magical sunday afternoon

we spent the weekend volunteering at the first (ever?) queer media conference. the event was sponsored by Stoli, who doesn't seem to realize that sponsoring these events won't make gay people stop ordering "vodka tonics" just like that, no brand name.

Anyway.

During the morning rush as conference goers were picking up their tickets and VIPs were were poking through their loot bags, i saw an older man standing in the narrowest part of the hallway. He was nearly blocking people from moving between the lounge and the registration area. He had a pet carrying case with birds in it. I asked, all smiles (all smiles all weekend) what was up. He had a very thick accent and seemed confused but poised. He told me he wanted to talk to someone named Dax and that he needed a dressing room. I suggested the coat closet, thinking he could put all this stuff in there. He quietly said no, then "dahling i don't perform like dis" hands swooping over his old man face "i perform like dis." whips out a postcard with a picture of my mother wearing a giant gray wig. I understood, and secured a rarely used bathroom upstairs.

I decided that my job for the day was to be this drag queen's 'body man', like Charlie, the black kid on the West Wing.

I put a Keep Out sign on her door.

I offered her a cocktail:

Me: "all we have is Stoli."
Her, half made up in a big pink robe and turban: "Vat's dis shtoli?"
Me: "it's vodka"
Her, suddenly a completely normal gay man: "I'll have a vodka cranberry."

I checked up on her periodically, at one point zipping up her dress (hairy back). She confided in me that she's 65 years old. "No zo bad for an old lady, eh?" she said, now that she was completely covered in rhinestones and pancake makeup. I told her she looked better than my mother, but similar. she liked that.

I made sure her CD was playing during her grand entrance down the stairs and into the lounge. "get a glass of coke" she whispered to me, then started the show.

It was a magic show. I stood there holding a coke, watching her mangle doves and make things disappear. she was wordless, silent, but the crowd was rapt with attention as she glided about with a dove perched on each breast. Finally she motioned for the coke, which she made disappear into a copy of the village voice. When it reappeared - really amazingly - i assumed it had been spiked with rum.

she finished to strong applause. one of the birds shat right on the floor. i took off.