Even though after ten years of being a female impersonator I finally hung up my wig, the memory of the showgirl I once was still lives on thru my daughters' shows, videos, photographs, and memories. This short story is about the night my drag career took off...
Gazing in the mirror at the reflection of my half-compromised face, I felt the rumbling of ten thousand butterflies beating their wings in my chest. I had been a drag performer for five years, so gluing lashes to the lids of my eyes, and painting my lips and cheeks, shouldn't be this difficult. The brushes and tools that I had used many times before suddenly felt heavier, as if they were fighting against the grain. Tonight was different, though. This night was my first pageant: Miss Gay Wilmington. What would typically be a delightful, lite-hearted ambience was now overcast with fear, a cold chill, and lights more dim throughout the city than I had ever witnessed.
After my grueling makeover, I pack my things into my husband's car. It is early January, so the breeze is that of arctic measure and the night is dense and quiet. My nerves are rattled and my churning stomach sends signals to my brain that cause doubt and sudden fever. I force the feelings of inadequacy to the back of my mind, and ride quietly from the house to the bar. The road was longer that evening. In fact, I'm almost sure to this day that time slowed down for one night only.
My uphill battle to the door of Ibiza nightclub from the parking lot was cut short by the security man, my friend Daniel. He scooped my boxes and bags of miscellaneous drag-drippings and costuming. When the back door of the bar opened, I was met with the smell of smoldering cigarettes and cocktails. My heart was pounding against my chest, and my throat was a desert looking for the oasis. The thud from the bass in the music caused all of my organs to gravitate upward, or so it seemed. I knew that at any moment I may see a repeat of the dinner I had earlier enjoyed. I climbed the stairs to the second floor where I was greeted by other contestants in the evening festivities. I found a lone corner of the room to set up shop. I packed away my nerves and feelings of fear and doubt as I unpacked my competition necessities.
What seemed like dozens of people began to gather around me, each making failed attempts to assist in the making of my much desired victory. As the roof above began to drip downward, the walls inched in closer each time I would glance away. They were taunting me! Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. I watched as black glue, intended for my wig, was driven by gravity to the panty hose of my much exposed leg. I wanted to win the pageant, but at what expense and whose embarrassment? Scott quickly zipped my gown as I scampered down the stairs to the back door of the first floor stage. Standing in the enclosed corridor, adjacent the stage, Nate quickly glued my artificial finger nails as I awaited my moment to shine. I stood for a moment and thought… how will I model the gown? Should I stand as a soldier at attention or walk the stage like that of the Moulin Rouge house-cast?
"And here is our contestant number two, Alena Dejah." My name was called, and now was my moment of recognition. I had to prove to the world that my cause was an art. I had to prove to the gay elite that I was not lesser than they. Most importantly, I had to prove to myself that I will always stand up for my beliefs and can be anything I want to be!
Stepping off the bottom step onto the slick stage, with my sweaty palms I chased the creases from my gown. She was a beauty. Stark white and crisp as a new dollar bill, surely she would assist me in stealing the show tonight! I cupped my hands together as the symbol of true elegance and embarked on the journey across my stage. I glanced right and saw what seemed like thousands of people lining the stage. As in slow motion I heard nothing but a dull roar and saw the crying and cheering of so many people whose hopes for the evening were set on my shoulders. I look forward to the masters of the evening. The pageant judges rested there with no emotion, tearing me apart with there pens and pencils. Each one digging thru my outward being, attempting to find the flaws that was unfit for their next queen. I turn left to the mirrored wall and see the reflection of my fan stadium behind me. The familiar feeling rushed back to me...I had been here before. As I exhale, the masses of butterflies that had caused me so much grief suddenly escape through my nostrils. My comfort was lifted and my mind became focused. I modeled that gown until the wolves' frenzied feast was complete. I raced back upstairs to rid myself of my binding adornment, only to gear up for the next category, talent.
Two months prior I employed eight profession backup dancers to aid in my victory…four males and four females. We rehearsed every evening until the night of the pageant. I chose to dance to a Broadway-styled song, "Don't Tell Momma."
My entrance back to the stage was this time accompanied by my dancers. We coasted out quickly onto a blacked-out stage and no lights to aid our journey. The spotlight grabbed me as the music began. As if puppets controlled by string, we danced, turned, twirled, jumped, and slid across the stage exactly as previously rehearsed. Mouths in the crowd dropped in awe as others screamed out my stage name. The look of surprise and pride on the judges' face told me I was a success.
The virtual sound of one million drummer boys beating a drum roll on their snare as we rounded the last bend of the evening created the feeling that I was standing on the edge of a forty-story sky scraper roof. It seemed to take days for the announcing of both the second and first place winners. Neither of which were me. It was then I realized either I had completely failed or completely stolen the evening. As if trained by a pageant expert my head fell into the palms of my sweaty hands as I was announced the winner. Tears flowed down my masked face as if they were streaming at the beat of the screams and cheers being hurled by the masses. The previous winner approached me with a new twelve inch rhinestone crown as I bent down to assist in bringing it to rest on my head. The beaming lights from the cameras flashed as Celine Dion's "Because You Loved Me" began to play thru the speakers. Each person in the crowd stood in a cafeteria style line waiting there chance to approach the new Miss Gay Wilmington with their congratulatory message.
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