The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel (13 page)

M
ary Bennett's boyfriend, Brian, was like hot fudge for the eyes. My glance slowly traveled all over him, from his black velvet eyes to his taut tan biceps.

“Earth to Jill!” Mary Bennett said, snapping me out of my Brian-induced trance.

“Was I staring?” I asked.

“Let's put it this way,” Mary Bennett said. “If lookin' was eatin', there wouldn' be nuthin' left of MY boyfriend but a greasy spot and some crumbs. Get a grip on yourself, girl—you act like you've never seen a gorgeous man before!”

“Mary Bennett, you're embarrassing me,” Brian said in a low, smooth, oboelike voice. “I'm pleased to meet you, Jill, and, for the record, I didn't feel like you were staring at me.”

“I was gawking all right,” I admitted. “Usually I'm a little bit sneakier.”

“Brian's so used to being gawked at he barely notices,” Mary Bennett said. “Ain't that right, hunny?”

“I don't notice because I'm too busy lookin' at you,” Brian said, grinning.

Mary Bennett rapidly waved a hand in front of her face as if she were hot. “You hear that? That's the kind of thing this man says to me all day long! Bless his heart, he's under some kind of delusion that he's in love with me.”

“It's a delusion I hope I never recover from,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist.

“There he goes again!” she said, shaking her head in wonderment. “What am I gonna do with this poor hapless soul?”

“A kiss would be nice,” Brian said.

“That's fine, hunny,” Mary Bennett said. “But no tongue—I promised Jill I'd go easy on the mushy stuff tonight.”

I laughed. It was obvious that Mary Bennett was ass-over-teacups in love with Brian. Despite the occasional pang of something very like jealousy, I was happy she'd finally found the right guy.

As the party wore on, the Queens went out of their way to make me feel a part of things, mainly by foisting their sweeties on me. I'd danced with Jack three times, Brian five, and Bob six. Any more dancing and my feet were going to fall off.

I'd decided to take a breather at an umbrella table near the pool when Sheila approached me.

“Oh no,” I said, taking off my shoes and rubbing my feet. “You're not going to ask me to dance too, are you?”

“Not unless you want me to,” she said with a laugh. She pointed at my shoes. “You have the right idea! My feet are killing me, too.”

“Those are cu-u-u-te shoes,” I said, admiring her glittery purple platforms. “But they don't look very comfy.”

“They're torture devices. It's amazing what we girls will do in the name of fashion.” Sheila dropped one shoe. It landed next to mine, and I blinked in shock. My size tens looked like itty-bitty elf shoes next to Sheila's.

“My feet are as big as barges,” Sheila said, obviously noting my surprise. “I have to custom order them. All my life I've wanted tiny feet. When I was twelve, I actually bound my feet like Japanese women used to do, but it didn't help.”

“I know exactly how you feel. I once bought size seven shoes and forced myself to wear them even though they pinched like hell. I kept thinking my feet would shrink to fit the shoes.”

“Big-girl woes,” Sheila said, smiling at me companionably. She tugged on her hair, which shifted unnaturally. Mary Bennett was right. Sheila was definitely wearing a wig. I wondered if, in addition to the big-foot blues, she also suffered from the heartbreak of skinny hair. If so, she was in damn good company.

Tammy approached us, gathering her hair up into a ponytail. “You think we'll swim later on? It's as hot as the hammered-down hinges out here.”

“Back to the Baptist Youth Group version of cussin', Tammy? I swear, I miss the girl who woulda said ‘It's as hot as P-FUCK out here and I am fixin' to git my cute little ass in that nice cool water!' I thought she was back today out there on that track—y'all shoulda heard her, I swear,” I said, laughing.

“I didn't bring a suit,” Sheila said.

“Hunny, you won't need one,” I said. “SOME of us may try to fool you with Pollyanna-talk, but we
all
still love to skinny-dip.”

“Oh dear,” Sheila said, covering her large chest with her hands. “I guess I'm the modest type.”

That was a bit hard to swallow since she was once again wearing a dress the size of a hanky, but I guess it's a big leap from dressing seductively to not dressing at all.

“You could always swim in your bra and panties,” I said.

“Not me.” Sheila dropped her voice to a whisper. “I never wear panties to a party. Panty lines, you know.”

“Never?” Tammy said, wide-eyed.

Sheila nodded.

“No panties to a party,” I mused to myself. “What an intriguing notion.”

“You Can't Hurry Love” blared from the speakers and all three of us said in unison, “THE SUPREMES!”

Tammy and Sheila dragged Bob and Gerald to the makeshift dance floor underneath the shade of an enormous live oak. Mary Bennett and Brian were already jiggling up a storm, as were Patsy and Jack. I was the only one without a partner. Clearly, the hour of appeasing the decrepit old maid was over.

A chorus of “Poor Pitiful Me” rose up in my head. I decided it was time for a little self-medication in the form of a margarita. As I headed to the kitchen, a well-muscled man wearing a leopard-print loincloth burst out from behind a clump of azalea bushes.

I let out a surprised yelp, followed closely by a “What the fuck” as I tried to figure out what an ersatz Tarzan was doing in Mary Bennett's backyard. His hand was pressed above his brow as if searching for someone. When his eyes rested on me, he gave an ear-splitting jungle yell and started shimmying toward me in time with the music.

“Jill?” he said when he reached me.

“Ahhh, yeah?”

“You bring out the beast in me!” he shouted, and off came the loincloth. He wore skimpy animal-print underwear underneath, and started undulating in front of me. I looked over his shoulder. All the Queens had stopped dancing and were now grinning at me.

“Might as well give them their money's worth,” I said, joining jungle boy in his hot-and-heavy mating dance while the Queens shrieked and hooted.

“Jill Conner,” shouted another male voice from behind the bathhouse. He tooted on a whistle. “You're under arrest!”

I sensed immediately he was not a real Jackson police officer when I saw his tight little ass and six-pack belly, unenhanced by Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

“What's the charge, Officer?” I asked in a falsetto voice.

“You're so sexy, you're illegal, baby!” he said, launching into his striptease dance.

During the next half hour, a mailman dropped by (whose special delivery package was contained in his G-string), as did an astronaut who promised to send me to the moon. It turned out each Queen had hired a stripper so I wouldn't feel left out at the party. I had to admit that four gyrating near-nekkid men definitely did lend a festive touch to the occasion.

After the strippers left, and the stereo was in between songs, Brian tapped a spoon against the rim of his beer mug to get everyone's attention.

“I'd like to thank the Queens for this lovely evening,” he said, in a feigned prim but nonetheless sexy baritone. “Now I know why Mary Bennett always wants to come home to Jackson.”

The Queens whistled and hooted in response.

“Secondly, I have a question I wanted to ask Mary Bennett, but I have to clear it with the Queens,” he continued. “I want to ask for her hand in marriage, but I'd like your blessing.”

He needed no such thing—it was plain that Mary Bennett was going to marry him no matter whether we approved or not, which we did, with all our hearts. I, on the other hand, did think of another related and very important matter that needed to be settled first.

“Not so fast, Buckwheat,” I said, holding up a hand. “We'll be needing to see the ring first.”

Brian nodded, and withdrew a box from his pants pocket and handed it to me. I motioned for the Queens to gather 'round. I opened the box and there on a bed of deep burgundy velvet glittered a gorgeous antique diamond of sufficient size and clarity befitting any Queen. We all oooohed and ahhed our approval.

“This is one fine-ass piece of joo-ry,” I said, handing it back to Brian. “The girl is all yours.”

Mary Bennett let out a whoop, and ran to her man's open arms. They proceeded to break every PDA rule in the book until we all shouted, “Get a room!”

By two a.m., Bob had bailed out and gone home. Brian was snoring in a lounge chair, Jack was passed out facedown in a clump of clover near the pool, and I had no idea where Sheila was. The Queens and I were still dancing and laughing, feeding off each other's energy.

“Pee break,” I said, stumbling my way toward the back entrance of the house. I pushed open the door that opened to the guest bathroom and saw Sheila inside. She was standing in front of the toilet holding up her dress, and she had spoken the truth. She definitely didn't wear panties to a party. Within the next two seconds, it dawned on me
why
she was
standing
in front of the toilet with her skirt hiked up.

“Excuse me,” I said quickly, backing out the door. Sheila turned around and that's when I saw it. It was king-size, just like everything else about Sheila. I was so shocked by the sight I screamed.

“Oops!” Sheila said, pulling her dress down over her formidable member and flushing the toilet. “I guess my little secret is out.”

My scream brought the Queens running, with Gerald in the lead.

“What's wrong, Jill?” he asked.

“Gerald, honey,” Sheila said, “Jill just met Mr. Shaft.”

“Mr. Shaft?” Gerald said with a blush. “How did that happen?”

“It wasn't a formal introduction,” I said. “I walked in on him in the bathroom.”

“Who is Mr. Shaft?” Mary Bennett asked.

“There's no point in hiding it anymore,” Gerald said with a sigh. “Sheila isn't a she. She's a he. Mr. Shaft is…”

“The reason I screamed,” I said.

“Wait a minute,” Tammy said, trying to process all of this with her tequila-addled brain. “You're a man!” She pointed to Sheila. Then she looked at Gerald. “And you're a man so that means…you're gay!” Tammy said, a bit unsteady on her feet. “Glad that's finally settled.”

“Why would you try to keep this from us?” I asked.

“It's not like we haven't suspected it,” Mary Bennett said, and Patsy nodded.

“Really? How long?” Gerald asked.

“Since we first met you. When did YOU finally figure it out?” Tammy said with a snort.

“I guess I knew I was different than other boys since I was a little kid,” Gerald said. “In college, I managed to numb those feelings with drugs, but then one summer, I went to Fire Island with some friends who ‘knew' about me—even though I didn't—and we went to something called The Invasion where all the men dress like women and go on boats to this beach bar that once tried to kick out a gay couple and—”

“He met me,” Sheila said, in a voice several octaves lower. She took off her wig and put a protective arm around Gerald. “I'm William—and I'm not really into drag, but for The Invasion and a few other special occasions, I become Sheila.”

“What was the point of trying to fool
us
?” Mary Bennett asked gently. “Did you think we'd disapprove? And really, William—lovely to meet you, by the way—you can't really think you look like an actual
woman
in that getup. I don't want to hurt your feelings or anything, but you just ain't exactly what we'd call ‘girly.'”

“I
was
going to tell you,” Gerald said. “But then I heard Brian and Jack were going to be here, and I didn't feel comfortable coming out around all those guys.”

“Then I suggested I come to Jackson as my stage persona,” Sheila said. “Gerald liked the idea!”

“I didn't know if he could pull it off,” Gerald said with a smile. “But when Sheila fooled everyone at the disco, I thought maybe she'd be able to fool my parents, too. Then they'd finally get off my back about not having a girlfriend. I was going to tell y'all about Sheila. Eventually.”

“But then Mr. Shaft outed us,” Sheila said with a guilty smile.

“I should have figured it out when I saw Sheila's shoes,” I said, shaking my head. “Never in my life have I seen a woman with feet bigger than mine.”

“Hunny”—Patsy leaned in to William and said in a girlfriend-to-girlfriend tone—“next time wear a turtleneck to hide your Adam's apple—and check your teeth for lipstick before you leave the ladies'.”

“I'm just so relieved it's out in the open with y'all,” Gerald said, squeezing his lover's large well-manicured hand. Standing up, he said, “Would y'all excuse me for just a few minutes? There is something I have got to do right this second before I lose my nerve—even if it is two in the morning.” And he went into the house.