Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil (15 page)

She was wearing a loose white cotton blouse, jeans, and white tennis sneakers. Her hair was short, and her skin was a smooth milk chocolate. Her eyes were large and expressive, all the more so because they were staring straight into mine. She had both hands on her hips and a sassy half-smile on her face as if she had been waiting for me. I drew up to the curb and rolled to a stop at her feet.

“Ooooo,
child!”
she said. “You are right on time, honey.” Her voice crackled, her hoop earrings jangled. “I am
serious.
I cannot
tell
you.” She began moving slowly toward me with an undulating walk. She trailed an index finger sensuously along the fender, feeling the hollow of each and every dent. “Y-e-e-e-s, child!
Yayyiss
…
yayyiss
… yayyiss!” She walked on past me and continued all the way around the car, inspecting its condition and laughing. When she got back around to me, she leaned in the window. “Tell me somethin’, honey,” she said. “How come a white boy like you is drivin’ a old, broken-down, jiveass bruthuh’s heap like this? If you don’t mind me askin’.”

“It’s my first car,” I said.

“Oh! I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings. If I did, I’m sorry. I truly am. I did not mean to do that. I just call it out, baby. Whatever way I see it, I just call it out.”

“No, that’s okay,” I said. “I’m just practicing my driving skills before I go out and buy a Rolls-Royce.”

“Aw
right
, honey, I can dig it! You are traveling in disguise, baby, you are incognito. Yes, I can dig that, child. I surely can. And you know, honey, when you drive a car like this, you don’t get nobody fuckin’ with it. Ain’t no stereo for nobody to rip off. Ain’t no fine paint job for nobody to scratch up with no key, honey.”

“That’s true too,” I said, opening the door to get out.

“Oh, child, don’t you be doin’ that!” she said. “Don’t you be haulin’ ass with me standin’ out here like this!”

“But I live here,” I said.

“That’s okay, baby. You can practice your driving skills some more on the way to takin’ me home. Okay? ’Cause Miss Myra’s shots is gettin’ ready to kick in, honey. I can feel ’em. I am serious. And these feet are about wore out.”

There seemed to be no doubt in the young woman’s mind that I would take her home. I mumbled something on the order of “Well, sure,” but it was unnecessary because she was already getting into the car when I did.

“I live downtown by Crawford Square,” she said. “It won’t
take but a few minutes.” She settled into the seat and looked at me. “Ooooo, child, you are some kinda handsome! If my boyfriend wasn’t living with me I would hit on you for sure. I am serious. I like my white boys, and that’s what I have plenty of waiting for me at home, thank goodness. My boyfriend is blond and beautiful. Hunk for days, honey. He satisfies my every need.”

We pulled away from the curb.

“I’m Chablis,” she said.

“Chablis? That’s pretty,” I said. “What’s your full name?”

“The
Lady
Chablis,” she said. She turned sideways in the seat, pulling her knees up and leaning back against the door as if she were sinking into a luxurious sofa. “It’s a stage name,” she said. “I’m a showgirl.”

She was beautiful, seductively beautiful in a streetwise way. Her big eyes sparkled. Her skin glowed. A broken incisor tooth punctuated her smile and gave her a naughty look.

“I dance, I do lip sync, and I emcee,” she said. “Shit like that. My mama got the name Chablis off a wine bottle. She didn’t think it up for me though. It was supposed to be for my sister. Mama got pregnant when I was sixteen, and she wanted a little girl. She was gonna name her La Quinta Chablis, but then she had a miscarriage, and I said, ‘Ooooo,
Chablis.
That’s nice. I like that name.’ And Mama said, ‘Then take it, baby. Just call yourself Chablis from now on.’ So ever since then, I’ve been Chablis.”

“A cool white wine for a cool black girl,” I said.

“Y-e-e-e-s, child!”

“What was your name before that?” I asked.

“Frank,” she said.

We had stopped for the light at Liberty Street. I looked at Cha-blis again, very carefully this time. She had a small, feminine frame and delicate hands and arms. She carried herself like a woman; there was nothing masculine about her. Her big dark eyes were watching me.

“I told you I could dig bein’ in disguise,” she said. “I’m in disguise twenty-four hours a day. I am incognito.”

“So you’re really … a man,” I said.

“No-no-no,” she said. “Don’t you be callin’ me no man! Uh-uh, honey. Y’mama worked too hard to grow her titties. She ain’t no man.” Chablis unbuttoned her blouse and proudly revealed a medium-size, perfectly shaped breast.

“This is real, honey, it ain’t silicone. It’s what Dr. Bishop’s shots do for me. Miss Myra gives me estrogen shots, female hormones, every two weeks. And in between, I take estrogen pills. They give me breasts and soften my voice. They slow down the growth of hair on my face. They make my body smooth all over.” Chablis slid her hand from her breast down to her lap. “And my candy shrinks, honey, but I still have it. I ain’t havin’ no operation, child. I ain’t studyin’ that.”

We were now crossing Liberty Street. Chablis’s blouse was still wide open, exposing her breast not only to me but to half a dozen pedestrians. I had no idea how far she intended to go, but I feared the worst. I kept one eye on the traffic, the other on her. The back of my neck began to feel warm. “You don’t have to show me your candy,” I said. “Not here, I mean. I mean, not now. Or ever.”

Chablis laughed. “Oh, I’m embarrassin’ you. I’m makin’ you all nervous.”

“No, not really,” I said.

“Child, don’t lie to me. Your face is turnin’
ray
yid.” She began to button up her blouse. “But don’t worry, I ain’t no stripper. At least now I know you ain’t gonna be callin’ me no man.”

We pulled into Crawford Square, one of the two squares in Savannah that fell within the black section of town. Of the city’s twenty-one squares, it was one of the smallest and most picturesque. It was surrounded by humble wooden buildings. In its center, instead of a monument or a fountain, there was a small playground. A huge, gnarled live oak spread its branches over a small basketball court where several boys were playing. Chablis pointed to a neatly restored four-story wooden house on the far side of the square.

“Y-e-e-e-s, child,” she said. “Miss Myra’s shots are startin’ to do their thing. I’m feelin’ that boost of energy. I’m gettin’ that surge of femininity. Got to go and be with my boyfriend, now, ’Cause in a couple of hours I’m gonna feel like the bitch of all time. That always happens too. I get to feelin’ like the last bitch on earth, and until that passes I cannot stand to be touched.”

Chablis stepped out of the car. “Thank you for bein’ my chauffeur and everything,” she said.

“My pleasure,” I said.

“You should come and see the show sometime. I put my face on, and I get into my gowns.”

“I’d like to see that.”

“‘Cause, right now, y’see, I’m just little old Chablis. Just a simple girl. But when I get it together, I turn into
The Lady
Cha-blis. And I’m good, child, real good! I’m a beauty queen, you know. I been crowned in four beauty pageants. I’ve got titles. Lots of ’em. Right now you are lookin’ at the Grand Empress of Savannah! That’s who you had in your car today.”

“Well, I’m honored,” I said.

“Miss Gay Georgia, too, I won that one also. And Miss Gay Dixieland and Miss Gay World. I’ve been all of them, honey. I am serious, child.” The Grand Empress turned and ascended the steps of her house. As she did, she put an extra measure of swing in her hips, an extra bounce in her stride.

It was not until I was halfway home that I realized Chablis had forgotten to tell me where it was she performed her act. If I had put the slightest effort into it, I could have found out. In a town the size of Savannah, there could not have been more than a couple of nightspots that featured drag shows. But I let it go. Not that Chablis didn’t fascinate me; she haunted me. And she was definitely a she, not a he. I felt no tendency to stumble selfconsciously over pronouns in her case. She had removed any trace of masculinity, and in that sexual limbo of hers she was a disturbing presence, one that challenged all the natural responses. A few weeks later, the telephone rang midmorning.

“Ooooo, child, I am some kinda mad at you! You ain’t come to see my show!”

“Is this Chablis?” I said.

“Yes, honey! I just been to Miss Myra for my feminine booster shot.”

“Would you like a ride home?” I asked.

“Well,
yay
yiss. I guess I done trained you right.”

I came downstairs and we got into the car. “I would have come to see you,” I said, “but you didn’t tell me where you did your show.”

“I didn’t?” she said. “I’m at the Pickup, honey. That’s a gay bar on Congress Street. Three nights a week. Me and three other girls. You may not be into drag shows, but you’ll never know the real Chablis till you see me shake my butt and run my mouth up on that stage. And the way things are goin’, you ain’t gonna get the chance if you wait much longer.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“’Cause I’m fixin’ to read my boss, and I might even do it during the show tonight. I always say whatever comes into my head, and I never know who or what it’s gonna be about. Anyhow, my boss ain’t on the top of my list right now. Him and me is about to have words.”

“On the subject of what?” I asked.

“Money. My salary’s two hundred and fifty dollars a week, but I ain’t complainin’ about that, ’Cause it’s for only three nights’ work, and with tips it gives me just enough to live on. But I’m the only one that gets a regular salary. The other girls get twelve dollars and fifty cents a show, and that’s damn pitiful. Last week, two shows had to be canceled when the D.J. didn’t show up, and we were standing there with our faces all made up and our gowns zipped, and the boss didn’t give those girls a dime. Oh, child, he’s gonna hear from me!”

“And when he does?”

“There’s no tellin’. My ass could be out the door.”

“What will you do then?”

“Make guest appearances. I can get bookings in Atlanta, Jacksonville,
Columbia, Mobile, Montgomery—all those places. The South is one big drag show, honey, and they all know The Lady. They all know The Doll.” Chablis looked coyly at me. “So, if I get my ass fired tonight, child, you’re gonna have to travel if you wanna see me do my shit.”

“Then I guess I’d better go to the Pickup tonight,” I said.

“I guess you better had, honey.”

Chablis touched my arm as we drew up in front of her house. “Look over there,” she said. “There’s somethin’ I wanna show you.”

A young blond man was leaning under the hood of an old car. He was stripped to the waist; his muscular torso was smudged with grease and glistening with perspiration. Two boys sat on the curb, watching him work on the car. “That’s my boyfriend,” said Chablis. “That’s Jeff. He’s the hunk I told you about. Come, I want you to meet him.”

This, then, was the one who, as Chablis had put it, satisfied her every need. It was hard to imagine exactly what those needs might be, harder still to envision what sort of person would satisfy them. Yet, apparently, here he was. By all outward appearances he was normal, even wholesome. He broke into a broad grin when he saw Chablis.

“I think the trouble’s in the alternator, Sugar,” he said. He wiped his hands on his pants. “I’ll get it workin’ somehow, and then we can take a spin.”

Chablis hooked a finger through his belt and pulled him toward her. She kissed his neck. “It’s okay if you can’t fix it, baby,” she said. “We got us a new chauffeur and limo. Say hello.”

Jeff smiled. “Hey,” he said, extending his hand. “You better watch yourself, or Chablis is liable to start running your life too. But I guess worse things could happen to you.” He slipped his arm around Chablis’s waist.

Chablis put her chin on his shoulder and looked into his blue eyes. “You ready for lunch, baby?” she said.

Jeff cupped his hand around her buttock and squeezed it. “I already ate,” he said.

She leaned into his body. “You
know
you ain’t done eatin’ yet, baby!”