Diary of a Blues Goddess (19 page)

"Fine. And if she comes crying to me and says this guy broke her heart, I'm going to say 'I told you so.'"

"Glad you got that off your chest," I said. "Now I will tell
you
that if you hurt Maggie I will have your testicles for breakfast." I stormed out of the main ballroom, noticing a run in my stockings, and headed for the bathroom, leaving my four male band members stunned.

I eventually returned for our final set—minus stockings… the run was beyond salvaging. The guys were very solicitous of me. Tony even came up to me and offered me a box of Junior Mints.

"Here, Georgie. I got these from the gift shop. Thought you might need a little chocolate."

"Thanks, Tony." I took them.

"Chin up, lass."

"I can't even stomach the idea of singing Britney Spears in this set."

"It ain't my idea of music either."

"It's like a bad Fellini movie. Funeral directors doing a conga line."

"Cheer up. We still have the limbo to do."

"Shut the fuck up."

"I made you smile."

He had. But I'm sure he thought it was all PMS. The guys always think that any difficult behavior on my part is directly proportional to bloating and hormones. Sometimes they're right, but I never let them know that. Then again, Dominique claims she has PMS once a month, too. What is PMS anyway but an excuse to get away with being a bitch? Regardless, the band spent the rest of the evening treating me with kid gloves, even Jack.

While we were packing up after our gig was over, Jack came over to me. "Ready to go home?"

"If you promise to shut up the whole way and not talk to me about our little disagreement." I had gotten a ride to the Omni with Angelica, who tooled around in a fire-engine red Miata, a gift from her last boyfriend. I had left before Jack did in an effort to avoid a screaming match before singing. I used to own a dream of a late-model Mustang, but it was stolen, and I'd never gotten around to replacing it. If worse came to worse, I would drive Nan's vintage Cadillac. It's like driving a land yacht, but it gets me from point A to point B.

"Fine. I'll shut up. Just don't be asking me to sing 'Endless Love' with you."

I stifled a laugh and rolled my eyes. Still, we rode back to the house in mostly silence. When we pulled up to the curb, he turned to me and said, "I'm sorry, Georgie."

"Me, too."

"Let's just take a breather from this whole thing. And I promise to talk to Maggie. I don't want to hurt her. I've known her as long as I've known you."

"Good. Glad that's settled."

"But I'm still rooting for you to dump Casanova."

"Don't start… "

We mounted the stairs and locked up. Upstairs in the hallway, I could hear soft crying sounds.

"Sadie?" Jack looked at me.

"That's no ghost, that's Dominique." I half ran to her bedroom door and knocked gently. "Dominique, honey?"

She quieted, and then I heard a muffled, "Go away."

"No… let me in."

She came to the door and unlocked it, turning around and slumping back down in her chair. Jack and I sat down on her bed. Now that she was settling in, the room had taken on her personality. She had a pink lampshade on a bedside lamp, and photos of her and her friends taped to the mirror. Boas and hats and wigs sat atop the long dresser. Her collection of plastic snow globes from every city she ever visited were lined up on one shelf. She had a framed photo of Liza Minnelli on the wall. It was inscribed, To Dominique, With Love, Liza. Angelica had gotten it for Dominique the last time she and Terrence broke up and she was morose for a month, though one night when Angelica had too much to drink, she told me she bought the glossy and forged Liza's name. It was our secret.

"What's wrong, honey?" I asked.

"It's Terrence. He says he wants another chance."

I believed Terrence really did love Dominique. He was an uptight, handsome, closeted computer analyst. He frequently flew all over the country, and even to Europe for his job. He became infatuated with Dominique after seeing her perform, and he sent her roses. More than once. However, when they actually sat down and talked one night over drinks, they discovered a connection, a spark between them. But Dominique most definitely stood out in the world, and Terrence lived in a quiet world, an orderly world. Reconciling that world with Dominique wasn't easy, and they were on their third breakup.

"Dominique… I'm sure he's trying."

She looked up at me, mascara running down her face. "Trying isn't… good enough for me anymore, Georgia." She hiccupped, as if she'd been crying for a long time, her breath ragged. "I want to come home to him at night. I want to build a life together. He owns that damn company…so as far as I'm concerned, let him create his own rules about his private life."

Sometimes it was easy to forget that beneath the "flash and trash" (her words, not mine) of Dominique's appearance, scratching beneath the posing and the theatrics, the condom-flinging AIDS activism, was still the same sensitive person I'd known since high school. Damon was a dream best friend in high school, the perfect confidant. He was very affectionate and kind-hearted. Had a wicked sense of humor. And he was a great listener, always available to nursemaid me through broken hearts and ill-fitting prom dresses, even things like death and an AWOL father.

"Not everyone is ready to be out there, Dominique. Prejudice. Fear."

"I'm not going back in the closet. And I'm not changing who I am. And I'm not going back into men's clothes and bein' a boy just to be with him. He fell in love with me—Dominique—drag-queen show and all. That's who he loves. Or says he loves. When he's not ashamed of me."

Jack took her hand. "If you two are meant to be, Dominique, just let it happen. Let Terrence take his time getting his house in order. You can't deny he loves you."

She took a tissue and wiped at her eyes. "I don't know… "

I got off the bed and kneeled in front of her.

"Love, Dominique, is the hard work once the initial infatuation wears away. Give Terrence a chance."

"I'll think about it."

We sat with her while she cried. I rubbed her back and Jack held her hand. I wondered if Rick would be as understanding. Then I pushed the thought from my mind. Eventually, her sobs trickled off to an occasional sniffle. Then silence. "I'm going to wash up and go to bed." She smiled weakly. "Maybe all this will be clearer in the morning."

Jack looked at me. "Maybe that's not such a bad idea for all of us."

"As long as you all mean noon, not really
morning,"
I said.

Jack went to his bedroom, and I waited for Dominique to come back, looking more like Damon. No makeup, no wig, no mascara streaks.

"Dominique?"

"Yeah, honey."

"I just wanted you to know I love you."

"I love you, too."

"You want me to sleep in here?"

She hesitated. "No… that's okay."

"Do you want to come sleep in my bed? It's a king-size. We could watch an old movie."

"I don't know… " I could tell she wanted to say yes.

"Come on. Grab your robe."

I led her down the hall, and we piled into my bed. I flicked on the television, stuck
The Philadelphia Story
in the VCR, until she fell asleep.

I turned off the television and stared in the darkness at the ceiling, making out the paddle fan twirling as my eyes adjusted to the blackness until it became shades of gray. The house was still. Maybe Sadie would let us rest tonight. Then again, I had slept with Jack, who in turn had slept with Maggie. Then I'd gone and fallen for a man nicknamed Casanova Jones. And the two queens were nursing their own cases of the blues. Maybe the ghost of this old house would let us know we were all really fools for love.

That night I dreamed of the blues goddess.

I woke up in my bedroom and looked around. It was my room, and yet not my room. All traces of me had been wiped away. The clothes in the closet weren't mine. The pictures on the wall. Dominique was gone. By the bed was the journal, open to a page, with a pen lying across it.

I got out of bed and could hear music downstairs. The most amazing music I had ever heard. A piano player and a singer. I walked down the staircase, and our house was full of people in vintage clothes. Beautiful people, and women dressed in skimpy outfits. Men… speaking in a patois. I heard Spanish, French, Creole. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but I sensed this was the place to be.

And
that piano. I had to find that music.

I walked into the front parlor, where people were drinking and carrying on. The piano player was soaring up and down those keys, his fingers flying so fast at times they were simply blurs. He was sweating, but smiling, lost in the music he was playing, the way someone gets lost in sex or even in prayer. And there I saw her. My aunt Irene.

Leaning against the piano, she sang in the richest voice I had ever heard. Like my voice, but the passion behind it was like the difference between a summer rainstorm and a hurricane. She was dressed in a red-and-black polka-dot dress, and she had on strappy black high heels. Her lips were painted crimson, and her eyes were lined with kohl eyeliner.

As I drifted through the party, no one could see me. It was as if I was the ghost. Until I saw my aunt Irene stretch her arms out toward me. She could see me.

"Come to me, child," she sang. I walked toward her, as if sleepwalking, floating.

"I have a secret to tell you," she whispered as I approached. And then she began to move her lips, but no sound came out. I couldn't tell what she was trying to say to me.

"What?" I asked, my own voice sounding as if I was underwater.

Again her lips moved, but I couldn't understand her. I felt more desperate. What was she trying to tell me?

I looked around the room. Could anyone hear her? The party in full swing, people dancing to the tune the piano player was tickling on the black-and-white keys. No one seemed aware that she was suddenly mute.

I turned my head, and in the corner of the room I saw Sadie. At least I assumed it was Sadie. Her hair was flaming red, and her eyes were green and catlike. Her alabaster skin looked like milk against the black dress she wore. She was breathtaking… and smiling like the Cheshire cat.
She
understood what my aunt Irene was saying.