“Like what?”
“So... sarcastic. So... cutting.”
“We’ve learned to use humor as a way to laugh at the cruelty of the world,” I explain. “It lessens the pain. It gives us a way to make sense of life. It also brings people in when we want, or keeps them at a distance. It’s long been the gay man’s secret weapon, sort of like mayonnaise is to straight people when they cook.”
“See? You all are just so honest. It’s uncomfortable.”
“Andyou all,” I say, “are just so boring.That’suncomfortable.”
“Now you sound like Teddy.” She sniffs. “Telling me I’m living in drag.”
“Are you?”
Trudy shakes her head, utterly confounded by my challenge. She puts her hands on the edge of the table, and I think for a moment she is going to push herself to her feet and flee.
“I’m doing the best I can,” she says instead, sounding defeated.
“Are you?” I ask.
“I am!” Trudy suddenly cries. “Stop pushing me!”
Diners turn our way.
Trudy looks away, grabs her wine and takes a healthy sip.
“I’m sorry,” she finally continues in a tone between a whisper and a confessional. “I guess I just thought that I’d be different as a grandmother. I’d be better than I was as a parent... more giving... more forgiving.” She searches her hands. “I guess I thought I’d be a better parent than mine were. I wanted to be, but I’m...” Trudy pauses “...worse. Ava laughs at me. My children avoid me. I’m trying, but I’m incapable of change. I’m trapped.”
“You couldn’t be any worse than your father was to Teddy,” I say.
Trudy lifts a shaking hand and touches her face. It’s like she’s checking to see if she’s wearing a Halloween mask.
“Oh, no,” Trudy mutters as the entertainment takes the stage. “Not a drag queen. I hate drag queens.”
“You came to the wrong town,” I say.
“Good afternoon, Palm Springs! I’m Lulu Lemon!”
A drag queen in a bright yellow dress and matching wig appears. She seems to immediately sniff out Trudy’s discomfort.
“Ma’am?” Lulu asks, pointing toward our table. “Did you know that Palm Springs is rumored to have more drag queens per capita than any other city in the US?”
Trudy’s face is paralyzed in horror.
“Don’t worry, honey, I don’t bite,” Lulu says. “Hard.”
The crowd laughs. Trudy is unmoved.
“You look like you just caught me wearing flats,” Lulu continues. “Nothing? Not a laugh? Okay, well, I hope the song I’m going to sing gets some sort of reaction from you. It’s an oldie but goodie. As most of you know, Palm Springs is the mid-century capital of the world, and today I’m going to perform some classics from that era. A little mid-mod mood music for lunch and Modernism Week. A little something by Rosemary Clooney. Maestro?”
Music begins to play.
Trudy shakes her head. “I’m leaving. I will never understand why you all have to dress in drag.”
“We all don’t dress in drag,” I counter. “Just like we all don’t watchThe Real Housewivesand believe that every straight woman behaves like them. There are as many different types of gay people as there are straight people. But drag is a form of entertainment. It’s an elevated art form for us.”
“Teddy has always been like...this,” she says, gesturing to Lulu, who’s swaying to the opening notes. “So flamboyant. And now you all perform that...thatshow. I looked it up online.”
“It’s a celebration of friendship,” I explain. “It’s actually saved lives. It saved mine.”
