Devil in Disguise (20 page)

The
follow-spot did a figure-of-eight across the stage as the curtains parted and
‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina’ thundered through the speakers. Genita L’Warts
stood in a cloud of dry ice centre stage, dressed in an ice-white hologram
sequined evening gown with a matching satin matinée jacket and a skullcap
turban, parodying the balcony scene from
Evita.

Molly
gasped, unable to take her eyes off the incredible apparition in front of her.
Somewhere under the gown and the makeup was the Simon she knew and loved, but
he was only just discernible. It was like looking at a photograph of a loved
one after a child had scribbled over it with coloured crayons.

‘Christ!’
breathed Daniel, frankly stunned.

‘Gen-ita!
Gen-ita!’ screamed the crowd, while Genita soaked up their adoration, her huge
painted eyelids glittering as she observed them with a sardonic, superior gaze.
Her glistening lips pouted and sneered alternately. Eventually she raised her
hands to calm them. She was serene and in control. The throng quietened, and
she rasped out the opening lines to ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina’.

My
goodness, thought Molly, Simon’s actually singing!

But
Genita stopped after the first half-dozen lines, and enthusiastic applause
broke out. She silenced it with another wave of her gloved hand. Then she
addressed the audience.

‘Good
evening, to all my gay and lesbian people, arse bandits and cock dodgers alike.
I am among you, your very own Genita L’Warts, patron saint of queers and licky
lesbians everywhere. From somewhere in the crowd came a drunken bellow. Genita
turned and stared at the offender. ‘Shut the fuck up or I’ll come down there
and risk getting rabies. I have lowered myself to appear before you tonight for
one reason only — cold, hard cash and free fucking booze! Why else would I
bother, I ask you?’

Every
time Genita insulted her audience, they roared with laughter, which in turn
appeared to infuriate her all the more.

‘Will
you shut up?’ More noise. ‘Right, that’s it. You’re all an absolute disgrace.
Unless I get complete silence right this second I’m walking off stage never to
return. Security! Security! I am a sophisticated artist, not one of the tired
old addled drag queens you’re all used to puking up in front of! Silence! I
said silence!’ Genita was like a school mistress and the audience her naughty
children.

‘You
really are a disgusting bunch,’ she continued. ‘How you think you’re going to
pick anyone up dressed like that, I can’t imagine. It’s like being at a boot
sale.’ And so she went on, haranguing them with bitter insults, incensed by
their laughter.

Molly
had never seen an act like it. As Simon had said, there was no real substance
to the performance: there was a vague attempt at ‘The A to Z of Gay Etiquette’
but Genita didn’t get beyond B (A was for arse wipes and B for buggery) before
she became distracted and spent at least twenty minutes repeatedly telling the
audience to be quiet, while her insults moved from the general to the
particular, as she selected individuals to attack. Some lesbians at the front
were picked over like an old chicken carcass: their hair, clothes, lifestyle —
everything about them was ridiculed. Then a young disco dolly in a cap-sleeved
T-shirt caught her eye, and he was hauled up on stage for a dressing down that
was as cruel as it was thorough.

‘You
poor, sad, insignificant little gayboy,’ said Genita, finally pushing him off
her stage. ‘As your patron saint, my heart breaks for you. How unkind can
nature be? Pig ugly, zero dress sense, buck teeth and a skin complaint. No
wonder you’re gay. I guess your tiny brain worked out that that was the only
way you were going to get a fuck.’

Somehow
the relentlessness and vehemence were hilarious.

Molly
and Daniel were doubled up with laughter and even Jane had tears of mirth in
her eyes. When Genita finally left the stage, after her second encore, Jane
announced grandly that laughter was good for the soul and Simon a very gifted,
if unusual, healer.

Indeed,
the audience was buzzing with happiness. No one understood quite what they had
seen, but they knew they would never forget it. Some sort of comic miracle had
taken place. How could someone be so entertaining for almost an hour when the
great bulk of their ‘material’ simply consisted of telling them to shut up? A
great calm spread among them, in direct contrast to the demanding, even angry
chanting that had been going on before Genita’s performance.

‘Oh, my
God,’ said Molly, awestruck. ‘I had no idea. None!’

‘Who
would have thought he had it in him?’ Daniel said, shaking his head. ‘I’d never
have guessed.’

‘He
obviously finds his
alter ego
very
freeing,’
observed Jane.

‘It’s
that or the glitter lipstick,’ agree Molly, who was also impressed by how
beautiful Simon looked in full drag. He’d always been a handsome boy but he
made a ravishing woman.

‘I’ve
got to say it, he was brilliant!’ declared Daniel.

‘I
haven’t laughed so much for ages,’ added Jane.

‘Out of
this world,’ said Molly, feeling very proud of Simon. The creation of Genita
L’Warts, so wildly unexpected, seemed to liberate her dear friend. The
bitterness and cynicism that he had always carried around him was turned into a
positive thing, somehow, through his bizarre creation. Simon had stumbled upon
something new and fantastic purely by chance. Molly felt, as did everyone else,
that she had witnessed a performance of comic genius. ‘Let’s get another drink
and then go backstage to congratulate him. I’m rather shell-shocked.’

‘Not
for me,’ Jane said, picking up her coat. ‘I think I’ve had all I can take for
one night. Give Simon my love and admiration though. ‘Bye.’ She kissed them
both and started to push her way to the door. She turned back just long enough
to say, ‘You might find that ingrowing pubic hair is fine now, Molly,’ and then
she was gone.

Once
Daniel and Molly had fought their way to the bar and been served, they crossed
the dance-floor to the toilets where they’d been told the dressing-room door
was. A bouncer stood outside, shaking his head sternly at a gaggle of excited
queens who were trying their best to talk their way into the inner sanctum.

‘But I
love
Genita!’ one was saying. ‘I just need to tell her that.’

‘Sorry,
mate, no can do. She doesn’t want to see you, ‘explained the bouncer.

‘But I
love
her!’ the queen persisted, near to tears.

‘That
will do. Make your way back to the bar now, please,’ came the firm response.
The bouncer then placed a hand on each shoulder and spun the anaemic queen
round. ‘Off you go,’ he said, giving a push in the right direction. More
protestations followed, but no one was getting past.

‘Perhaps
we shouldn’t bother him,’ Molly said. ‘He doesn’t seem to want any visitors.’

‘We’re
not any old visitors,’ Daniel said obstinately. ‘Leave this to me.’ He
shouldered his way through to the bouncer, with Molly huddling behind him. When
they got there, he said confidently to the bouncer, straight man to straight
man, ‘We’re Molly and Daniel, mate. We’re on your list.’

The
bouncer glanced at his clipboard and knocked on the door, announcing their
names in a deep voice. A squeal of delight from within was all it took, and to
the excited murmurs of those left waiting, the door was opened and Molly and
Daniel were admitted.

The
dressing room was tiny, consisting of an old school desk with a rectangular
mirror, mottled with age, propped up on it against the wall, lit by a rusty
Anglepoise lamp. Simon was alone, slumped in front of it, a wad of cotton wool
in one hand and a tub of Cremine in the other. He had removed the makeup from
one eye but not the other. As the door closed he eyed them in the mirror. He
let them speak first.

‘Simon,
you were fabulous,’ said Molly. ‘Congratulations.’

He
smiled and stood up to hug his friend.

‘Brilliant,
mate,’ said Daniel.

‘Thank
you,’ Simon said softly, more or less ignoring him. ‘I’m feeling very weak. Do
sit down. I think there’s a bottle of wine somewhere.

‘We’re
all right, thanks,’ said Molly, raising her bottle of lager. They sat behind
him on two grey plastic chairs. There was no window and it smelt of damp and
cheap cosmetics.

‘Not
much of a dressing room,’ said Molly.

‘It’s a
fucking horsebox,’ said Simon, wiping his other eye several times in quick
succession. He then poured mineral water over a fresh piece of cotton wool and
dabbed his eyes and cheeks.

‘They
loved you out there — really!’ said Molly.

‘I know
they did,’ said Simon. He sat back in his seat, as if he was only able to relax
now that he had removed the eye-shadow and lipstick. ‘They loved Genita,
anyway. Quite a mystery, isn’t it? She’s not a very lovable character.’

‘A
woman with balls, though,’ said Daniel, with a jovial, admiring chuckle. ‘Folks
love that.’

‘Do
they?’ Simon sighed.

‘Listen,
honey,’ said Molly, moving in front of Daniel to give Simon a big, affectionate
squeeze. ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, pal. All you’ve got to do is carry
on.’

Simon
hugged her back and exhaled loudly on her fleshy shoulder. ‘But I don’t know
what I do, Molly. As soon as the turban goes on, I become this harridan of
filth. I’d never speak to that young lad like that in a million years when I’m
myself. He can’t help his buck teeth, poor soul.’

‘That’s
why they love you,’ said Molly, breaking out of the hug for a hearty laugh.
‘You’re fab, that’s all you need to know. And I love you, so there.’

The
mood was broken by the bass tones of the bouncer vibrating through the wooden
door: ‘Lucy Cavendish from the
Evening Standard,
Kate Moss and Immodesty
Blaize would like to pop in and say hello.’

‘Just a
minute,’ said Simon, trying to be cool but clearly excited at the prospect of
meeting a burlesque star and a supermodel. ‘Be right there!’ he called. ‘Tell
Kate and Immodesty they’re very welcome.’

All
three stood up, and Daniel said, ‘We’d better be going.’

‘Yes,’
agreed Molly, ‘I’ll call tomorrow, Si.’ She held his face between her hands and
pulled him towards her for an affectionate smacker on the lips. ‘Night, hon,
have a good one.’

She
took a step back and it was Daniel’s turn to say goodbye. He opted for one of
those manly semi-hugs, which turn out to be three vigorous slaps on the back
followed by a quick withdrawal. ‘Night, mate,’ was all he said.

As soon
as the dressing-room door was opened, an octopus of arms reached in and
desperate voices called out, ‘Genita!’ Daniel had to force a path through
against the tide.

Just
before the door closed behind them, Molly turned to give Simon a final wave. He
was looking at himself in the mirror, staring intently and wiping his cheek
with a tissue.

Then
Kate Moss brushed past, blocking her view.

It was five o’clock in the
morning before Simon got home. Kate and Immodesty had whisked him away to a
party in Primrose Hill, where Kate had told everyone what a huge star he was
about to become and the Cristal champagne just kept on flowing. When he finally
collapsed on his bed, drunk but excited, he knew that that night he’d crossed a
bridge to a new world. Something unexpected but rich in possibility glittered
before him. He had the chance to go into the place that so many longed for.
When people put on makeup, dressed up and went out on the stage, what did they
want? To be adored, desired, loved and fêted. That had happened to him! It
could go on happening. He could become …
famous.
Rich. His life could
be about performing. He could spend half his time as Genita, the woman never
lost for words, brilliant, caustic, extraordinary …

Was
this what he wanted? Fame and adoration had really never featured in his plans
for himself. His ambitions had always been more basic. If he was honest, they
still were. Earlier in the evening, back in the dressing room at the Black Cap,
something rather unexpected had occurred, and it was only now he was alone that
he had time to contemplate it.