Part 4
By Peta Wilson
Subscribers can catch up with Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4 | Part 5
"If you don't come right now I'm going in without you and you can sit here all night or come in on your own."
Quaking with fear and apprehension he exits the car, legs first and stands with fluttery knees. Wringing the clutch bag in his hands he walks, feeling wobbly, to the front door where Fran presents two tickets to the attendant.
Within seconds of entering he and Fran are subjected to squeals of delight, hugs and kisses from a bevy of beautiful girls in various costumes, Cinderellas, Marie Antoinettes, a Marilyn Monroe and, waves and further kisses from a select group of handsome young males, also clad in their choices of fancy dress. For a moment Russell is ignored until a number of pairs of eyes turn to him expectantly.
Then Fran does something which, given their discussions prior to the event, comes as a complete surprise. She introduces him to the milling throng as...her brother.
He is mortified. Blushing wildly and open mouthed in amazement, he is unable to do anything but stand there. For a few seconds. Until he realizes that the girls are squealing with enthusiasm and the boys are smiling, nodding and winking. And he catches phrases like...
"....gorgeous, my God."
"....what an outfit."
"Russell! Boy oh boy."
He forces a smile. A girl he recognizes as Debbie Marchat takes possession of him, taking him by the hand. She is wearing a replica of the Marilyn Monroe costume from the Seven Year Itch. She looks wonderful. He follows her to the bar.
"I want a drink," she says, breathlessly. "What about you?"
"Um, I'll have a lime and lemonade with just a tiny bit of vodka in it."
She orders the drinks.
"Whose idea was this?" she asks.
"Both of us. I couldn't think of anything to wear. And I didn't have any money to hire anything."
"Well done. Are you supposed to be anyone?"
Russell has forgotten.
"Oh! Um, yes, I'm supposed to be Christy Turlington or someone."
"Oh yes," Debbie says, unconvinced. "Well it doesn't matter. You're certainly in fancy dress. How brave."
The bar tender puts the drinks on the bar and a figure looms at his shoulder. At a glance he knows it is David Travix. He is a vision in a silver lame, clinging dress. exquisitely made up, with his hair piled on top of his head. He is at least six feet eight inches tall and Russell catches a glimpse of towering platform stilettos.
"Who's my rival, then, Debbie?" he asks in a voice which sound quite female.
"David darling, this is Fran's little brother, Russell."
"How sweet," he says, with a broad smile. "love your dress. Is it yours?"
"No, it's Fran's."
"Thought I'd seen it before," he says with swish and moves away.
"Take no notice, honey," Debbie says. "She's just jealous."
Fran comes by and fronts the bar.
"Sorry hon, I got swamped there for a minute. You okay?"
"Of course she's okay," Debbie says. "She's with me."
Fran smiles sweetly. "That doesn't mean she's okay."
Barely five minutes have passed since their arrival but already Russell is beginning to relax a little. He takes a sip of his drink.
"I'm fine," he says. "Whatever happened to Anne?"
"Oh! Well I just, on the spur of the moment, thought it would be better if we established who you are. So everyone knows you're in fancy dress too."
Beside them Debbie has been approached by a stocky your man in an American Indian outfit complete with flowing headdress.
"Who are you Bobbie?" Debbie ask. ÒOne of the Village People?"
"Well I'm not Pocohontas, darling. Where's the subway. I want to see those legs."
"Later Bozo. If you're lucky."
He turns his attention to Fran.
"Fran, Fran, Peter Pan. How are you, love?"
"I'm fine Bobbie." he turns to Russell. "This is.." she hesitates..."my friend, Anne."
He takes Russell's hand and kisses the back of it and says, in an English accent, "Charmed I'm sure."
Russell looks at Fran and raises his eye brows. She cocks her head and shrugs.
"So, not Christy but Anne," Debbie says, with a grin. "Well I'm confused but who cares. I'm always confused."
She sweeps away, her pleated skirt flowing.
"Come and meet some people," Fran says.
He knows most of the cast but is re-introduced anyway, and also to the floor crew, directors and writers. But, he notices, he is not "my brother Russell" anymore. He is, at first, "my friend, Anne", and then, suddenly, "my sister, Anne."
He gives away any idea of questioning. He doesn't know who he is anymore than they do. Fran is waylaid and he wanders back to the bar and orders another drink but, for safety's sake, without the vodka. He is already feeling light headed. He is aware that he is now quite relaxed in this mad company. For the next half an hour or so people come to him, passers by, ordering drinks, Some call him Russell. and some Anne.
"Hi Russell, How it hangin'?"
"Darling you should dress that way all the time. It suits you so."
"Having any trouble with the boys, sweetie?"
"Hi Anne. I didn't know Fran had a sister."
A girl he has not met but knows well enough comes to the bar. She is diminutive. She plays the part of Fran's thirteen year old sister but Russell knows she is seventeen. Her name is Mary Swan and she is wearing a loose black top and dark brown, tatty fitted skirt and flat scuffed shoes. Her face is not made up and is...dirty. Her close cropped hair is a mess. But nothing can hide the fact that she is beautiful.
She orders a drink - gin and tonic.
"Hi," she smiles. "I'm Mary Swan. God, I feel tragic."
"How come?"
"This was a big mistake. I should have come as myself. People think that's fancy dress. I decided to be Anne Franke. You know from the Dairy of."
He nods.
"We haven't met have we? I've just arrived."
"I'm...Fran's sister, Anne."
She squeals in delight. "Oh God. So am I."
"I know."
She frowns. "I didn't know
Fran had a sister."
He is about to explain when she says; "Oh well I don't
know everything do I. But you're not in fancy dress."
He pauses. "I...I just decided to come at the last minute."
"Lucky you. I hate this fancy dress bullshit. I guess I'm protesting. I can see the likeness. You're very pretty."
"What did you mean when you said people think being yourself is fancy dress?"
"Oh nothing. I dress pretty boyish mostly."
He remembers. Mary Swan is a lesbian.
"But not always?"
"No." she says and her eyes sparkle for a moment. "Some of my girlfriends like me in a dress."
She takes a large swallow from her glass, her eyes watching him over the rim. He smiles.
"You're not shocked?"
"No. I knew."
"God you're beautiful," she says. "And...different. Why hasn't Fran told me about you? Oh no, don't tell me. She thinks I'm a predatory female."
Russell shrugs.
"Are you?"
"Yes."
She moves away from the bar.
Time passes. Russell moves in and out of small talk conversations. Fran comes and goes, checking on him. Dancing begins to a small rock combo. Another cast member, Brad Fittler, in a Canadian Mounties' uniform, comes and asks him to dance. He freezes.
"Oh no. I can't."
"Yes you can. Come on. I'm sure Fran's sister can dance even if she's not what she appears to be."
He is led to the floor, like it or not. They are playing a slow rock number. Brad puts his arm around Russell's back and presses close. Russell tries to follow and does, just.
"You smell like a girl and you feel like a girl," Brad says, almost in his ear.
"Do I?" He feels a small shiver pass through his body.
"Do you like it?"
"What?"
"Being a girl?"
Before he can answer his mind says, oh yes.
"It's...okay."
They dance on. A few minutes later there is a tap on Brad's shoulder and he obligingly moves aside for Mary Swan.
She is small anyway and in flats to Russell's high heels about five inches shorter than him.
"You cheated on me," she says. looking into his eyes.
"What?"
"You're not Fran's sister."
"No."
"I still think you're beautiful."
She runs her hand across his bottom.
"Nice bum."
Russell is astonished. Mary Swan, seventeen year old lesbian is making a play for a fifteen year old transvestic boy. He tries to change the subject.
"Do you like playing a thirteen year old?"
"Would you like me to be thirteen?" she coos.
He is definitely blushing now.
"No I just meant..."
"Because I'm good at it as you know. Oh God I wish I hadn't worn these daggy things."
"What would you rather be wearing?"
"Oh some pretty little demure thirteen year old frock with very sexy adult underwear underneath."
He quakes, tries to maintain his equilibrium.
"Bbbut, I thought you liked..."
"I told you I wear dresses for some of my special girlfriends."
The music stops and he feels he has to get away. He turns rather abruptly and sees Fran at the bar and heads for her. When he arrives he sees Mary still standing in the middle of the dance floor, smiling.
Fran acknowledges his presence with a smile.
"I have to go to the toilet," he says.
She picks up her handbag. "Come on."
He follows her through the back of the hotel and when she goes to enter the ÒLadies" he stops.
"Oh no," he says.
"Darling you can't go to the boys toilet dressed like that."
"But everyone knows I'm not a girl."
At that moment David Travix arrives and, smiling, pushes past them and enters the "Ladies."
"He's going in there," Russell says, aghast.
"She, honey. David is a she tonight
just like you are. You could use the boy's if we were the
only people in the hotel but the people in the main bar use it
too."
"Well...okay, I guess."
They enter this female inner sanctum and Russell finds a cubicle and takes a pee and when he emerges, David is repairing his makeup at the wall mirror. Fran comes out and goes to the mirror and takes out her own lipstick.
"Your little sister is very attractive Fran," David says.
"Isn't she," Fran says with a grin.
"Does she, uh, do this often?"
"Just tonight David. Just tonight."
He packs away his makeup and turns to leave.
"I'll bet," he says to Russell with a wink as he passes.
"You don't seem very relaxed," Fran says as they leave.
"I was," he says. "No I'm okay. Some things..."
"What?"
"Nothing."
They rejoin the throng. He has a drink, a full vodka and lime.
A photographer arrives and takes photographs and he finds himself being photographed with all the girls, with Fran, with David, with Mary, who insists, and then, later, candidly in other situations which include, when he has had a second vodka, sitting on Bobbie's knee, his skirt hiked up.
Feeling a little light headed he goes out onto the back balcony and stands looking over the hotel gardens. After a moment he is aware of a presence at his side. It is Mary.
"Can we go out some time?" she asks.
He stares at her for a moment.
"I don't follow."
"On a date, dummy," she grins.
"But...Mary I... I can't. You mean as a girlfriend?"
"Sure, Of course."
"But I...only dressed like this for tonight."
It is Mary's turn to stare. "Oh what a waste," she says. "You're kidding me."
"No."
"I don't believe you. You're too good. I'll call you."
She turns on her heel and disappears inside.
Alone for a few moments, Russell looks down along his body, at the white dress with the blue flowers which belongs to his sister, at his legs in sheer nylon and at his feet in high heels. He can taste the lipstick and smell the perfume and his hair caresses his neck and the earrings clutch at his ear lobes. No one is making fun of him. People like him and he likes them. This is a new experience. A shiver passes through his body and he realizes it is a thrill of pleasure.
He goes back inside and dances with Bobbie and Alex and Geoff and Brad, and when Brad in his fitted Mountie's pants, presses against him, Russell realizes the other boy is hard. Another shock. But this time he moves back a little from Brad and makes a shocked O' with his lips and wags his finger.
"Naughty boy," he says.
Brad pulls him close again.
"I can't help it. You turn
me on."
..To Be Continued
Peta Wilson lives in Australia and has a Personal Ad here...she invites your comments.