by MARY ELIZABETH RAINES
The
hive of the honeybee centers around its queen. When the hive needs a new queen,
nurse bees select several larvae from those laid by the previous queen and feed
them a special substance called royal jelly. This turns the larvae into queen
bees.
Upon
hatching, the very first queen to emerge from her cell begins to make a
high-pitched piping sound. She sings to her still-unhatched sisters. From
within their sealed cells, they sing back to her. Tracing their location by the
sound of their calls, she finds each of her unborn sisters and stings them to
death. This is because there can only be one queen bee.
Her name was Bodacious Bea and the club where she performed
was called, ironically, The Beehive. Bodacious Bea had soft tawny-colored
skin, fleshy breasts, and flawless, if spectacularly overdone, makeup. Her
glitter-strewn scarlet hair was perfectly curled and coifed, piled high on her
head.
On the past Thanksgiving, Bea’s brother had commented rudely
about the color of her hair. “That shade of red is not even in the spectrum,”
he had remarked, mumbling through a mouth crammed with stuffing and mashed
potatoes. “It’s just wrong. Like seeing a blue popsicle.”
He did not approve of her being a drag queen. None of her family
did. She consoled herself with the thought that even Jesus couldn’t preach in
his home town.
Despite the sneers of her brother, Bodacious Bea was clearly the
star act at The Beehive. And everyone always told her that they loved her hair!
“What makes me so special,” she said haughtily in a recent radio
interview, enunciating each word carefully and lisping ever so slightly, “is my
size. I am sooo not one of those gargantuan, ludicrous imposters. You can see right
through them in a second. I am only 5’4”, and except for certain portions of my
anatomy, I am very petite.” She rolled her “r” when she said the word very. With a little giggle, she
added, “I am feminine, you see, to the hilt.”
Night after night, audiences screamed their approval of
Bodacious Bea. She had a bit where would return for a curtain call and stand in
the spotlight. As the roars subsided, she would bat her eyelashes and cry to
the audience, “Ooh, you naughty men! You make me want to throw my panties at you!” Of course, this
made them begin to cheer her loudly all over again.
In her mind, it was indisputable: she was the queen of the
queens…or she would have been if it weren’t for her rivals, Kurvee Kittee and
Luscious Lou-Lou.
It was almost time for the show. Bea was punctual, and she was
always ready well before everyone else. Emerging from her dressing room,
wearing a snug turquoise sheath that glittered with the garish reflections from
thousands of embedded rhinestones, Bodacious Bea minced confidently down the
backstage hallway. Her dress was so tight that she had no choice but to mince.
It wasn't a problem. She liked to mince. She left a trail of her strong perfume
behind her.
In a high-pitched piping voice, Bea sang out, “Kittee! Kittee?
Where are
you? I so need to see you!”
Kurvee Kittee had galloped in only a few minutes ago, and she
was decidedly grumpy. From one of the dressing rooms, a masculine voice
growled, “What the hell do you want? I’m late, damn it.”
Whenever Kittee was stressed, she fell out of character. She
could be decidedly unfeminine. This bothered Bea, who wished that Kittee’s fans
could hear her now. Bea herself was always genuine; she never forgot for a moment who and where she was.
Bea opened the door to the dressing room from which the voice
had sounded. Kittee, in her underwear, sat awkwardly on a stool before the
mirror, legs splayed for balance, and was frantically attempting to glue her
false eyelashes on. They kept falling off. Kittee’s red-smeared lips were
curled back in a furious, impatient snarl.
Posturing coquettishly with one hand on her hip, Bea moved in
behind Kittee and shook her head at the scene. “Oh Kittee, darling,” she
crooned, “You always have so much trouble with your makeup...." She leaned in more closely
and murmured softly, "You know, honey, I’m not sure you really belong here. You should leave.”
Kittee swiveled angrily around on her stool. She seemed to be
preparing to shout obscenities at Bea, but she choked on her words as the
latter waggled her hips and departed swiftly from the dressing room.
Re-entering the hallway, Bea turned in a new direction and, in a
high-pitched falsetto, trilled out, “Lou-Lou? Oh, Lo-o-o-u? Where are
yo-o-o-u?”
“I’m here, Bea, in wardrobe. And oh my god, I need help!”
The sad wobbly alto voice came from behind the clothing rack in
the costume department. Bea sashayed over to the gleaming, gaudy garments. It
was easy to spot Lou-Lou. She hovered high over the rack of clothes, for
she was nearly a foot taller than Bea, and she was decidedly not thin. Nobody else was
present in the room except for the two drag queens.
Unlike Kittee, Lou-Lou never lost sight of her feminity, but
still, in Bea’s mind, she was always just a little bit off the mark. Yes,
Lou-Lou tried too hard, but it wasn’t that. Trying too hard and being over the
top were expected of the girls. Lou-Lou’s height was a flaw in Bea’s mind, but
most of Lou-Lou’s fans enjoyed her gigantic frame. No, the problem was that Lou
was just…pathetic. There was something whiney and droopy about her. Her voice
constantly quavered and she always seemed ready to burst into tears. Granted,
she did a good Judy Garland, despite her size, but otherwise, Bea felt that
Lou-Lou was distressingly inferior.
“I just cannot find a thing to wear tonight,” the tall
queen moaned helplessly, while pitifully attempting to hide a bag of chips
behind her back. “I’m retaining water and it’s made me puffy. Nothing fits!”
Bea wanted to make a bitchy comment about the three puffy beers and two puffy cheesteak subs that
Lou-Lou had wolfed down last night when they went out after the show, but she
held her tongue.
Grabbing a large-sized emerald green frock from the rack and
moving around to the other side to get closer to Lou-Lou, she warbled, “Why
don’t you try this one on, dear?”
The dress served as a shield when she stabbed Lou-Lou. She
didn’t want any more blood to spatter her turquoise gown the way it had when
she had cut Kittee’s throat…although she realized that the audience might
simply see the red spots as a wonderfully chic way of balancing out the
glorious red color of her hair.
That night Bea gave the most splendid performance she’d ever
given! The audience went wild! They loved her! They couldn’t get enough of her! It was
the best night of her life. Bodacious Bea was truly the queen of queens!
A year later, sitting with her legs crossed on a chair in her
prison cell, impatiently thumbing through a magazine, she came across the
article describing the behavior of honeybee queens. Bea reflected sadly upon
this. Why did the rules for one species have to be so different for another?
She sighed, and wished she could freshen her lipstick. They would not let her
wear her makeup in prison.
It wasn’t so bad, though. She still quite popular. She looked
good in orange. And she was the only queen on her cell block.
Thanks Mary Elizabeth. It was belightful.
ReplyDeleteRainey....loved this! Thamk you!
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