Tag: Nina Simone

I go to see Jeff at the bar that has drag shows and meet Twyla Westheimer. Across the room she sits dressed in midi skirt and patterned blouse, with large breasts, big hair, thick makeup, and looking slightly nervous. She’s primly perched on a bar stool sipping a drink through a straw. Although she looks familiar, I don’t know who she is. She stands and approaches me. Jeff, a new massage client of mine, laughs, tickled that I don’t recognize him in drag.

But Jeff isn’t the only reason I’m here. I like drag shows. I see the Denver drag queen who cracks me up the most, Brandi Roberts, a long-time friend of Jeff’s. Taking the stage, Brandi warms up the crowd, makes announcements, and provides one of the most bizarre performances I’ve seen from her or anyone else. If her opening minutes are any indication, tonight’s show will be a winner.

I find myself intrigued by drag queens. This interest began years ago when I first saw a drag show and increased when, in a seminary course about contemporary contexts of ministry, I started asking questions about them. I’m entertained by a good performance, but mostly I’m intrigued by the men who do the impersonations—their psychology, personalities, motivations, and lives.

Brandi always gives a good drag performance, but off stage she lives an even more complicated full-time gender-bending life complete with female hormones and the $5000 breast job she’s telling us about on stage. I feel so rich since I get to be around Brandi on a regular basis. She now styles hair in the same shop where I give massages. In fact, she arranged Jeff’s first massage with me. She appreciates my interest in her life and my attendance at her shows. I welcome her openness and great humor. Brandi may be as complicated a personality as I have ever known; certainly she is exotic in some sense of the word, plus candid, creative, and casual. With her it seems that anything can be said, anything can be done, and anything can be accepted.

Of course, I remind myself that my observations are very limited. I wonder if I find her so intriguing because in her I see none of the defenses that define my personality. I have run into very few of the challenges she experiences and endures daily. But around her I feel like I’m with a combination of several friends from my past: Susie, a very free and funny professional horn player; Dianne, a massage therapist who introduced me to wild life in Denver; Andy, a young artist of great wit and humor; Ronnie, who years ago entertained me with his sexual openness; and Ted, who told me that in San Francisco he was exploring his feminine side. With Brandi I encounter talent, individualism, comedy, good humor, and a passionate engagement with life. I like Brandi. Her life seems the banquet that Auntie Mame was sure most people were missing. The show proceeds.

Crystal Tower, a six-foot-six-inch tall African-American drag queen, enters down the hallway since with her big hair she is too tall for the small stage. I chuckle when her hair piece of huge curls is jarred loose by the door lintel. She keeps her poise and strikes a pose as the musical introduction continues. I’m wowed by her presence: tall, imposing, and important as she stands there in a long-sleeve, ankle length gold lamé dress. Crystal Tower has the stage presence of Nina Simone and delivers a soul piece I’ve heard that segues into a driving R&B piece I’ve not heard. She’s convincing whomever she may be impersonating; I’m impressed. She takes the dollar I wave to get her attention. At the end of her act, she acknowledges the applause with a gracious curtsy.

Scotty Carlisle now enters on stage in a short dress covered with red sequins. Her earrings and large necklace of rhinestones reflect the lights wildly. At age seventy-two, this drag queen shows the legs of a twenty-year-old beauty queen. Scotty looks great and wins the crowd with two torch song impersonations. Red is her color; no doubt about it. My partner Jim and I both approach the stage to give her our dollars. Jim has known her for years. Her saucy, sexy, and scintillating performance pushes along the show.

I sit in a terribly worn-out chair drinking too much beer, and as a result get up to go to the restroom. I’ve already done it too many times and self-consciously wonder what others may think of my many trips down the short hall. But I have to do it anyway. My bladder doesn’t hold all that much. I surely will pay for it tomorrow morning. Oh well, at least I haven’t run out of dollar bills to give the performers.

Finally Twyla comes onstage. I’m pretty sure now I recall her character from some eleven years ago when I met her at a party, a Sunday afternoon ‘I’m-running-for-royalty’ announcement affair. At the gathering Jazz Ann was announcing her candidacy, but Twila, her competition, was there. Jeff asked me if I had voted for Twila. I admitted I did not that year but assured him the following year when he became the great empress of something cosmic I did vote for him. Drag queens have long memories; at least this one does. Whether I actually voted that next year I don’t really remember; my little white lie was probably worthwhile. On stage now Twila wears a different tight-fitting stretchy blouse, extreme miniskirt, blue stockings, high platform heels, and a blue wig (I thought it was going to be chartreuse). Sexy, pouty, and sometimes coy, she’s quite a presence and a great contrast to the man I see in Jeff. Still, he seems sure of himself, and he must be a great planner given his successful career and entertainment hobby. I applaud and whoop and holler enthusiastically as he lip synchs one of his favorite songs that I don’t really know. I am happy to be here; and Jeff is wearing one of Brandi’s blue wigs he tells me as I hand him the rest of my dollars. Jim and I are on our way out to return home. On the short walk, I think of the drag queens and realize that their world despite its name is never a drag.

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot