on your porch.
Okay, I can arrange for another one of my kind to give you a little visit before the night’s over. But I’ma gonna warn you Miss Thing; When The Ghost of Christmas You Go Girl comes a knockin’, you bes’ behave or that queen will tuck your bits so far up your business you’ll never see ‘em again.
Warning taken, Shero gently grasped the heavenly material of the Ghost of Christmas Fabulous’ dress between his fingers and …
Pow! Like a lightning bolt to the heart, Shero found himself once again alone on his chaise lounge. Without his knowing, the back to the remote resumed its trajectory to the ground and the falling powder puffs returned to drifting delicately to the ground.
On the TV Ebenezer Scrooge was recovering from the first of his nightly visitors. Shero gave a gentle laugh, realizing The Ghost of Christmas Fabulous was nothing but a dream. “Shoo. I ain’t ‘fraid of no ghost.”
The soft pillow cradled Shero’s head once again. His heavy (but tastefully done) eyelids became heavy curtains over his eyes.
Once. Twice.
Three times a lady. There, are you happy now?
Good God!
The pendulum of the clock stopped its swinging and the dust in the air ceased its dusting. The sounds of what could only be a Katy Perry song unfolded into reality. In a flash of silver and red light a new ghostly figure appeared in front of the color-rich plasma screen.
You’re so hypnotizing. Could you be an angel? The spirit sang loudly, waking the slumbering superhero.
Shero sat up and shook his head. “You must be the, what was it, Ghost of Christmas You Go Girl
?”
That’s right. Gaze upon me. Allow my cleavage to hypnotize your soul. I am your girlfriend, your best friend, your firecracker. The sex-pot spirit ran his hands up and down the curves of his cinched waist and hips.
“Yeah, I know… I’ve seen the film a thousand times, you’re here to take me away and — .”
The ghost crossed his arms and drummed his fingers on his biceps. You’re stealing my schtick? Seriously? I get to do this like once, maybe twice, a century and you’re STEALING MY THING! The voice erupted from the painted mouth like a volcano of unfettered, hormone-powered rage.
Shero held up his hands in surrender. Smart, smart hero.
Thank you. Now, where was I? The queen hissed the question out like he was about ready to strike down the superhero. Oh yes … I am here to help you bear witness to the truth, to the voice of humanity, to the reality you are unable to perceive. Grab my vestments and I shall fly you off to a magical moment in time you will remember well. You Go Girl held out his arm for the mortal.
When Shero grabbed the poplin sleeve of ‘Girl’s top, the wind was sucked from his lungs and the tastefully appointed living room disappeared like a roll of duct tape in a drag queen’s dressing room.
Now there’s an image.
A new scene erupted around them. A fierce battle was being waged. The fight, and some of its wounds, were still fresh in the mind and body of Shero. The villain was Bash, and he was making mush of his foes.
“Bash crash!” The lame catchphrase rattled the entire city block. Bash swung out and connected with Bella Donna, sending her flying into a brick wall. The wall crumbled along with the hero.
“Okay bitch, that’s the last straw!” Dream Shero (that should SO be a new Barbie) cried out and drew his trusty katana, the music of the steel briefly turning the entire area into a scene from any given Japanese anime. All living creatures froze. Cherry blossom petals gently floated across the scene.
It was about to get real.
“Why are you showing me this? I won. I sliced and diced Bash, took him into custody, and called it a day. Oh, yeah … I remember. The son of a bitch broke the heel off my right shoe. Those were one of a kind Carlos Santanas. Who knew the man had a thing for cross-dressing super heroes? I could have —” Shero stopped when he noticed You Go Girl shaking his head.
It’s not the fighters you need to watch. Take a listen to the innocent bystanders. Listen and learn.
With a Samantha-like nod of his head, ‘Girl twitched the scene back into action. This time Shero moved over to listen to the crowed. What he heard, made his heart grow three sizes that day.
Oh, wrong parable. Sorry.
“Look at him go!” One civilian whispered.
“How does he do it in those heels?” Another question.
“And that dress?” Yet another.
“I don’t care what he wears, so long as he’s protecting us.” An elderly woman spoke up.
“I think he kinda looks hawt!” A green-eyed, red-head gave a wicked grin … her brain was drifting off to the boudoir and sexier scenes than a fight.
“You know, I never thought I’d say this, but you’re right!” A younger, dark-haired beauty with eyes the size of pies chimed in.
“You go girl!” The small crowed started chanting Shero’s catch phrase.
You see girlfriend, your public adores you. These are the people you save on a daily basis. Those asshats spitting out their venom about you being a freak? To hell with them! They are a loud-mouthed minority who’d bitch about anything that didn’t fall in line with the TV Evangelist du jour spouting off the dogma o’ the day. Bitch, those people don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
“You go girl! You go girl!” The crowd continued yelling.
With a mighty slash of his sword dream-Shero took down Bash, saving the day. He picked up the heel of his Santana in one hand and with the other hauled Bash to the Lightning Bug for the return trip to Headquarters.
“I gotta get that man’s phone number! I want to do naughty things to him,” the green-eyed girl whispered under her breath as she walked away.
Bra still in a bind there, superhero? The ghost of some-Christmas-or-other sassed.
“But … but that was just a small crowd and we’re in one of the more open-minded neighborhoods in the city. You’ve gotta give me something more than that.” Shero dared demand.
Step back everyone, I smell girl fight!
Sister, I have Christmas to celebrate and you are seriously taking up my disco nap time. Look, I’ll arrange for one more visitor. You won’t like him. You won’t like him one damn bit.
“Who? Who won’t I like?” Shero pleaded.
The Ghost of Christmas Drab. The Ghost of Christmas You Go Girl spoke the name as if it were a pox or a curse — or a pleated pantsuit purchased at a Sears sidewalk sale.
Shudder.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you. The ghost that will visit you last is a nightmare of an epic scale. I can’t even promise you’ll make it through the night. But you asked, girl and I am here to please. Now, if you please, grab my ass so I can get you home and my evening can finally begin. The specter offered up his arm.
What? You thought you were gonna get to see a little grabby-grabby? Not on my watch, honey!
The instant that skin met poplin, the outdoor scene faded into memory and Shero once again woke drooling on his chaise.
Yeah, yeah … the pendulum started swinging and the dust returned to falling. Blah, blah, blah. Let’s get to the moral of this bitch.
Without even getting the chance to lay his rat’s nest of a coiffure back onto the pillow, the sound of chains rang through the house. The sound grew louder and the air around Shero grew colder. With each consecutive breath, the moist air from Shero’s lungs became more and more visible.
And then it all stopped. A puff of white steam hung in midair just outside of the hero’s nose. On the television, the Grim Reaper stood over Ebenezer Scrooge’s grave, forever pointing a bony finger.
And then …
And then …
And then …
For the love of Grilled Cheesus, how much tension do you need built up?
He appeared. A tribute to all things androgynous and business. A fraternal member of the shirt-tucking blue and khaki army. Donning a poly-blend of cotton and middle management, The Ghost of Christmas Drab stood between Shero and the television, arms crossed and beady eyes staring.
Wake up, you lazy, good-for-nothing, slouch! I have to keep you on task. We have to actualize your potential and maximize our time. The androgyny of the ghost’s voice was as thick as the material covering his pants and, gasp, shirt.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Shero sat up. “As if I even got a chance to fall back to sleep. I’ve been waiting for you.” Shero’s eyes landed on the beast in front of him. “Oh my.”
Oh my what? Do you fear me? You should, for I am the one spirit to visit you that will show you things that may or may not be. The spirit pointed a long, unpolished finger toward Shero. The gesture perfectly matched the frozen scene on the television.
“I don’t understand,” Shero said, his eyes begging to close and return to sleep.
Grab my shirt cuff and I will show you.
Shero stood and pinched his fingers on the rough, cottony cuff on Drab’s sleeve. Without so much as a holy shit the two were whisked away in a flood of time and wonder. This trip, however, was no painless, instant whoosh. Pain, anguish, and suffering accompanied the flight. The sounds of Weeping and Moaning could be heard from every angle. The air was cold and lonely.
The Ghost of Christmas Drab pulled Shero down onto a sidewalk in the heart of the city. The sight around them was bleak. And ugly. All was gray, dark, and covered with an impossible blanket of despair. And more importantly (or hideously) —
Everyone. Was. Dressed. Alike.
Khakis, blue button downs, and sock-less loafers were everywhere. Heads were hung. No one chatted, no laughter nor joy filled the ai
r. Shero’s heart wanted to break.
“What is this you are showing me, Ghost of Christmas Drab?” Shero held back tears of loss.
This is the world without you. This is what happens when one as fabulous as yourself doesn’t exist. This— The specter pointed that same unpolished finger outward — is a Shero-less existence.
The superhero dropped to his knees, knowing full well his Christian Dior satin nightgown would remind him of his transgression later. “Please Ghost of Christmas Drab, show me no more. I have changed, I swear it.”
I have one more sight to show you young hero and then I have to get to an important managerial meeting on market share and profit marginalization. ‘Drab held out his hand.
The next sight was almost too hard to take. The second Shero laid his big brown eyes on the vision, tears immediately poured in rivers of pain down his ruddy cheeks.
“Oh no. Please spirit, say this isn’t real. Tell me what I see can be undone.” Shero cried.
Before his eyes was his dearest friend Fiend. Only this Fiend wasn’t Fiend. Shero was standing outside of an East-End ranch-style house, watching she-who-would-be-Fiend handing out dinner plates to a family. An average family. Uneventful husband, two and a half children, a dog, a cat. When Fiend came back into the kitchen to grab another plate, she gazed out the window. The look in her eyes was hollow, lost. Fiend looked out the window, as if searching for something forgotten. The corners of her lips were drawn. Her face was filled with lines and wrinkles.
“Oh Fiend, what have I done?” Shero turned to The Ghost of Christmas Drab. “Please spirit, take me back. I am a changed man. I will never again take for granted the love the world has for me. I will never doubt who I am or that the people need me. Just take me back so I can make this all right.”
Thank Cher! I was so getting tired of this cotton blend. And do you know what it’s like wearing loafers without socks? Girlfriend, you ever go this route again and you’re on your own. Drab held out an arm and Shero placed the scratchy fabric between his thumb and forefinger. In a heartbeat the sorrow, loss, and suffering was sucked from his lungs, to be replaced by warmth, joy, and love.