CHAPTER 35: Lake Charles, Louisiana
After wrapping up in Austin, the Forks made their way over the Atchafalaya Basin Bridge on Interstate Ten heading east toward Lake Charles, Louisiana. And the timing was such that Professor T was able to persuade the rest of the gang to get a super-size portion of wacky fun at the local Pride Fest. The Forks had always identified with fans on the margins, and though Billie was the only member part of the LGBTQ sister/brotherhood, Mork and Jack were extra vigilant to shun homophobic members of the audience and protect her to the best of their ability. In fact, the Forks echoed their favorite grunge star’s revulsion of bigotry in all its forms, adding language in the liner notes of their records addressed directly to individuals…whether racist, sexist, or homophobic…“stay away from our shows and consider buying records from other like-minded assholes.”
There was the focus-group appointment at McNeese State University, but first, Pride Fest! Jack heard a famous drag show was featured this year and that sounded like something all could enjoy. So the Bus was pointed East and the gang was on schedule. But Mother Nature was on the same road crossing the Atchafalaya Bridge as well. Nearly twenty miles of bayau-crossing, with nowhere to pull over. A white-knuckle drive for Billie as the torrential downpour had reduced reasonable and prudent travel down to forty miles per hour and slower. Of course, Billie had seen this kind of condition before in the Oregon canopy forests, but this time, it was a bridge with no escape whatever…you just gotta keep moving.
“A shame we can’t see out the windows,” Jack was unfazed. “Nothing but Louisiana bayou and Cajun swamp over there…you just know those gators are licking their chops for someone to tumble over the edge.”
“Not funny,” said Buck from the passenger seat. He was right there, white-knuckling it with Billie.
Professor T was engrossed in the task of compiling the Austin focus-group data through the sound of buckets being dumped on the roof of the bus. “C’mon, Jack. Give Billie some credit. She knows when to flip the hazard switch…we’ll be fine.”
The rain persisted long after clearing the near twenty mile span of the bridge, subsiding a bit only when entering the outskirts of Lake Charles. After checking in at the university, the gang set their sights on attending Pride Fest, making sure not to miss the famous Drag Show.
“I don’t know anything about drag-shows,” Billie was surprised at Buck’s stereotyping. “I mean, just because you were raised on a Texas ranch, i don’t assume you know whether John Wayne was the real deal or did he have stunt-men to do his rough-riding for him.”
“Sorry about that,” Buck was contrite. “But yeah, i know all about The Duke’s primary stunt-double. His name was Chuck Roberson. He passed in 1988. It was a sad day for my dad as they were often in the same places at the same time. Roberson grew up on a ranch near Roswell, New Mexico, and started his cowboy career at age thirteen, working as a cowhand and oilfield roughneck. He was a World War II vet, and worked as a police officer after being discharged. So yeah, sometimes stereotypes are accurate.”
Billie just kept her eyes forward and let out an amused chuckle. “I can’t wait to see how you respond to the drag-show,” said Billie. “Hopefully not ALL cowboy stereotypes are true.”
Now, this exchange left Buck a bit on the back heel, so after the McNeese interviews and the famous Pride Fest/Drag Show, Buck spent the trip to Mississippi in the back of the bus putting his cowboy poetry talents to good use. That is, to make up with Billie with an ode to the Drag Show:
Well, the campfire is bound to flicker out soon,
The coyotes are out there howlin’ at the moon.
Time to kick off the boots, and pour a finger of rye,
And settle in ’neath the wide western sky.
Now, i ain’t much for glitter, ain’t much for style,
I’m a dusty old cow-poke… come sit for a while.
Cause there’s a stampede of glam, and spice, and sauce,
Run by a buxom earth-bound angel callin’ the shots.They call ’em the queens, and they’re tough as rawhide,
With lashes like sashes and a whole lot of pride.
They’re ropin’ the sequins and rhinestoned high heels,
And blush on their face to show how they feel.
When it’s time for the runway, they strut and they pose,
Like prize-winning stallions to win or to show.
They cinch up their corsets like a well-fitted girth,
The fiercest dern showgirls on Dolly’s green earth.And there she sits on the judge’s high seat,
Watchin’ ’em throw down their moves to the beat.
If a cowboy gets bucked, he dusts off his pants,
But now, the glamour skill gonna save their last chance.
It’s a duel at high noon, without any guns,
Bust moves on the catwalk ’til the battle is won.
Then Dolly calls it, fair, steady and brave:
“Sashay away,” or “Whitney, you stay.”So here’s to the queens of the Drag Race corral,
You don’t need a bull-whip to be a tough gal.
It takes grit to be glamorous, guts to be bold,
A truth that this weary old ranch-hand holds.
Keep sportin’ your pasties and be what you are,
‘Cause every last one of you struts like a star.
I’ll tip my old Stetson and turn out the light,
And wish all the drag-queens a victorious night.
Turns out, Dolly herowndamnself was a contestant at a different drag-show, and what do you know? She lost… now that takes some serious chutzpah, and like Angel Dolly herself would say, “it takes a lot of money to look this cheap.”
“Bless her,” said Buck. “A true goddess in our midst. I’ve spent my life looking up to her as a saint among mortals. Knowing she accepts all walks of life just reenforces my respect for her.”
NEXT WEEK:
Vicksburg Mississippi
GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links
Loopcircus 