The Curtain Calls
May. 18th, 2003 11:28 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
theodosia.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionThose damn Painted!Ray icons keep tormenting me, and then I get to thinking, they were doing drag shows as part of their undercover operation, and after all, there are curtains in drag shows, right?
Such is the slender thread of logic with which I justify what I want to do, anyway.
(FWIW, in the movie theatre of my mind, Miss Butchie (Corporal Roald Butchie, RCMP (ret.)) is played by Carmen Argenziano from Stargate SG-1. No, I don't know if the actor has ever done a drag role, but geeze would he have fun with it if he did.)
The Adventures of Regina, Queen of Manitoba: The Curtain Calls
Fraser paused outside their dressing “room” – like all the others at the civic center, it was made of sturdy PVC piping and stout canvas curtains. Miss Butchie had draped the entrance with filmy fabric which was tasteful compared to other decorations that Fraser had noted on his errand, including Astroturf “lawns”, Precious Moments lawn ornaments, life-sized erotic statuary, and shrines to Dusty Springfield.
He was relieved to hear mellow tones – Miss Butchie fluting, Ray low-voiced and somewhat amused. Tempers had flared in the last two days of driving and it would not do to have more upset before their first performance.
“So these drag shows – they were an annual tradition?” Ray said.
“Originally they were three times yearly – this was the 1800s, remember,” Miss Butchie had settled into her ‘instructor’ voice. “No women at Depot, no TV, amateur dramatics in an all-male environment with a British public school tradition – it’s a wonder there isn’t a B&D tradition as well.”
“So that’s where you met Fraser, right?”
“Only for his freshman term – oh, he was a gorgeous young thing, so repressed. Except on the stage – he wasn’t any better at dancing than he is now, but what a singer. I understand he was quite a hit as Maria in ‘The Sound of Music’ in his senior term.”
“A nun? A singing nun? That’s like… type-ifying, type—”
Fraser couldn’t stand it any more. “Typecasting, Ray,” he said through the curtain. He waited a moment. “May I enter?”
“Come in, dearie,” called Miss Butchie. “No, Regina, keep your head down until I’ve checked that the glue has set.”
Fraser pushed through the curtains to see Ray sitting bent so that his forehead rested on the dressing room table, his wig in the process of being applied. Miss Butchie had her full ensemble on already – platinum wig and scarlet dress, heavy makeup taking off several decades.
“Actually, Maria was a postulant, so ‘singing nun’ is not an accurate—”
“Still Catholic here, Frase,” Ray said.
Miss Butchie rolled her eyes at Fraser, and tugged gently at the back of the wig. “You can come up now.”
Ray lifted his head, his black short wig flipping back off his face. “I was getting claustro-whatsis there,” he said in his normal voice — they’d abandoned getting him to pitch his voice higher or change his diction, as even Miss Butchie admitted it would take ‘the genius of Henry Higgins.’
Fraser stared. Ray was fully made-up: beard closely shaven, heavy base over his beard-shadow and disguising his character lines to a more feminine interpretation, eye shadow and kohl making his eyes larger than ever. Ray normally had a handsome face, but ‘Regina’ was unexpectedly… pretty, almost a femme fatale.
“Frase, you don’t shut that mouth, something’s going to fly in,” Ray said, and that normal Ray-voice helped Fraser snap out of the spell.
“Most extraordinary!” Fraser said to Miss Butchie.
“She cleans up nice, doesn’t she?” Miss Butchie said. She took a headband – black velvet ribbon with a big pin and feather in the front – off the stand and smoothed it down over Regina’s wig. “Just don’t ever open your mouth, and you’ll fool everybody.”
Ray sighed impatiently. “Fraser, what do you think?”
“You look… quite fetching,” Fraser said. “I hadn’t even dreamed….”
“Dreamed what?” Ray’s eyes widened, looking far larger than normal thanks to their outlining in kohl.
Fraser drew himself up, it wouldn’t do to set Ray off when he no doubt needed to be calm and centered. “Well… that you made such an attractive woman, Ray.”
“Yeah, right.” So much for validating Ray’s feelings. Ray turned to Miss Butchie, who was regarding him warily. “So we done yet, Madge? Or do I have to soak my fingers in dishwashing detergent next?”
Miss Butchie smiled patiently. “That won’t be necessary, Regina – we just have to take care of your tattoo.”
“What about my tattoo?” Ray said, lifting his arm so that he could look at the upside-down “Champion.” “I may have been suffering a slight case of ‘drunk and teenage’ when I got it, but it still makes a valid lifestyle statement.”
“Bar girls at the Kit-Kat Club in Weimar-Era Berlin rarely sported advertisements for spark plugs,” Fraser said. “I doubt that Man Ray, even on his most Dadaist days, imagined such a thing.”
“Yeah, well, Mantaray didn’t have no clue,” said Ray. “Besides, what are you going to do? I think slicing it off me is going a little far, y’know?”
Miss Butchie looked at Fraser. “Did you get what I asked for?” she said.
“Indeed,” Fraser reached in his purse, noting that it conveniently held a great deal more than a Stetson. “Miss Francine sends her love, and would ‘adore having you over for dinner tomorrow, Cheri.’” He handed over a gray tin about the size of a Turtlewax container.
“So what is it?” asked Ray.
“Professional stage makeup,” Miss Butchie said. “It won’t fool anyone close up, but it should work perfectly well with the stage lighting.” She picked up a sponge and set to work. “Did you happen to catch a glance at what Francine is working with today?”
“I’m afraid she sent everyone out of the room to meet with me,” said Fraser. “I did however notice the presence of quite a few yards of tulle and netting spilling out of a drawer, and there were some stout velvet ribbons on the dressing table. In addition, there was the distinctive odor of rosin underneath the usual makeup and hairspray.”
“Depot trained a good investigator, Miss Fraser,” said Miss Butchie. “It sounds like Francine is going to repeat that dreadful ballet piece.” She finished swiping at Ray’s arm. “There, say what you will about Francine’s not learning from her mistakes, she knows her makeup.”
“Whoa – it’s gone,” Ray said, looking down at his arm.
“It’s very good coverage,” said Fraser. “Heavy sweat might wash it off, so you should be all right unless you’re subject to performance anxiety.”
“Have you ever known me to be nervous about a performance, Frase?” Ray said a little sharply.
Fraser examined the statement for hidden minefields, decided that he might yet steer clear. “You’ve risen to every occasion that I’ve been present for.”
Ray’s smile was interrupted by Miss Butchie’s tittering. “You quite finished there, Sunshine?” Ray snapped. He got up from the makeup chair – Amazing he lasted that long there, Fraser thought – and stalked over to the full length mirror. “I ain’t met no undercover gig yet that I couldn’t—”
Ray stopped with his mouth hanging open. He actually did a double-take, Fraser noted. The slight padding that Miss Butchie had fought with Ray to accept made him look more like a boyish woman than lush voluptuousness would have – and with the 20s drag for the performance, it was so very appropriate. Ray’s innate grace and carriage also helped.
“Am I an artiste?” said Miss Butchie.
“Just a minute,” Ray said. He clomped back to the makeup table (We’ll have to do something about those heels, Fraser noted) and rooted through the pots and bottles and spent sponges to haul out his heavy black-rimmed glasses, and then went back to the mirror and with great concentration looked at his image up and down.
Fraser realized he was holding his breath. “Okay,” said Ray. “I got to hand it to you, Butchie – you are indeed a fucking artiste.”
“I would hope so,” said Miss Butchie primly. “If the Mounties taught me anything, it was how to make a beautiful woman out of a man.”
She would have said more, but at that moment the stage manager rapped at the frame of their curtained booth. “Ladies and ladies,” he trilled, “three minutes to your call.”
“Last minute makeup check,” Miss Butchie said. “Regina, just don’t move or breathe or… anything, you’re perfect, let me check over Miss Fraser here.”
“It’s a hell of a thing, at my age,” Ray mused at his reflection as Miss Butchie used a powder puff on Fraser, “to find out you have a new aptitude.”
“There, we’re all ready,” said Miss Butchie. “The curtain calls, girls. Are we fabulous, or what?”
Ray rolled his eyes. “Well, you do look quite smashing, Ray,” Fraser said. “And we must honor the spirit of the experience, as it were.”
Ray threw his head back. “I can do this,” he said. “My mother will be turning over in her grave if she hears about this – it will actually kill her, so that she ends up in one first – but I will be fabulous in the line of duty.”
~~~
I'm not saying how much it's over, but if anybody has a couple of hundred words to lend me, that'd be real nice....
Such is the slender thread of logic with which I justify what I want to do, anyway.
(FWIW, in the movie theatre of my mind, Miss Butchie (Corporal Roald Butchie, RCMP (ret.)) is played by Carmen Argenziano from Stargate SG-1. No, I don't know if the actor has ever done a drag role, but geeze would he have fun with it if he did.)
The Adventures of Regina, Queen of Manitoba: The Curtain Calls
Fraser paused outside their dressing “room” – like all the others at the civic center, it was made of sturdy PVC piping and stout canvas curtains. Miss Butchie had draped the entrance with filmy fabric which was tasteful compared to other decorations that Fraser had noted on his errand, including Astroturf “lawns”, Precious Moments lawn ornaments, life-sized erotic statuary, and shrines to Dusty Springfield.
He was relieved to hear mellow tones – Miss Butchie fluting, Ray low-voiced and somewhat amused. Tempers had flared in the last two days of driving and it would not do to have more upset before their first performance.
“So these drag shows – they were an annual tradition?” Ray said.
“Originally they were three times yearly – this was the 1800s, remember,” Miss Butchie had settled into her ‘instructor’ voice. “No women at Depot, no TV, amateur dramatics in an all-male environment with a British public school tradition – it’s a wonder there isn’t a B&D tradition as well.”
“So that’s where you met Fraser, right?”
“Only for his freshman term – oh, he was a gorgeous young thing, so repressed. Except on the stage – he wasn’t any better at dancing than he is now, but what a singer. I understand he was quite a hit as Maria in ‘The Sound of Music’ in his senior term.”
“A nun? A singing nun? That’s like… type-ifying, type—”
Fraser couldn’t stand it any more. “Typecasting, Ray,” he said through the curtain. He waited a moment. “May I enter?”
“Come in, dearie,” called Miss Butchie. “No, Regina, keep your head down until I’ve checked that the glue has set.”
Fraser pushed through the curtains to see Ray sitting bent so that his forehead rested on the dressing room table, his wig in the process of being applied. Miss Butchie had her full ensemble on already – platinum wig and scarlet dress, heavy makeup taking off several decades.
“Actually, Maria was a postulant, so ‘singing nun’ is not an accurate—”
“Still Catholic here, Frase,” Ray said.
Miss Butchie rolled her eyes at Fraser, and tugged gently at the back of the wig. “You can come up now.”
Ray lifted his head, his black short wig flipping back off his face. “I was getting claustro-whatsis there,” he said in his normal voice — they’d abandoned getting him to pitch his voice higher or change his diction, as even Miss Butchie admitted it would take ‘the genius of Henry Higgins.’
Fraser stared. Ray was fully made-up: beard closely shaven, heavy base over his beard-shadow and disguising his character lines to a more feminine interpretation, eye shadow and kohl making his eyes larger than ever. Ray normally had a handsome face, but ‘Regina’ was unexpectedly… pretty, almost a femme fatale.
“Frase, you don’t shut that mouth, something’s going to fly in,” Ray said, and that normal Ray-voice helped Fraser snap out of the spell.
“Most extraordinary!” Fraser said to Miss Butchie.
“She cleans up nice, doesn’t she?” Miss Butchie said. She took a headband – black velvet ribbon with a big pin and feather in the front – off the stand and smoothed it down over Regina’s wig. “Just don’t ever open your mouth, and you’ll fool everybody.”
Ray sighed impatiently. “Fraser, what do you think?”
“You look… quite fetching,” Fraser said. “I hadn’t even dreamed….”
“Dreamed what?” Ray’s eyes widened, looking far larger than normal thanks to their outlining in kohl.
Fraser drew himself up, it wouldn’t do to set Ray off when he no doubt needed to be calm and centered. “Well… that you made such an attractive woman, Ray.”
“Yeah, right.” So much for validating Ray’s feelings. Ray turned to Miss Butchie, who was regarding him warily. “So we done yet, Madge? Or do I have to soak my fingers in dishwashing detergent next?”
Miss Butchie smiled patiently. “That won’t be necessary, Regina – we just have to take care of your tattoo.”
“What about my tattoo?” Ray said, lifting his arm so that he could look at the upside-down “Champion.” “I may have been suffering a slight case of ‘drunk and teenage’ when I got it, but it still makes a valid lifestyle statement.”
“Bar girls at the Kit-Kat Club in Weimar-Era Berlin rarely sported advertisements for spark plugs,” Fraser said. “I doubt that Man Ray, even on his most Dadaist days, imagined such a thing.”
“Yeah, well, Mantaray didn’t have no clue,” said Ray. “Besides, what are you going to do? I think slicing it off me is going a little far, y’know?”
Miss Butchie looked at Fraser. “Did you get what I asked for?” she said.
“Indeed,” Fraser reached in his purse, noting that it conveniently held a great deal more than a Stetson. “Miss Francine sends her love, and would ‘adore having you over for dinner tomorrow, Cheri.’” He handed over a gray tin about the size of a Turtlewax container.
“So what is it?” asked Ray.
“Professional stage makeup,” Miss Butchie said. “It won’t fool anyone close up, but it should work perfectly well with the stage lighting.” She picked up a sponge and set to work. “Did you happen to catch a glance at what Francine is working with today?”
“I’m afraid she sent everyone out of the room to meet with me,” said Fraser. “I did however notice the presence of quite a few yards of tulle and netting spilling out of a drawer, and there were some stout velvet ribbons on the dressing table. In addition, there was the distinctive odor of rosin underneath the usual makeup and hairspray.”
“Depot trained a good investigator, Miss Fraser,” said Miss Butchie. “It sounds like Francine is going to repeat that dreadful ballet piece.” She finished swiping at Ray’s arm. “There, say what you will about Francine’s not learning from her mistakes, she knows her makeup.”
“Whoa – it’s gone,” Ray said, looking down at his arm.
“It’s very good coverage,” said Fraser. “Heavy sweat might wash it off, so you should be all right unless you’re subject to performance anxiety.”
“Have you ever known me to be nervous about a performance, Frase?” Ray said a little sharply.
Fraser examined the statement for hidden minefields, decided that he might yet steer clear. “You’ve risen to every occasion that I’ve been present for.”
Ray’s smile was interrupted by Miss Butchie’s tittering. “You quite finished there, Sunshine?” Ray snapped. He got up from the makeup chair – Amazing he lasted that long there, Fraser thought – and stalked over to the full length mirror. “I ain’t met no undercover gig yet that I couldn’t—”
Ray stopped with his mouth hanging open. He actually did a double-take, Fraser noted. The slight padding that Miss Butchie had fought with Ray to accept made him look more like a boyish woman than lush voluptuousness would have – and with the 20s drag for the performance, it was so very appropriate. Ray’s innate grace and carriage also helped.
“Am I an artiste?” said Miss Butchie.
“Just a minute,” Ray said. He clomped back to the makeup table (We’ll have to do something about those heels, Fraser noted) and rooted through the pots and bottles and spent sponges to haul out his heavy black-rimmed glasses, and then went back to the mirror and with great concentration looked at his image up and down.
Fraser realized he was holding his breath. “Okay,” said Ray. “I got to hand it to you, Butchie – you are indeed a fucking artiste.”
“I would hope so,” said Miss Butchie primly. “If the Mounties taught me anything, it was how to make a beautiful woman out of a man.”
She would have said more, but at that moment the stage manager rapped at the frame of their curtained booth. “Ladies and ladies,” he trilled, “three minutes to your call.”
“Last minute makeup check,” Miss Butchie said. “Regina, just don’t move or breathe or… anything, you’re perfect, let me check over Miss Fraser here.”
“It’s a hell of a thing, at my age,” Ray mused at his reflection as Miss Butchie used a powder puff on Fraser, “to find out you have a new aptitude.”
“There, we’re all ready,” said Miss Butchie. “The curtain calls, girls. Are we fabulous, or what?”
Ray rolled his eyes. “Well, you do look quite smashing, Ray,” Fraser said. “And we must honor the spirit of the experience, as it were.”
Ray threw his head back. “I can do this,” he said. “My mother will be turning over in her grave if she hears about this – it will actually kill her, so that she ends up in one first – but I will be fabulous in the line of duty.”
~~~
I'm not saying how much it's over, but if anybody has a couple of hundred words to lend me, that'd be real nice....
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no subject
Date: 2003-05-18 09:08 pm (UTC)i love this series! but how can you not when ray will be fabulous in the line of duty.??
and hey: when are you going to tie them all together in that 850K story, hmm? HMMM?
no subject
Date: 2003-05-19 12:55 am (UTC)I... can't even pick out favourite lines to quote back. I'd surpass the comment word limit (which is irritatingly strict).
*Sigh* Regina, Queen of Manitoba - just the title gets me every time. Er, possibly because I'm from Manitoba.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-19 04:17 am (UTC)Or maybe it's the eyeliner. ;)
no subject
Date: 2003-05-19 05:10 am (UTC)And I do want to know more about Ray rising to every occasion that Fraser's been present for. Oh, the imagination seethes with vivid images!
Money makes the world go around
Date: 2003-05-19 05:13 am (UTC)And Ray, that's why we love you. Plus as someone who's made Sally Bowles her default costume, it's even better.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-19 07:12 am (UTC)It's very amusing, as well as telling of their relationship that he has to choose the right words so as not to set Ray off. It's a not a fear of anger, but more a deep understanding of how Ray's mind works, and you capture it extremely well.
And Carmen Argenziano? BWAHAHAHAHA! Well, I guess once you've played a guy with a giant snake inside you, drag is easy.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-19 04:03 pm (UTC)Because, y'know most of the stuff that I know about transvestites comes from The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and so on. (At least I have seen Outrageous! which had a Canadian drag performer in it. So much for my in-depth research of this topic....)
In theory, though, an extended story should lay itself out, since it would be Priscilla, only insert Canada for Australia, add the undercover thing that they're investigating murder threats, so you've got your excuse for travelling around, and bingo. If only it were that simple. ::whimper::
no subject
Date: 2003-05-19 04:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-19 08:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-19 08:41 pm (UTC)Re: Money makes the world go around
Date: 2003-05-19 08:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-20 08:07 am (UTC)I'm so tickled you can "see" Argenziano in this role. He's a delight in every episode of Stargate he shows up in.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 08:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-23 04:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-14 07:00 am (UTC)