Drag Queen in the Court of Death (12 page)

I woke up with a hangover at three thirteen. Ryan was fast asleep, snoring gently, his face buried in the crook of his arm, one leg outside the sheet. I got up cautiously and crept downstairs. I took some Tylenol and got a drink of ginger ale from the fridge. I was wide awake now. I could smell Ryan on my skin, on my hands. I got Ronnie's shoe box of letters off the shelf and sat down in the solarium to sort through them. This was a task I had been putting off, but thanks to Ryan, I was ready to think about Ronnie again, and more clearly than I had been doing lately.

There were six letters to his parents in the box. None was addressed to Albany. All had been sent back, unopened, with
return to sender
scrawled on them in the same tight, slanted handwriting. If his parents hadn't been paying his bills at school as he had told me, who had? Uncle Bunny? Or was there a glimmer of truth in Al's malicious allegation? I'd never heard of the place in the address, but it was in New York State. Why had he lied? The other packet of letters was from his sister, from a different address in the same town. I wondered if she was still there. Julie would know how to find out. So would my librarian friend on the Gay Blade. I went to my computer and logged on to the BBS. There were quite a few people online, even at this hour. No matter when I logged on, there was always someone there, reading files, chatting, sending e-mail. I sent a long detailed message to WondRBoy, asking him to find the Lipinskys for me, asking him to keep this private, and logged off. I knew there would be an answer for me by noon. He was always fast and very reliable. Debra Lipinsky could be married and divorced several times over by now, which was why I suggested he look for the parents. They were more liable to stay put.

I pulled out the letterhead I had done up for
correspondence about Ronnie's estate and wrote them a letter, stating that their son had died and I needed to discuss some things with them. I had been a friend of Ronnie's. I would like to come down there, if I could. It struck me as an odd sort of letter, but I didn't care. The pile of money in my safety deposit box was haunting me. I wanted it to go where it should go, but how? I needed family help to track down Uncle Bunny. As soon as I got the address, I would send it.

I pulled on some shorts and a sweatshirt and ambled down the street. I was more relaxed than I had been for some time. Sex does that, I reminded myself, with a smile. What to do with Ryan now, I wouldn't think about. Just let things take their course, for once. At the corner I paused and looked up at the dark windows of Logan's place. On Friday I would bring him home. I was glad to be able to do something concrete for him at last.

My headache was gone by the time I got home. I went upstairs, stripped off my clothes, and climbed into bed beside Ryan, fitting my body to his. In minutes, I was fast asleep.

* * * *
"Now I see why you're acting so chipper," Logan said, as he settled into his adjustable hospital bed by the window of his front room. "How come you forgot to tell me about him?"

Ryan had helped get Logan upstairs. He had carried up the bags and wheelchair and other such things, then waved and jogged off to the corner store for cigarettes.

"You're blushing." Logan was enjoying himself. "That good, is he?" he cackled merrily at my embarrassment. "It's good to have a fling now and then. Relax."

"If I was any more relaxed, I wouldn't move for an entire day," I said, laughing.
"How's the great Ronnie caper coming along?"
I told him about Ronnie's parents' returned mail, about my online friend who had found they still lived at the same address, and the letter to the Lipinskys that I had sent off by courier.
"Uncle Bunny doesn't have to be a relative," he pointed out.
"I thought of that. In my day, we weren't allowed to call adults by their first name. I had a lot of honorary aunts and uncles. Ronnie could too. He was only a few years younger than me, after all."
"My point, exactly."
"But real or honorary, his family would know this Bunny person."
"Great name. Could be a musician." Logan lay back on his pillows. He had had some color, but was now looking a bit drained.
"Look, I'd better let you rest. If you need anything, just call. Ellen got a long cord for your phone so it'll stretch to the table. She'll be by later, and your nurse is coming tomorrow morning."
"For fuck's sake, stop fussing, Michael! I'll be fine. It'll be great to be on my own for a while."
"Right." I paused, wanting to touch him but afraid to trespass. "See you later."
Ryan was taking the rest of the day off. I had a meeting with the real estate agent. Ever since my name appeared in the papers as Ronnie's executor, I had been plagued by calls from real estate people begging to list the house. Some had sent flyers and notices by mail, or just thrust something through the mail slot. I hadn't responded to any of them. When the time came, I called Mary Fratacelli, the agent I'd bought my house from, and set up a meeting. I told her I appreciated the fact that she hadn't called to badger me, although I suppose that showed a lack of selling push on her part.
I met Mary outside Ronnie's house at eleven thirty. She was a small nervous woman, with many rings on her hands, several heavy bracelets, and chains around her neck. Her suit was a bright fuchsia number with big shoulder pads, and her brassy red hair frizzed around her face. She looked anxious before she saw me. It occurred to me this might be the biggest sale of her career. The place would go for a lot of money.
"Thanks for calling me about this." she said, bearing down on me with outstretched arms. She was one of those women who seemed to think they had a license to kiss gay men. I got out the key.
"I like dealing with people I know," I said, "and you did a good job for me with my place."
"Thanks, I try. This is a great location. Should go in a flash. Is it in good shape inside? Outside looks pretty good, though the porch could do with a coat of paint. The grounds are well maintained."
"Ronnie had a yard guy who came around on a regular basis to look after the lawn and the flowers." I opened the door and stood back, waiting for her to go in.
She looked around the small foyer. "It could do with a coat of paint in here too," she said.
"I'll see to it. The first two floors are rented. A longtime tenant on the first floor and a couple who teach at University of Toronto Schools on the second. They both said it was okay to go in."
She poked in every corner and cranny, insisted on going down to the basement and poking around the laundry room, and finally followed me to Ronnie's apartment. She looked around without saying anything.
"Maybe I should have this place painted too," I suggested. "Would that make it seem more ... marketable?"
She nodded. "This is too weird."
"And the furniture should be out soon. I have a guy coming over to assess a few of the good pieces."
"You know what? Let's just leave it all here. Having the place furnished makes it show better."
"Fine. I can do all that after it's sold. I'll tell him it stays here for a while."
"That would be good." She was making notes in a leatherbound notebook, pausing to tap her teeth with the thin gold pen as she thought. She turned and named a figure even higher than I had thought of. "Asking price," she said. "We may have to come down a tich, but not much."
"In spite of the corpse in the attic?"
"In this area, a whole family of corpses wouldn't make any difference. Trust me. There's a big demand and hardly any supply. We can name our own ticket."
"You're very optimistic."
"Just a realist." She dropped her notebook into her briefcase and pulled out some papers. "We can get this started right now," she said, sitting down at Ronnie's rolltop desk and spreading out the papers.
"I'll run all this by my lawyer and pop the papers into the mail to you," I said.
She nodded, gathered them up and shoved them into an envelope. "Here you go. Let's get this baby on the market ASAP, shall we?"
"Will do." I thought of her commission, a hefty sum she was obviously itching to get her hands on. I thought of all that money going to the hospices named by Ronnie in his will. "ASAP," I said.
I turned down her offer of a lift and walked home. It was less humid today, and the exercise would do me good. I had been lazy lately, skipping my usual thrice-weekly swim at the Hart House pool and driving everywhere. As I walked, I vowed to get out the old bicycle in my garage and use it. Last year I had walked to classes and back, even when the weather turned cold.
You're getting soft and self-indulgent
, I chided myself.
Time to shape up.
I heard my father's voice:
Shape up and fly right. Yes, sir!
The phone was ringing when I walked in the door, with the peculiar urgency of a call you are just about to miss. I grabbed the phone and flung myself into a chair, panting slightly.
"Hello."
"Hello? My name is Debra Shopiro. I'm Ronnie Lipinsky's sister."
I took a deep breath. I remembered the snapshot on Ronnie's wall—a pretty, round-cheeked girl with warm, dark eyes and lustrous hair. "Thank you for calling. I'm Michael Dunn-Barton."
"Yes. You know, my parents are both sick, and I was here when your letter arrived. When I saw the Toronto return address, I opened it. I don't know how much you know about us?"
"Not much," I admitted. "Ronnie always told me his fees were paid by his parents, so it wasn't until now that I find out they weren't communicating."
"Fees? Didn't he go to a public school? That's what he told me."
"No. It was a nontraditional school, but it was private. I taught there."
"I know. He told me about you."
There was a pause. What had Ronnie said about me? What version of our life did he write about?
"Look, I think it would be good if we could meet and talk, like you said. I'd like my parents to get this last chance to forgive and forget. They shouldn't take such bitterness to the grave."
"I'm sorry your parents are ill."
"They're old and they never looked after themselves," she said irritably. "Mom's had a hip replacement and Dad's had a stroke. I'm trying to get them into a nursing home together, but it ain't easy and the bills are something else." There was a pause. "How did Ronnie die?"
This must be a really small town. Or else she had been on a news fast.
"Complications from AIDS."
She sighed. "Oh God."
"We can call it cancer," I said quickly, thinking of those old people, hanging on, needing to forgive.
"Thanks. When can you come? The sooner the better, I'd say. I have to go back to work soon."
"I can drive down on Tuesday," I said, remembering the Monday night rehearsal.
"Good." She gave me careful instructions how to get to her parents place, where she was staying, and hung up.
I sat staring at the wall. Suddenly I laughed. I
remembered Ronnie saying,
"Deb's all right. She taught me all about peroxide for lightening my hair."
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I spent the rest of the weekend getting as much work done in the garden as possible before the pool liner arrived. Then I took Ryan over to Ronnie's place where he would be working while I was away. He thought it would be a breeze, compared to the hard labor he had been putting in in the garden. Then we went to the paint store and chose the paint for the foyer and stairwell.

"You sure you know how to do this?" I said to Ryan, eyeing him warily.
"Sure, sure," he said airily. "What's to know?"
My heart sank. "You have to be careful," I said. "You have to make sure everything is covered by the drop cloth. And you have to use the masking tape."
He looked at me and clicked his lighter. Off and on. Off and on. I was losing him. I took a roll of masking tape and began to show him how to put it along the baseboard.
"Wouldn't it be easier to paint the baseboard?" he asked.
"It's hardwood," I said. "It's a selling point."
"No kiddin'!"
The idea that it was worth money seemed to register with him. I felt a little better. When I left, he was halfway up the stairs with the tape, Walkman firmly in place.
My turn at the piano at the Wilde Nights rehearsal came around on Monday night. When I arrived at the 519, Glori Daze bore down on me like the
Queen Mary
steaming into port. She was wearing a sequined top with a tight-fitting black velvet skirt that went almost to the floor and pink platform shoes with ankle straps. The skirt was slit up the front almost to her crotch. She enfolded me to her cushiony bosom with enthusiasm, her perfume wafting over me in suffocating waves.
"Michael, baby, it's so good to see you," she cried, as if she hadn't seen me for years.
I untangled myself from her embrace. "Likewise," I said.
She laughed. "Always cut to the chase," she said. "Thanks for helping with the costumes. By the way, I better warn you. That Bianca broad is looking for you. She's been in here twice since the last rehearsal you were at, looking for, quote, 'that doll who plays the piano', unquote. Watch it, Michael. Don't let her get her hooks in you. She's several slices short of a loaf, you know. Been in and out of the Clark several times, not to mention drug rehab. Nutty as a fruitcake." She adjusted her tits absentmindedly. "I hear you took her to lunch at Papa Peaches."
"I feel sorry for her," I said.
Glori shook her great blonde head sadly. "Poor you, having to listen to all her nonsense. Did she say anything really off the wall?"
"Several times."
She laughed shrilly. "What a nightmare. It's a good thing no one pays any attention to anything she says these days. Later." She blew me a kiss and swayed off to talk to Stan, who had just came in.
I wondered why she was so down on Bianca. The poor thing seemed pretty harmless to me. I remembered she hadn't had much good to say about Glori, either. Was it just jealousy? But what had Glori got to be jealous about? She was the one with the career, strutting her stuff on stage across America, and Canada too, I suppose. I sat down at the piano and pulled my music out of my briefcase.
Ellis came slinking over and slid onto the bench beside me. "Did you hear I've got a duet now? It's with Dawn Valley Parkway. You know her? The reigning empress?"
I shook my head. "Sorry."
Ellis made a noise of disgust. "I wanted to do one with Glori, but she didn't want to share the spotlight. Guess she doesn't want me to show her up for the has-been she is."
"Ellis," I said, "that's cruel."
"Oh, I'm so not like that, Michael. Anyway, it's a big step up for me."
"Congratulations. I'm sure you'll be a hit."
"I'll bring the house down," exclaimed Ellis, never one to hide his light under a bushel. "So anything new on the skeleton in the trunk? Nothing in the papers anymore."
"No," I said.
"Bummer." He ran one hand through his spiky blond hair. He was wearing lipstick and eye makeup and high heels, but otherwise was dressed in jeans and a tight bright orange Tshirt. The effect was unsettling. So was the feeling I got that he wanted to talk about something else. I noticed Jaym watching me intently from the stage, where he was snapping pictures with that expensive camera he often had around his neck. When our eyes met, he blushed and looked away. My mind flashed to Ryan pushing me aside, shoving the photographer out my front door.
"Ellis, does Jaym work for the
Rainbow Rag
?"
"Jaym?"
"As a photographer?"
"He says that's just a hobby, but I don't know. He never talks about his job. One time someone asked, and he changed the subject, like he was embarrassed about it. Who knew?"
I kept waiting for Ellis to slide away, but he just sat there, making the air around us hum with energy. I looked round uneasily, hoping we would begin soon. Most of the principals were here, and we usually started with them first. The chorus was still straggling in, their chatter punctuated by frequent shrieks and loud laughter.
I glanced at my watch, shifted on the bench. Ellis edged closer. Was he making a pass at me?
"Ellis, I'm forty-seven years old. I'm—"
"No shit! You don't look it!" His startled face gave me a lift.
"Probably because I inherited the good-hair gene from my mother's side of the family. What's all this about?"
Ellis looked away. "I gotta talk to you about something. Can I buy you a coffee afterwards?"
"I can't stay long."
"We can just sit in the park, okay? It won't take long. Just ten minutes. Please?"
I nodded just as Stan clapped his hands to get everyone's attention and the chattering died away.
Outside the windows of the auditorium, day faded into darkness as the rehearsal lurched along to the end. I was nervous about Ellis. What could he possibly want to talk to me about? It was almost a relief when the rehearsal was over, and he slipped in beside me going down the staircase to the front door of the 519 Community Centre.
"You go on and find a table, and I'll bring the coffee," he said, heading for the snack room.
I wandered outside. Cawthra Park looked its best in the dusk, the lights glowing softly, hiding the worn-out grass and patches of dried mud, the overflowing garbage and the cigarette butts ground out along the winding paths. Couples lay on the grass or sat talking softly at the square tables scattered about. Two woman sat on a bench, pushing a baby back and forth in a stroller. Their laughter made me smile. Cigarette smoke wound lazily from two men, their bodies close together as they strolled toward the AIDS memorial.
I walked around to the north side of the park and sat down at a table near the street. Ellis joined me a few moments later, juggling coffee, creamers, and Saran-Wrapped squares made of healthy-looking seeds.
"I forgot to ask how you take it," he said, sitting down opposite me.
"Black," I said, peeling off the cardboard top. The coffee smelled strong and dark. I hoped there was enough caffeine to pull me out of the gloom that was settling over me like the deepening night around us. "So what's this all about?"
"Well, I've been thinking about campaigning for Empress of Toronto," he said. "What do you think? Will I get any support?"
"I haven't the faintest idea, Ellis," I said, "but from what I hear, you've got quite a following."
"Yeah, that's true."
"The time you saw me at Woody's a while ago was the first time I've been in a gay bar for years, so I'm the last person to ask. I have no idea how this Toronto Court thing works. Anyway, didn't you say that Dawn Valley Parkway person is the empress now?"
"I'm talking about next year," he said.
I sipped my coffee, watching Ellis fiddle with the creamers, stacking them into a tower, lining them up so the tops all pointed in the same direction. I'd never seen him so nervous.
"Ronnie said he'd back my campaign," Ellis said.
Money.
It was about money. I took a deep breath, curiously relieved.
"Ronnie did back you, with those gowns, remember? That's worth a grand, maybe two."
"It takes more than that. Ronnie knew. He was empress for years."
"He paid his own way," I said.
"He had a high-paying job," Ellis shot back.
"What kind of job do you have?"
"Retail," he said sulkily. "It's the pits."
"Look, I don't know what you expect me to do about this," I said, losing patience. "I'm sorry if Ronnie led you to believe there'd be some money for your empress campaign, but there isn't anything written down. I can't do a thing."
Ellis sighed and slumped over the table. "I guess," he said.
"Can't you find someone else? What about Glori?"
Ellis looked at me as if I'd just lost my mind. "She wouldn't agree to doing a duet with me, you think she'd back me for empress? She's a bitch anyway. I hear—" He paused, stirring his coffee.
In spite of myself, I leaned closer. "Don't stop now."
"Well, Dawn says—"
"The empress."
"Yeah, yeah. Dawn says Glori has been supplying that old wreck Bianca with drugs. Is that uncool or what?"
"Maybe she feels sorry for her?"
"Oh, I'm so totally sure of that!"
I laughed and stretched my arms above me head. "Well, Ellis, I can't help you, and I guess Glori won't. So that leaves a fund-raiser."
"Cool!" said Ellis. "Thanks, Michael! You wanna help?"
"No," I said. "I'll make a donation, but that's it, okay?" I stood up and gathered up my coffee cup, creamers, and paper serviettes. "Good luck."
I walked out of the park, strolled south on Church Street to where I had left my car. Glori and Bianca. Was there any truth to a rumor spread by one drag queen about a rival?
"Me and Luna, we go way back..."
I shivered and picked up the pace. I seemed to have inherited a lot of unexpected problems from Ronnie. But Ellis and Bianca were minor irritants compared to Rey Montana, who had inhabited Ronnie's trunk for twenty-five years. I was still no closer to finding out who he was and what the connection could be between them. If there was one.
I got into my car, found a Vivaldi CD, and turned the volume up, trying to drown out my thoughts as I drove home.
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