Teddy
Even after washing down a Lexapro with one of the airline-sized bottles of vodka I always keep hidden, well, everywhere, I sweep down the hall and into the living room, my silk caftan billowing around me.
I texted the other Golden Gays and told them to go outside to avoid any blood splatter. The queens are now holding court on the patio overlooking the pool and the city, trying hard not to stare, though they are pressed against the glass like old cheese in a deli window. God help a gay man: We love to witness a spectacle.
“Now that’s an entrance,” the girl says.
“How lovely,” I say. “My sister and her teenage streetwalker are still here. Uninvited. I guess I wasn’t hallucinating.”
“Me either,” the girl says. “You’re still old.”
“And you still have an STD, by the looks of you.” I glance at Trudy. “Thisis your granddaughter?”
She nods.
“Great job.” I applaud and bow. “You’ve always had great nurturing instincts. God does have a wicked sense of humor after all, doesn’t He?”
The girl laughs. “I’m Ava.”
“I’m Teddy.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“My sister doth speak of me? Without fear of being struck by lightning?”
Ava laughs again. “She didn’t tell me you were so fucking hilarious, though.”
“Language, Ava!”
“I bet you say that a lot around her.”
“She does.” Ava nods.
“Unfortunately, I’ve never heard of you,” I say, smiling at my sister. “Trudy has always been a secret keeper. We haven’t spoken since stamps were fifteen cents.” I look at Ava. “Stamps were like dial-up but slower.” I take in her blank look. “Nothing? I’ll explain what both of those are later.”
“Hello, Teddy,” my sister finally says. “You look very Liberace in that caftan.”
“Remember when Daddy thought he was just a showman?” I laugh and look down at what I’m wearing. “The gays and the Golden Girls have always loved a caftan.” I smile at my sister. “And an RSVP if a guest is coming.”
“Where does an old queen buy something like that?” Ava asks.
“She knows her homophobic slang at such an early age! Well done, sis.” I turn back to Ava. “One can buy such a fabulous piece at my shop, Dorian Gay.” I eye her. “I could teach you a thing or two about fashion. Right now, you look as if you raided a Five Below and got everything forwaybelow that dollar amount. First impressions are everything.” I look my sister up and down. “To wit.”
Trudy is wearing some sort of nonflammable sweater with a giant glittery cross on the front that statesI Will Not Be Shaken! Psalm 16:8.
“For instance, I have a similar sweatshirt,” I say. “Except mine has a giant martini on the front standing defiantly with its hands on its stem, which makes it so much more ironic. Oh, and mine is not made of aluminum.”
“This is quite the place you have.”
Trudy is not taking the bait.
“Isn’t it?” I say with an even bigger, faker smile. “Found a home even after getting kicked out of mine. This one is big, though, and filled with love. Oh, and I don’t get the shit kicked out of me when I put on a dress or kiss a boy.”
Ava’s face contorts in confusion, and she looks back and forth between me and her grandmother as if she’s watching a tennis match.
“The hardest thing about living in the desert,” I continue, “is that sometimes filthy rats manage to find their way inside despite all of the hard work we do to keep them from finding us.” I take a step toward Trudy. “Because once they do, they will eat you alive.” I take another step. “Now, shoo, rats. Shoo!”
Trudy doesn’t budge. Her face doesn’t flinch.
