Free Stilettos & Stubble by Amanda Egan Page A

time - on the house.  I want you both to think of it as a second home
- always a bosom for a pillow or a shoulder to cry on at ‘The Gossamer Glove’.’
     
    Daddy looked
chuffed and asked Annie if he could buy him a drink.
     
    Annie stood,
shaking his head. ‘No, no the drinks are on me and I never partake on the job. 
Need to keep my wits about me, but I might join you for a little nightcap at
the end of the set - get your thoughts on this mad place.  Laters!’  And he
minced his way across the club, waving and swapping banter with regulars.
     
    ‘Seems a nice …’ 
Daddy paused and laughed.  ‘Guy? Girl?  Not sure what’s the acceptable term!’
     
    ‘No, neither am
I, yet , but I’m sure I’ll learn it all as I go.’ I told him.  ‘You know
I really think this is going to be a job I enjoy.’
     
    ‘Well it
certainly won’t be boring, that’s for sure!  Can’t imagine what your mother
will have to say about the whole thing but … well, it’s your life and there’s
nothing she can do about it.  Don’t take anything she says to heart though,
will you Percy?’
     
    I shook my head
and sipped my drink for some Dutch courage.  ‘Daddy?  Do you think she’s seeing
someone again?  Is that where she is tonight?’
     
    My father
shrugged his shoulders and sighed wearily.  ‘Who knows, my love?  She’s
certainly pretty perky at the moment so if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say
yes.  Not to worry though, she’ll be back.’
     
    Sometimes I
wanted to give my dad a really good shake to make him see sense.  How could he
put up with it?  Did he really believe he was so worthless?  Would he ever have
the guts to tell her enough was enough?
     
    ‘Daddy, I really
feel …’  But it was too late, my father was hushing me and settling in for the second
half of the show as the music began its opening strains.  ‘Not now, Perce.  Not
now.’
     
    And that was just
the trouble - he never wanted to discuss it.  At some point he would have to.
     
     
    *****
     
     
    The next act was
simply named ‘Lubov’ - the jeering and caterwauling which followed her
introduction included ‘Lube off, lube on’ and ‘What else do they call you? 
KY?’  She took it all in good humour, obviously having heard them a hundred
times before.
     
    Less vulgar and
more feminine than I could ever hope to be, she lulled the crowd into silence
with a set of torch songs.  Her husky Russian accent performed Piaf numbers to
perfection and even the rowdy stags had the decency to quieten down and
listen.  She was almost like a living, breathing Jessica Rabbit and I suspected
that most of the straight men there were wishing she was a real woman - she was
the stuff that wet dreams were made of.  Even my father seemed to fall under
her spell.
     
    She was clearly a
class act and in direct contrast to the raucous and vulgar Tittie.  Maybe that
was what made The Glove such a success - it wasn’t just one humorous drag act
after another but a variation on a theme, with something for everyone.
     
    As she hit the
final note of her act, the crowd erupted into applause and everyone without
exception rose to their feet.  She took a final bow and swept off the stage.
     
    Daddy sat down, took
a hanky from his jacket pocket and began to mop his brow. ‘Good grief!  Quite
an unpleasant feeling, finding a drag act attractive.  I had to keep reminding
myself it was a bloke - what a great act!  I wonder what he looks like when
he’s not all made up?  What a talent!’
     
    Annie was just
passing and heard Daddy’s comments.  ‘Oh, another one that’s been smitten by the
lure of the luscious Lubov, eh?’  He pulled up a chair and leaned in,
conspiratorially.  ‘A bit of a dark horse, is the old Lubov.  Keeps himself
very much to himself.  It’d be great if you could help to bring him out a bit,
Percy.  He never really wants to get involved with the other girls - just comes
in, does his act and