Brush Creek Charlie by D. B. Reynolds (best free e book reader .TXT) 📕

A waiter came to their table and the threesome ordered mixed drinks.
Coming through the door holding hands as a loving couple were Sandy Barnholtz and Carol Wexler. The celebrity impersonator show featuring the finest dragqueens only came to Missy D’s once a year. Sandy and Carol made sure they weren’t going to miss such an event. Surprisingly, they claimed an empty table right next to Derrick and Mitchell and Kathy. She noticed how Sandy and Carol turned and stared at her with the warmest smile.
Kathy leaned forward to whisper to Derrick. “Hey, Derrick, I hope that these women in here don’t get the wrong idea.”
Derrick giggled. “Girlfriend, just give them the code and they won’t bother you.”
“And what code is that?”
“That you are strictly dickly.”
“Does it work?”
“Works every time.”
“The dyke couple at the table next to us, they’ve been staring at me every since they came in Missy D’s.”
“Honey, let me tell you something,” Derrick mimed. “The stares they’re giving you, they’re innocent stares. I can look at them both and tell they’re deep in love.”
“You sure?”
“Haven’t you ever heard that game recognizes game?”
“All the time.”
“Gay men recognize gay men. Gay women recognize gay women.”
“Like some built in radar?”
“Sorta.”
“We like to call it a ‘gaydar’.”
Kathy looked around the club and asked, “Can you tell who’s straight and who’s gay in here?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Conversation, body language, dress code, eye contact, among other things.”
“Are you psychic?”
“No.”
Another round of drinks arrived at their table. Sandy and Carol ordered a couple of beers and rocked to the fusion of the music. The host of the celebrity impersonator show shot onto the stage wearing a gold glitter jacket and black slacks with a gold cumberbund. The crowd shifted into wild mode. Psychedelic laser lights jetted all around the club. Music roared through the concert speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” hailed the host into the microphone. “Are you ready to have the time of your lives?”
The smoky crowd of lesbians and gay men replied with pumped-up cheers and suggestive bodily gestures.
“I said, are you ready for a real good time!” the host squalled once more. “Are you ready for the motherfucking roof to come off the house?”
In response, foamy drinks slung across one table to the next. Cigarette ash thumped from one lap to the next.
“Our first celebrity impersonator is Steven Anderson. He’ll be impersonating Madonna. Alright, everyone, give it up for Steven.”
The crowd pounded their palms together for a monstrous applause.
Walking out on stage wearing a two-piece white suit with white stiletto heels was the Madonna impersonator. What a gorgeous sight Steven was. The hair was bleached whiter than pure winter snow. A set of the whitest pearls hung around Steven’s neck. He, slash, she, thrusted an erect finger in the direction of the deejay. Madonna’s monster hit, “Holiday”, thundered through the speakers. The performance kicked off with the biggest bang. The crowd were brought to their feet. Derrick and Mitchell and Kathy huddled together to form their own private table party.
“Look at girlfriend up on that stage!” Derrick wildly applauded. “Madonna would be smiling from neck-to-chin if she could see this.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d believe the real Madonna was up there,” Mitchell examined. “Holiday happened to be my favorite Madonna song.”
“Girlfriend up on stage done got all these bitches worked up in here.”
“Missy D’s done turned into a bunkhouse stampede.”
“This sure is a big relief from the IRS.”
“Don’t have to look at those losers until Monday.”
Derrick lifted both arms to the sky and shouted, “Go ahead! Go ahead!”
“Derrick, you forgot, that’s a Madonna wannabe up there on stage.”
“Wannabe or not, that bitch is giving one hellavu show.”
“Yes, I must agree.”
“All impersonators are wannabes.”
“Closest they’ll get to living out their celebrity fantasies.”
“Got that right, babe.”
“I haven’t been this entertained since-----,” Mitchell tried saying before being cut off.
“Since when?”
“Since----.”
“Since you invited some of the boys over for our party.”
“Yeah, we’ll never forget that party.”
Kathy released a hard giggle. “Derrick and Mitchell, you guys are the most entertaining pair of gay men that I’ve ever met in my life. You guys are more entertaining than those two gay men who played on ‘In Living Color’.”
“Blaine Edwards and Antoine Merriweather?” Derrick recalled much too well.
“Yes, the men on everything.”
“Men on film, men on cooking, men on art, men on books, and men on vacation.”
“Wow! Talk about a good memory, I’ll bet you remember every line of every skit they’ve ever done.”
“Never missed an episode.”
“Bet you didn’t.”
“On that note, I’ll give it two snaps inside a circle followed by a rewind.”
Kathy turned beet red from excruciating laughter. “God, I can’t take this crazy silliness of your’s.”
“Just being myself, girlfriend.”
“Tell me something, Derrick.”
“What, darling?”
“The Madonna impersonator up on stage, do you love it or hate it?”
“Love it.”
“I’d get a kick out of hearing those guys say, ‘hated it’.”
The routine for the Madonna impersonator ended. The crowd settled down and returned to their tables. Before the next act, the staff cleared the stage and prepared for another celebrity impersonator. Derrick and Mitchell leaned forward to engage in another marathon kiss.
“Hey, can’t you two wait until you get home!” Kathy shouted, her voice accusatory.
Derrick pulled back and wiped his mouth. “We are at home, honeychild.”
“How’s that?”
“This is our second home,” Derrick incited, blowing a kiss over to Mitchell.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Missy D’s is where we come to let loose.”
“I can see that.”
Intermission following the first act ended. The second act emerged on stage. Some dragqueen dressed to the nines and tens strutted back and forth wearing a long white glitter dress. Long strands of dark weave flowed down their back. The lean figure gave superior compliments to the dress. You guessed it right! A Diana Ross impersonator grabbed the microphone and proved to the crowd the top prize money belonged to them.
Diana Ross’s mega-hit, “Upside Down”, blasted through the speakers. The crowd jumped to their feet. More drinks went slinging over to other tables. Puddles of beer made the floor look like the place had been rained out. Kathy saw first-hand how homosexual men had the gayest time of their lives. Electricity charged the atmosphere. How could anyone not enjoy themselves inside of Missy D’s?
“Look at missy thang up there shaking,” Derrick took notice of, becoming more intoxicated.
“Make Diana Ross proud,” Kathy said, her rayon shirt wet from humidity.
“She’s working that glitter dress.”
“Don’t you mean he?”
“When they dress up in drag, he becomes she.”
“Okay, I get it.”
“Kathy, you’d have to be one of us to understand.”
“Believe me, Derrick, I understand.”
The Diana Ross impersonator routine ended. The crowd pumped up the prime with non-stop applauses. The impersonator took a quick bow and disappeared from the stage. Most people took their seats and cooled off to order more drinks. Kathy dazed off into a daydream. Something had her mind suspended with hair raising thoughts.
Derrick noticed and tapped her on the arm. “Kathy, my dear, has Missy D’s become too much for you?”
“No, that’s not it,” Kathy answered, taking one strong, deep breath.
“Not enough straight black men in here for you?”
“Wrong again.”
“Then, what is it?”
Kathy juggled the cubes in her mixed drink. “The dinner we had for Lisa Wallace, it’s something that Dr. Bonnett talked about in her speech.”
“Jesus, not her again,” Derrick disregarded from sheer frustration. “Dr. Bonnett is the last woman I want to talk about. Please don’t conjure up that bitch up.”
“Listen to me, Derrick. How long is it going to take the police to find her killer?”
“None of us know that.”
“Lisa Wallace got butchered up like some rotten piece of meat.”
The name Lisa Wallace resonated over to where Sandy and Carol sat.
Not wanting to seem like two nosy dykes, but their ears were receptive to the conversation. Their eyes rolled over to the table where everyone were in a mildly drunk state. Alcohol had ways of bringing out the deepest emotions buried inside of people. Names from the distant past flew out of their mouths like bats out of a cave.
“Excuse me,” Sandy said in her revved-up voice. “But did I hear you mention something about someone named Lisa Wallace?”
Before Derrick or Kathy responded, they did some personal investigating.
“And you are?” Kathy asked, studying Sandy from a few yards away.
“I’m Sandy Barnholtz.”
“Did you know Lisa Wallace?”
“Not personally.”
“Why’d you ask?”
“If she’s the same woman who worked for the IRS, then I