Page 8 of A Straight Line

Meeting Bang Bang for the first time was quite an event in my life, mostly because I had been five-years-old when it happened. Watching a six-foot three-inch tall man in six-inch heels, a sequin gown, a shiny white wig, wearing enough makeup to intimidate a clown, and a smile made out of pearly white teeth, walk towards you is shocking for any five-year-old. I remember standing at Uncle Vic’s side, my little hand in his, my face turned and pressed against his leg, with one eye just uncovered enough to watch the approaching Bang Bang. She looked like a giant cartoon coming towards me.

Russy, this is Bang Bang Baisemoi.

My face turned marginally so that I could see Bang Bang kneel down, her hands coming to rest on her knees as she brought her face somewhat level with mine. She smiled brilliantly, her warmth radiating like the sun, and I couldn’t help but wonder how someone could perch so easily in the shoes she was wearing. At the time, I wasn’t sure if I was meeting a man or woman, but even in my five-year-old brain, I knew this woman was pretty big for a woman—or anyone really.

Russy. It’s nice to meet you.

She held her perfectly manicured hand out to me. It only took a few false starts over the moments that followed, but I eventually shook her hand.

I think that maybe…you need some chocolate.

Upon uttering those words, Bang Bang had endeared my five-year-old self to her immediately. Whenever I was visiting my uncles in the years that followed, if Bang Bang was around, I was following her like a lost puppy.

Of course, I was much older—older than I would like to admit—before I realized “Bang Bang Baisemoi” basically meant “Bang Bang Fuck Me.” That’s just not something a five-year-old will figure out on their own, and it’s not a joke adults tend to explain to children.

Thinking about Bang Bang performing at Harry’s and Vic’s last hurrah made me smile as I stared absently out of the bathroom window and watched the DJ, his assistant, and the catering staff work. As I grew older, the trips to visit my uncles had gotten less frequent—being a teenager, and eventually, a college student, took up a lot of my time—but I always managed to get to A Straight Line to see Bang Bang perform at least once when I did visit. One more chance to see her do her thing for the bar made me feel the closest to happy I’d been in a long time.

Two things happened at once that drew my attention from the activities in the backyard. The front doorbell rang, and there was a murmuring in the kitchen. I pulled my face away from the window when I heard Uncle Harry greeting someone loudly, wondering who had arrived. Was it the columnist from The Gazette? The murmuring in the kitchen, however, drew my attention more. It sounded like a hushed disagreement, which meant that the catering staff might have encountered a problem. If Harry and Vic were busy with whoever was ringing the doorbell, they probably hadn’t noticed the disturbance in the kitchen. The person, or people, at the door would be distracting them anyway, so they wouldn’t have time to deal with a problem.

I pushed away from the window, giving the guy in the black t-shirt and jeans a final look, and made my way out of the bathroom. As I walked the few steps from the half-bathroom towards the kitchen, I glanced down the hall. Uncle Vic and Uncle Harry were leading a woman in a skirt and a sensible top with a blazer thrown over it into the living room. Columnist, obviously. I smiled to myself and hooked a left into the kitchen. What I encountered was not catering staff in a disagreement about what went where or when or how to set up the buffet.

Phil and Simon, two of my uncles’ oldest—and cattiest—friends were standing by the kitchen island where a large tray of canapes was displayed. The owner of Littleburg Rainbow Catering Company, the woman Harry and Phil had been talking to when I went to the bathroom, was glaring at Simon. He was leaning into Phil and clasping his hands together and rubbing them, as though they hurt.

Arthritis, maybe?

“Simon, my love,” Phil was patting his husband’s back, “no means no. Keep your hands off of the food until the party starts.”

“Bitch!” Simon hissed across the island at the woman.

“You listen to me, Simon Hopseth.” She put one hand on her hip and used her other hand to point at him. “If you so much as breathe on this food before Harry and Vic give the go-ahead, I will personally kick your ass from here to Dubuque.”

“Now, now,” Phil interjected just as Simon leaned forward to hiss once again. “Both of you be nice to each other.”

I leaned against the doorjamb, waiting to see how this apparent fight between Simon and the owner of the catering company went. If fur started to fly, I didn’t want to be in the middle of it. I had known Simon long enough to know that he was the cattiest queen to ever live, and he was not above ripping a wig or hair extension off of or out of a woman’s head. I didn’t know the woman who owned the catering company, but from the glare she was aiming at Simon, I was pretty sure that she could hold her own. I’m not a fighter, but I can recognize them.

“What’s going on?” I asked blandly.

Simon, Phil, and the woman all looked over at me, apparently having forgotten that they were in someone else’s home where anyone could walk up and witness their scene.

“Russy!” Phil beamed.

I returned his smile, but Simon didn’t have time for reunions.

“This bitch slapped my hand!” Simon jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at her.

The woman brought herself up to her full height, ready to launch a verbal volley Simon’s way. I pushed away from the doorjamb and held a hand up to her with a smile.

“You probably have better things to do,” I said. “I can make sure Simon doesn’t finger the canapes.”

The woman’s eyes bore into Simon’s a moment longer, then they flicked over to me. With a swift nod, obviously confident that Harry’s and Vic’s nephew would protect their food, she turned on her heels and marched out the backdoor. Overseeing the activities in the backyard was more important—and peaceful—apparently.

“Simon.” I shook my head.

“I just wanted to sample the food.” Simon murmured like a struck puppy as he cradled his hand. “And that bitch slapped my hand like Sister Mary Stick-up-her-cooch.”

Phil brayed with laughter as Simon did his best impersonation of an abused animal. Without a word, I walked over and wrapped my arms around Phil, giving him my biggest bear hug, then I gave Simon a daintier hug. I didn’t want him to accuse me of trying to choke him or something. As I pulled out of the hug, Simon peered over his shoulder at the platter of food once again. I used one arm to corral him towards the kitchen table.

Once I had Simon seated, and he was no longer a threat to the food or the caterer’s mental well-being, I relaxed. His partner, Phil, gave me a smile, silently thanking me for intervening before Simon and the caterer came to blows. I wasn’t overly familiar with Simon and Phil, but since they’d been together for nearly as long as my uncles had been, and they were friends with them, I’d been around them enough times to consider them something besides strangers. Though, I wouldn’t have exactly called them friends if pressed for a label. They were friends of my uncles and, Phil at least, was easy to get along with, so they were fine by me. Simon, on the other hand, could also be a holy terror, as evidenced by the way he spoke to a person catering someone else’s party.