so comforting, that it seemed not only an alternate reality but the only real one. Men wore makeup—they called it paint—and styled their long hair. They shrieked and giggled and joked, and they were so funny. They were open about everything: They talked about their dates, their boyfriends, the sexy and sometimes available men from the Brooklyn Fire Department, their engagements and broken hearts. For the first time in his life Hugh made friends immediately.
His friends had women’s names as he did: Lady Clifford, Nazimova, Zazu. It was all in the spirit of high camp. He found a private gay club on Christopher Street, where the admission fee was a steep five dollars, but well worth it, and his new friends took him to another gay club, more a restaurant, not private—but who else but a fairy would want to go there?—called Paul and Joe’s. These clubs were small and always packed. Gus, the “hostess” at Paul and Joe’s, was friendly to him. Hugh brought his makeup with him from home, and put it on in the bathroom. He always wore a man’s suit, but he carried a compact for touchups. His friends told him there would be a costume ball soon at Webster Hall, the huge old meeting hall, and told him not to miss it; they were all going to be in drag, and there would be half-naked men in togas, made of bedsheets, to swoon over.
There was the Everard Baths if you wanted willing, anonymous sex, even orgies, or perhaps to find love. He learned what a glory hole was. Fairyland, as he thought of it, even had its own language.
“Dearie,” the rouged and lipsticked men in the gay clubs called each other. “Dearie, people who live in glass houses should undress in the dark!” “Dearie, if you associate with garbage you’ll get flies!” “Dearie, just look at that pathetic old queen!”
In the clubs after eleven o’clock the Broadway chorus dancers would arrive from their shows at the Winter Garden, or from Vanities, or the Music Box Revue, flouncing, effeminate, and happy. Some of them had sugar daddies, just like girls did. And then after midnight everyone would go uptown to 58th Street and Fifth Avenue, to Childs restaurant, the largest of the famous chain, for coffee and breakfast. In the small hours of the morning, here in New York, Bristol seemed as far away as if Hugh had never lived there.
As soon as he graduated from Brown, Hugh packed up all his things and took the train to New York. His father looked bewildered, and Celia, fixing him with her gimlet eyes, looked smug. His job at the antique store, Montezuma, was waiting for him. His friend Zazu, from the clubs, an older man who looked better without makeup, was the proprietor. Hugh settled into his comfortable bedroom, with adjoining bath, on the ground floor of Rose’s house. His brother-in-law Ben, who was a generous man, made him feel welcome because he knew how much it meant to Rose. Hugh thought again, as he often did lately, that Rose was lucky to have such a nice husband.
Hugh unpacked his women’s clothes, and his lingerie, and his makeup, and put them away. He knew no one would spy on him. When he went out he would dress at a friend’s house so Rose and Ben would never know. Lots of drag queens who lived with their families did that.
Greenwich Village was full of small single rooms to rent, for bachelors, gays and lesbians, and Bohemians, people who had left the stultifying forbidding life of their small towns to gravitate to New York; but he wouldn’t dream of living in a rooming house when he had a family. He was safe here, as happy as he had been when he was a child, when the world was good and he had a place in it, before he knew anything.
Chapter Ten
In 1928 Rose and Ben joyfully welcomed their first child, their daughter Peggy Ann. She was a placid and beautiful infant, with blond curls, and the blue eyes that ran in Rose’s family. Rose weighed her every week and dutifully inscribed each weight in Peggy’s pink baby book. The baby
His friends had women’s names as he did: Lady Clifford, Nazimova, Zazu. It was all in the spirit of high camp. He found a private gay club on Christopher Street, where the admission fee was a steep five dollars, but well worth it, and his new friends took him to another gay club, more a restaurant, not private—but who else but a fairy would want to go there?—called Paul and Joe’s. These clubs were small and always packed. Gus, the “hostess” at Paul and Joe’s, was friendly to him. Hugh brought his makeup with him from home, and put it on in the bathroom. He always wore a man’s suit, but he carried a compact for touchups. His friends told him there would be a costume ball soon at Webster Hall, the huge old meeting hall, and told him not to miss it; they were all going to be in drag, and there would be half-naked men in togas, made of bedsheets, to swoon over.
There was the Everard Baths if you wanted willing, anonymous sex, even orgies, or perhaps to find love. He learned what a glory hole was. Fairyland, as he thought of it, even had its own language.
“Dearie,” the rouged and lipsticked men in the gay clubs called each other. “Dearie, people who live in glass houses should undress in the dark!” “Dearie, if you associate with garbage you’ll get flies!” “Dearie, just look at that pathetic old queen!”
In the clubs after eleven o’clock the Broadway chorus dancers would arrive from their shows at the Winter Garden, or from Vanities, or the Music Box Revue, flouncing, effeminate, and happy. Some of them had sugar daddies, just like girls did. And then after midnight everyone would go uptown to 58th Street and Fifth Avenue, to Childs restaurant, the largest of the famous chain, for coffee and breakfast. In the small hours of the morning, here in New York, Bristol seemed as far away as if Hugh had never lived there.
As soon as he graduated from Brown, Hugh packed up all his things and took the train to New York. His father looked bewildered, and Celia, fixing him with her gimlet eyes, looked smug. His job at the antique store, Montezuma, was waiting for him. His friend Zazu, from the clubs, an older man who looked better without makeup, was the proprietor. Hugh settled into his comfortable bedroom, with adjoining bath, on the ground floor of Rose’s house. His brother-in-law Ben, who was a generous man, made him feel welcome because he knew how much it meant to Rose. Hugh thought again, as he often did lately, that Rose was lucky to have such a nice husband.
Hugh unpacked his women’s clothes, and his lingerie, and his makeup, and put them away. He knew no one would spy on him. When he went out he would dress at a friend’s house so Rose and Ben would never know. Lots of drag queens who lived with their families did that.
Greenwich Village was full of small single rooms to rent, for bachelors, gays and lesbians, and Bohemians, people who had left the stultifying forbidding life of their small towns to gravitate to New York; but he wouldn’t dream of living in a rooming house when he had a family. He was safe here, as happy as he had been when he was a child, when the world was good and he had a place in it, before he knew anything.
Chapter Ten
In 1928 Rose and Ben joyfully welcomed their first child, their daughter Peggy Ann. She was a placid and beautiful infant, with blond curls, and the blue eyes that ran in Rose’s family. Rose weighed her every week and dutifully inscribed each weight in Peggy’s pink baby book. The baby
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