Queer and Loathing on the Yellow Brick Road

Chapter One

Dorothy: The Meeting

I don’t know much, but I know this: magic is all around us, every day. It’s in the air we breath, the water we drink. Sometimes it’s wonderful, and sometimes it’s absolutely horrid. Magical things are happening to all of us, all the time, without rhyme or reason, without a care in the world about who deserves it or who doesn’t.

Magical things have happened to me. My name is Dorothy, and this is my story.

I met Frannie in the spring of 1890, the night I got thrown into the hoosegow for getting overly friendly with a couple of guys at the local saloon. I stomped into the cell and threw myself dramatically on the bunk, except it wasn’t the bunk I landed on—it was another woman. I hadn’t seen her there in the dim light leaking in from the booking room.

She made an ‘oofing’ noise and I jumped off the bed faster than I had jumped on, and the guard laughed. A small horde of adolescent jitterbugs that were prancing around on the ceiling giggled shrilly, but my mundane companions didn’t notice.

Well, excuse me, the woman said with a sniff, sitting up and putting a hand to a hairdo that had seen better days.

Sorry, sister, I replied, scooting over to the wall, where I slid down into a sitting position.

The jitterbugs went back to their endless, intricate mating dance, having approximately the same attention span as the gnats they so closely resembled.

The tiny flashing disco light was annoying, but I did my best to ignore it. I’d learned early that people who see things no one else does get a one-way ticket to the nearest loony bin. Even jail was better than that, which reminded me of exactly where I was. Jail. Fuck!

I thunked the back of my head against the concrete. It hurt like hell, so I did it a couple more times. Stupid, stupid, stupid getting caught like that! A few more dollars and I would have been on my way back to Kansas, chasing cyclones till I could find one that would take me back to Oz.

Hey, honey, it can’t be that bad, said the woman, eying me with alarm.

I stopped banging my head and sighed. I was this close to going home, and I got picked up by some needle-dick copper for soliciting. Now I’m stuck here until I can see the judge, pay a fine, maybe a bribe, and then earn the money I’d saved all over again. And I’m on a deadline. I need to get back to Kansas before cyclone season hits.

She laughed. If you can make enough money out of these hayseeds to bribe a judge, you’re even better than you look. Most of these hicks would rather boink a sheep than pay money for a tumble with an actual woman.

I sighed again. Completely true. I should have known two guys with cash money in a frontier town like Aberdeen, South Dakota were too much of a good thing.

Look, I said, I didn’t mean to sit on you. I really didn’t know you were there. I’m Dorothy. I just blew into town a couple of weeks ago. Who are you?

She shook her head sadly. I’m Frannie, from right here. For the last few years, at least. I hale from back east, originally.

God, you actually live in this podunk town? You poor thing.

We sat in companionable silence. Eventually, my thoughts brought me back around to what I’d been doing that landed me in jail, and from that to what my cellie had been doing that landed her in jail.

So, what exactly got you thrown in here?

Her face grew sulky. I committed a lewd act in public.

Wow. What constitutes a lewd act around here?

She shrugged and looked annoyed. Looking cross-eyed on a Tuesday, if the constable is in a bad mood. It wasn’t really even in public. We were in a perfectly respectable alley. It just happened that the alley was behind the police chief’s house, and his wife picked that very moment to look out the bedroom window.

Gee, that sucks.

Yes, and so did I. That’s why I got arrested.

I laughed out loud. Frannie started laughing too. Just like that, I knew we were going to be good friends.

When we stopped laughing, Frannie stretched on the narrow cot and stood up. I’ve got an extra blanket, she said. It gets quite cold in here at night. You want it?

Sure, I said, and she walked over to drape it around my shoulders.

When she stood up, the jitterbugs’ disco ball illuminated her face and figure. She had a square, short jaw, and lush, full lips. Her nose was a little large for her small face, but it lent humor to an otherwise serious visage and her eyes were beautiful and large, thickly lashed. In the dim light she was altogether pretty, and she had a grace of movement that gave her lithe frame an inviting wiggle when she moved, top-heavy the way men liked. The farmers probably ate her up. She looked closer to thirty than twenty, but I prefer older women, myself. She wore boots she must have sent all the way to New York for, and had the goodies wrapped up in a scarlet silk dress that suggested all kinds of mischief.

If I wasn’t heartbroken over Glinda, that wicked bitch, I might have eaten her right up myself.

I must have been staring, because she blushed, and reached up a hand to check her hair again. Her hands were large but well-shaped, with long, sensitive fingers. When she tucked the blanket around me, I smiled up at her, and noticed an unfortunate Adam’s apple, nearly as large as a ma--

Was that a wisp of mustache on her upper lip?

Are you ... ah, you wouldn’t happen to be ... I know this sounds crazy, but are you a man? I blurted out, watching as her painted cheek turned even rosier than it already was.

Frannie raised one of those large hands to tidy hair I realized now was a wig, askew on her head. I reached up and gave it a tug to set it straight.

She slid down to the floor and leaned against the wall a scant distance from me.

You’ve found me out. Our guard doesn’t know that I sat next to him on a pew just last Sunday in a suit coat and tie. Are you going to tell him?

Your secret is safe with me. It’s no skin off my nose.

Frannie blinked. Really? That’s a refreshing attitude. You didn’t grow up around here, did you?

Well, I’m from Kansas, originally, but ....

I’ve been to Kansas. I didn’t realize they grew ‘em so liberal there.

Oh, Kansas isn’t really my home.

Then why do you want to get back there?

It’s a long story.

She laughed. Sister, time is one thing we both have plenty of, given the present circumstances.

I had to agree.

I didn’t suppose for a second that she would believe a word I said, but I didn’t think she’d call the local loony bin about me, either.

I nestled in more comfortably to begin my tale.

It all started in New Orleans . . .

Chapter Two

Dorothy’s Story: the Louisiana years

My mother was a small-town girl. She ran off from her parents’ Kansas farm with my father, a gambler passing through on his way from California, and she never looked back. I had to get out of there before I turned as gray as everything else in Kansas, Dorothy, she used to say. You wouldn’t want to have some old, gray nanny goat for a mother, would you? Then she’d laugh and sing a song, or recite some silly poem and twine ribbons in my hair, and we’d be off for another adventure. She never showed an ounce of regret for what she’d left behind.

My memories are of a pretty, laughing woman who never said ‘no’ to a good time. I think she was determined, in the second half of her life, to make up for everything she’d missed out on in the first half. My father was a rambler by nature, and while he did his best by my mother and I, he had itching feet and a suitcase that he never fully unpacked. Eventually, we heard that he met his death at the wrong end of a vengeful mark’s pistol, and my mother wept at his loss. But her grief didn’t stop her perpetual party for long, and her tears soon dried up.

If she continued to grieve for my father in the years that followed, she kept up a good front, because I never knew her as anything but happy, with a song and a smile for every situation. As a matter of fact, after my father died, that’s how she supported us, playing piano or guitar, singing and dancing in the clubs and saloons attached to Walnut Hall, one of New Orleans’ most opulent bordellos. I was usually with her, tucked quietly away in a corner watching my beautiful mother charm the crowds that came to drink and have a good time.

As she got older, my mom developed a fondness for patent pills and liquor that hastened her death, I’m sure. Mercifully, she had a quick end, and by the time the doctor we’d called for arrived, she’d already passed on. The elderly medic just shook his head. That’s what comes from too much pills and liquor, he observed, and I knew he was right, but still, she was the happiest corpse I’d ever seen.

When my mother died, Lilly Spanks, the madam at Walnut Hall, offered me a job singing in the saloon that was attached to the bordello, just like my mother had done, and I was seriously considering taking her up on her offer. There were worse ways to make a living, and I liked the Walnut Hall, with its swank furnishings, lively girls, closets full of pretty clothes, and rowdy clientele. Lilly herself was a goddess in perpetual white, with a pile of carefully coiffed auburn hair nearly a foot high on her head, and bracelets jingling all the way up her chubby forearms.

Have you ever been to a New Orleans funeral? There’s dancing, singing, loud music and a procession from the funeral home to the grave site that’s more like a parade than a death march. New Orleans funerals are so much fun you almost forget that someone died. Lilly paid for the whole thing, and there was a huge feast planned back at the bordello after the graveside ceremony concluded.

When the funeral was over, the rest of the girls were departing on a wave of expensive perfume, and Lilly was paying off the musicians, when I was approached by a rail-thin stranger in a dusty, ancient suit. As soon as I saw him, I got an uneasy feeling.

Dorothy? Dorothy Gale? said the man, and I got the impression he half-hoped I would deny it.

Instead, I gave him a curtsey and nodded. I am. And who are you? I thought I knew all of my mother’s friends, but you are unfamiliar to me, sir.

He sighed. I’m not surprised. I’m your Uncle Henry, Dorothy—your mother Mary’s older brother. I’ve come to take you back to Kansas with me.

I nearly laughed in his face. There’s some mistake. I have never asked to be taken to Kansas. I have a job here, and am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Thank you very much for your kind offer . . . Uncle, but I am not in need of your protection or your home.

He frowned at me in the absent way people do when confronted by someone speaking a tongue entirely foreign to them.

Dorothy, don’t be silly. Of course you’re going to come home with me. You’re a child, and an orphan. I’ve already gotten a paper from the court that says you belong with us now. You need to be taken care of. I’m the only kin you have left. Auntie Em has already had a bed put into the house just for you. And a little dresser for your clothes.

I tapped a foot. What was this hick’s problem? Didn’t he hear what I was saying? I had no intention of going back to Kansas with him, and if he thought some stupid paper from a judge was going to change that, he was crazy.

There was a noise behind me, and I heard Lilly’s voice. Is there a problem here, sir?

Uncle Henry slowly peeled his frowning gray glance away from me to look at Lilly.

The girl’s my niece, and I’m taking her back to Kansas to live on the farm with me and my wife. I’ve got the court paper that says so.

Lilly glanced at me, then back at Uncle Henry. We were just getting ready to go back and have supper together, Mr...

Gale, said Uncle Henry.

Mr. Gale. Why don’t you join us? It will take a little while to get Dorothy’s things together anyways, and you might as well do it sitting down with a plate of good New Orleans food in your hand as standing up in the sun and heat. She gave him a pretty smile.

Well, I don’t know... was Dorothy staying with you?

She was, said Lilly, linking her arm through Uncle Henry’s and leading him toward the cemetery gates. Dorothy and Maria both.

Maria? You mean Mary—my sister Mary, said Uncle Henry.

Lilly nodded. She liked to be called Maria, after she arrived in New Orleans. She thought it sounded more exotic. I was her best friend here, and when she took ill, Dorothy and I nursed her together. Please come back with us? We’ll have a nice meal, and you can relax and wash some of that travel dust out of your throat, and Dorothy can get her things together. As they walked, Lilly looked over her shoulder and gave me a wink. We’ll get it all sorted out back at my place.

Which is how Henry Gale, the original gray man, ended up at Walnut Hall, the finest little whorehouse in New Orleans.

From the outside, in the drenching heat of a New Orleans summer day, Walnut Hall looks quite impressive, with lush lawns and sprawling trees to shade the three-story brick mansion with its snowy trim work and wrought-iron fixtures. It’s in the middle of the notorious red-light district, but in the afternoon, even the streetwalkers are fagged by the mid-day heat and tucked away somewhere waiting for it to cool off enough to ply their trade.

In the front parlor, even, the facade of respectability is carefully maintained, with ornate furniture and heavy drapes to keep the sun at bay. There is elegant flocked wallpaper and velvet-covered furniture that sits on thick ornamental rugs. Which is exactly where Lilly installed Uncle Henry when we arrived. Catalina pulled off his jacket while Lilly fussed around and sent Paula for a nice cool drink of lemonade, and some of that cherry cordial we put by, if you please. Oh, and chip off lots of ice for Mr. Gale’s lemonade!

Once Uncle Henry was seated, Lilly insisted on making a plate for him herself, piling it high with fried chicken and sliced ham, cold salads and thick slices of bread with butter, all fresh made by the cook that morning. I noticed she skipped the jambalaya and file gumbo and all the other spicy New Orleans specialties. As she passed me with his heaping plate, she muttered to me out of the corner of her mouth, Keep an eye out for that court paper, kid. Check that jacket we just shucked him out of.

I went to do her bidding as she took a seat next to Uncle Henry and began chattering brightly while he sipped lemonade and balanced his plate on his knee.

Dinah must have been in on the plan, because she kept that cordial glass topped up, and while I didn’t find the documents giving custody of me to the Gales in Uncle Henry’s jacket pocket, I had faith that with enough cordial and sweet-talk, the girls at Walnut Hall could talk him out of whatever other clothes we needed to go through as well.

I drifted closer to hear what Lilly and my uncle were talking about.

You sure have a lot of young ladies here, Miz Lilly. They can’t all be your daughters. You run a school here or something?

Amazingly, Lilly kept a straight face. Oh, yes, Mr. Gale. A school for young ladies. We would so like to persuade you to let Dorothy stay here with us, in this familiar setting in her time of grief and loss. Moving her now would be so... difficult for her, don’t you think, away from everything she knows and cares about?

It might have been the effects of the cordial, but Uncle Henry actually looked as if he were considering it.

Just then Felicity came running in, stopping when she got to Lilly. Miz Lilly, there’s a . . . handyman . . . at the door—what did you want us to do about that?

Lilly frowned at Felicity, then glanced meaningfully at Uncle Henry. Please tell him we’ve company in today, and we’ll have to ask him to come back tomorrow.

Uncle Henry shook his head. Don’t stop the work on my account, Miz Lilly. You go right on about your business. I insist.

Felicity gave Lilly a pleading look. He’s my best . . . handyman. I hate to turn him away once he’s got here. And Mr. Gale wants us to go on about our business, the sweetie-pie. Please, Miz Lilly?

Lilly frowned some more, but with Uncle Henry’s eyes on her, she finally gave a reluctant nod. Alright. Take the . . . handyman around the back, Felicity, and explain to him he’ll need to keep the noise down—we’re in mourning.

What kind of work you having done here, Miz Lilly? asked my uncle in an interested tone.

Just a little . . . woodwork. You know these old southern mansions. Always something to do.

Felicity snickered, and Lilly shooed her out of the room.

I’d be glad to take a look at it for you, if you like, said Uncle Henry. No offense, but those handymen will take advantage of a lady without blinkin’ an eye, if they think they can get away with it. He made a move to shift his plate over the little pie crust table next to his chair, and stood up.

Oh, oh, no, Mr. Gale, said Lilly, pushing him back down into the chair. Uncle Henry looked at her with surprise. Lilly’s small, but she’s strong. I mean, that is . . . you’re our guest, and you just lost your sister. I wouldn’t dream of having you do any such thing as work here today.

And the handyman is very handy, purred Dinah.

Uncle Henry gave her an odd look, at the same time as I saw a scantily clad Felicity bounding down the hallway, closely pursued by her ‘handyman’—a middle-aged banker who was a regular customer, and who was clutching most of Felicity’s cast-off clothing in his hands.

I moved quickly to shut the door to the hallway, and Lilly topped off Uncle Henry’s cordial. Oh, my, it’s awful warm in here, still, isn’t it now? Mr. Gale, why don’t you take off that vest and loosen up your tie? We’re not on ceremony here—Dorothy is just like one of my own girls, and that makes us practically relatives, don’t you think?

Uncle Henry obligingly shrugged off his gray vest, and Lilly said, Dorothy, why don’t you just go hang that up with your uncle’s jacket, now, like a good girl? I moved to do as she bid, and quickly went through the pockets on my way, as Lilly continued. Now, Mr. Gale, what a fine shirt that is! I would just love to get one made like that for one of my nephews. Does that have pockets in it?

Half an hour later, Uncle Henry was slumped back in his chair, a pile of chicken bones on the plate at his side and most of a bottle of cherry cordial inside him. We still hadn’t found the damn court papers, but it looked as if he might start nodding off any second, and there wasn’t a girl in the joint who couldn’t roll a sleeping mark in one note.

Without warning, a heavy pounding started overhead.

Huh? What’s that? snorted Uncle Henry, sitting up straighter.

It’s . . . ah . . . it’s that darn handyman, Uncle. I’ll go tell him to quiet down, I said, knowing it was Felicity and her banker.

There’s no cause for him to be bangin’ around like that, said Uncle Henry indignantly. He’ll bring this whole place down around your head, Miz Lilly! I’m gonna go give him a talking to!

No! we both yelled in unison, sparking a look of alarm on poor old Uncle Henry’s face.

I mean, no, Mr. Gale. You will not go supervise that careless handyman. You sit right here with your niece. Dinah, you go tell them to cut the noise, right now! said Lilly.

From upstairs, I could hear Felicity start to moan with great enthusiasm.

What the bejezus is that? said my uncle, looking at the ceiling as if he could stare through it.

Why . . . it’s pipes, Uncle Henry, I said earnestly. You know how these old houses are. Plumbing’s awful.

Wouldn’t know about that, Dorothy, as we don’t have indoor plumbin’ back on the farm.

Lilly and I exchanged horrified looks, and