Chapter 15
The second official meeting of the unofficial Leah Grant-Carter fan club, West Clark Division, took place on the first day of July.
Elmyra Foote brought the pink dip (hot sauce mixed with eight ounces of off-brand cream cheese).
Myrna Thorpe brought the coconut cream pie.
My mother provided the cucumber sandwiches.
There were two new recruits in our midst as well.
With a vast quantity of bribes and copious threats of blackmail, Rhonda Macknemera brought her gravity-defying beehive and a twenty-four pack of frozen bean and beef burritos, still in an unopened bag, and Kate Sanders came with a liter of vodka and a scowl meant for me and me alone for roping her into the foolishness.
I provided an adorable face to be admired at their leisure.
I was wedged between Elmyra and the arm of the sofa, my mother on the other side of the couch, nursing her tea.
Across the room, Bernice and Myrna were peering at the autographed autobiography I’d collected a few weeks back.
They hemmed and hawed over it, tracing the signature with their fingers like they were holding the Dead Sea Scrolls.
Kate and Rhonda sat on the loveseat to Elmyra’s left, neither listening to a word the debs were saying.
Dottie was in my father’s old recliner, paying more attention to her phone than what was going on around us.
I’d basically checked out as well by the time I overheard my name mentioned.
“Alright, Kent, you’re going to need to find you a red wig and a decent-enough women’s blazer to wear.
I took the liberty of printing off a few pictures of what I think might work for the costume at the library.
This one has little rhinestones across the lapel, so I figured you might want something like that.
” Elmyra leaned in, unnecessarily cupping her mouth before whispering at a volume that did nothing to shield her words from eager ears.
“I know how you homosexuals like your sparkles. I just hope Satan doesn’t mind rhinestones, cause Hell is sure to be sparkling like a house on fire. ” She chuckled and threw a wink my way.
“Well, that was uncalled for,” Kate said.
“Do burning homes sparkle?” I asked, not really giving a damn one way or the other.
Rhonda glared at Elmyra. She leaned forward, setting her plate of half-eaten cucumber sandwiches on the coffee table before pointing her finger directly at Elmyra’s face. “That’s homophobic. That’s not happening in these meetings. I won’t stand for it.”
“I don’t—I wasn’t—” Elmyra’s face flushed red as she stared at me, shaking her head.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a silly little joke.
I’m really sorry if it hurt your feelings.
Honest.” She reached over, latching onto my hand.
Her skin was slick with excess Bath and Body Works lotion, and the lotion transferred onto me.
I squeezed her hand, nodding to let her know it was okay.
Pulling away, I wiped my wet hands on the couch.
When I looked up, my mother was glaring at me, her right eyelid twitching like crazy.
On that twenty-year-old sofa, Elmyra Foote was the only thing sitting between me and my mother's rage.
“You’re good,” I said, taking a bite of my sandwich. “Seriously though, why are we talking about wigs and power blazers?”
“For your future career as a…” Elmyra risked a glance at Rhonda, who was working on her third finger sandwich and not paying us a bit of attention.
“I don’t know the politically correct term for it, sugar,” she said to me.
“They called them ‘drag queens’ back when my brother Elmer used to do his little numbers. He called himself Lotte Fistin. Or should I say herself?” She looked at me with genuine concern.
“I know trans women are she-slash-her, and trans men are he-slash-him, but what about the drag queens? Did I get my pronouns wrong, Kent?”
“I haven’t stepped foot inside of a gay bar in nearly a decade. How the hell am I supposed to know?”
“Not really an effective spokesperson for the gay community, is he?” Bernice said to Myrna.
“It’s she when they’re in drag,” Kate said.
“Thank you, dear,” Elmyra said, taking a tiny bite of her cucumber sandwich.
“You know I like to try to keep up with the times, but things change so fast, it’s hard sometimes.
Anyway, I figure if we want to show Kent our support, we’ve got to make an effort.
If that means overlooking Deuteronomy 22:5, then so be it. ”
Myrna and Bernice gasped, reaching up and clutching their non-existent pearls like absolute cliches.
Elmyra wagged her finger at them. “No. I’m not about to let you shame him for this.
If Kent wants to be a drag queen, we’re gonna give him the support he deserves.
Do you think Jesus would turn him away? For goodness’ sake, he broke bread with prostitutes.
Kent’s not selling himself on a street corner, he’s just putting on a dress. ”
“I have absolutely no desire to wear a dress,” I said, though no one was listening..
“You’re not shaming sex workers in these meetings either, Foote. You hear me?” Rhonda growled, sending a small slice of cucumber flying out of her mouth.
“I have some clothes in the attic you’re welcome to, baby,” my mother said, arching a mischievous eyebrow.
“I’m not putting on a dress. I’m not a drag queen, I’m not trans, I’m gay. I’m just gay," I said, shooting my mother a death glare.
“I heard on the Facebook that gender is fluid,” Dottie pointed out, her face still buried in her phone. “There’s nothing wrong with it, baby.”
“Of course, there’s nothing wrong with it. Obviously, I know that.”
“What are these fluids they're talking about?” Myrna asked Bernice.
“Gender fluidity,” I said, still glaring at Dottie.
“I sure hope you don’t get your fluids all over your pretty new dress, sugar,” Elmyra said.
I gagged. “Leave my fluids out of this. Jesus Christ, why is everyone hellbent on making me into a drag queen?”
“It could be fun,” my mother said, a sly smirk hiding in the corners of her mouth.
“I could braid your hair. Show you how to do your makeup.” Her eyes widened as she held her hand to her chest, feigning an epiphany.
“Just think of all the things we missed out on when you were growing up. Nail polish. Pedicures. Oh my goodness, purses. Think of all the purses.” She wiped an imaginary tear from her cheek as Elmyra squeezed her knee in support. “I can walk you into womanhood.”
“The only place you'll be walking is down to Maple Ridge Retirement Village if you don’t end this shitshow now. I’ll pack your bags myself.”
Elmyra was still staring at my mother with awe in her eyes.
“That was beautiful, Cat. I’m proud of you.
Daughters truly are a gift from God. You sort of have one already,” she said, giving me a genuine smile, “but there’s just something about that mother-daughter bond you don’t get with a son.
Take my Edith, for instance. I taught her how to cook.
I took her to praise dance classes. I didn’t get to do any of that with my son.
He just lays around all day like the world owes him something. ”
“Your son is a Siamese cat named Nebuchadnezzar,” Mom pointed out.
She nodded. “And he just sits there day-in, day-out, waiting for handouts. Table scraps, belly scratches. He just takes and takes and takes. Edith never did that.”
“She takes quite a bit of crystal meth,” Dottie said with narrowed eyes. “Took my television set and sold it to the pawn shop when she was house-sitting for me. Took Sheriff Gold’s car out of his driveway two months back. Drove it down to Houston and sold it for parts.”
Elmyra cleared her throat. “Yes, well, we all have our burdens. Best we can do is lift it up to the Lord.”
“Amen,” Bernice and Myrna said in unison.
I groaned, setting my plate on the coffee table and leaning back against the sofa. “How the hell did we get to crystal meth and stolen cop cars?”
“Oh, Catalina, sugar, is his memory going, too?” Elmyra said. “Bless your heart. First the homosexual thing, then you find out he’s a card-carrying liberal, on top of the oral cancer—”
“Oral cancer?” my mom asked. I shook my head and shot her a look, pleading for her to just let that river run.
“And now our little Kent is suffering from memory loss to boot. Darlin’, you’re just having a time of it, ain’t ya?
” She reached out, taking mom’s hand, and I smirked as she squirmed at the feeling of Elmyra’s lotion rubbing into her skin.
“You really ought to come back to church. We can pray it through. Get everything right as rain for you again.” She glanced back at me.
“We won’t pray for the homosexual part. Your Mom’s made it clear enough that you don’t want that.
Still, it’d be lovely to see you back. I’m sure Pastor Collins would be thrilled to have you. ”
“That name isn’t welcome in this house,” Mom interjected, her face growing redder by the second.
“Pastor?” I looked at Mom. “Please tell me she means Marty or Gray. I mean, it can’t be Gray unless he’s living some secret, undercover life where he moonlights as a preacher, but …
” My mother’s face sank, as did my heart.
“He can’t!” I stood up, sending cucumber sandwiches flying across the living room floor.
The thought of that man leading any congregation, much less my father’s, struck up fury in my soul like never before.
I could easily see Trevor leading a Klan rally, but a church?
“Well honey, what’s wrong?” Elmyra turned to me, reaching her oily hand in my direction. I pulled away before she could touch me. “He’s a lovely enough man. You two used to be friends. What in the world happened?”
“Elmyra,” my mother warned.
“I just don’t understand what Trevor—”