©2024 Mel Reynes do not re-publish without permission
Frank walks backward, melting into the back of the house as an alarm clock blares. The back of the house isn’t much, just a place for a quick outfit change. More like a crawlspace, it has one important feature: a small freight elevator leading to the upstairs owner’s apartment.
On stage was Joan Clawford doing their very popular Mother’s Day “Mommy Fearest” Brunch. At fifty dollars a guest, it sold out in February. The show was mostly lipsyncing to Faye Dunaway’s 1981 cult classic Mommy Dearest, but it was an annual favorite. There was a companion show that night, a more expensive X-rated version was similarly sold out. The VIP tickets had gone in under an hour.
In truth, the person on stage was some no-name street performer Frank had picked up a month ago. The morning show was rather simple and required someone to memorize a corny script, be comfortable in heels, and change outfits rapidly. The morning show was drunk middle-aged women mostly looking at things through cell phone screens.
Frank Perry used to look forward to the Mother’s Day show. He’d work on new looks, brighten up old jokes, and find new ways to make the old movie fun for new audiences. Together he and mom would plan a host of new outfits. But the whole thing soured after Mom died and Tina took over managing the family club.
Once Mom was in the ground, Tina overhauled everything. The Ambry had existed on the strip for nearly eighty years, with Mom purchasing it in the 70’s—right before it became a historic (and expensive) tourist destination. Tina pulled down all the art made by Mom’s friends and replaced it with cheap graffiti reproductions. The pink and teal walls were painted white and the cheap, old Christmas stage lights were replaced with Bluetooth-controlled LEDs.
Soft vintage flute music soared. On the screen, a woman scalded and froze her skin. On stage, “Frank” would be dunking their face into a bowl of whipped cream. The audience laughed in surprise. At the back of the house, the real Frank quietly slid off his sneakers.
The day Tina got ownership of the club, she told Frank that this Mother’s Day Drag Brunch would be his last. It was sold out so Tina couldn’t outright fire him or risk getting a bunch of backlash from long-time fans expecting the classic routine. Tina threw shade at Frank and said she wanted performers with bigger social media accounts. She’d been so smug and happy to have control of his club. In that moment, he’d wished she’d died instead of Mom.
Frank knew what she really wanted were performers willing to work for exposure and not a cut of the profits. Frank didn’t love social media, but he had a respectable 5,273 followers on Instagram, and all his shows still sold out. She was full of horseshit.
Faye Dunaway—as the complicated and compelling Joan Crawford—would be exiting her white Hollywood palace and getting into a dark and regal car. No dialog had started yet.
Feeling along the wall, Frank searched for the hidden door of the small freight elevator. He slid the door open and paused. The audience was quietly murmuring to themselves and getting excited for the big reveal of Dunaway as the ghastly Crawford.
On screen, Dunaway turned to the camera and whispered “Let’s go.” Frank subconsciously mouthed along with her dialog.
Frank is tall but very thin and folds himself into the tiny box. As kids, he and Tina had used the little elevator for all sorts of mischief. It was his go-to hide-and-seek spot, a way to smuggle snacks into the apartment, and Mom’s biggest source of annoyance.
The little freight elevator was leftover from rum runner days, working completely with weights and pulleys. His arms strained to pull on the center rope, the box moved slowly.
He bumped against the ceiling of the elevator shaft and Frank knew he was home. He eased up the door a little at a time to see if Tina was in the apartment. She hadn’t been at the lighting rehearsal this morning. The staff didn’t think highly of Tina. They all assumed she was sleeping off a bender with her new boyfriend, “lighting DJ TeeJayh.” But she could be upstairs getting drunk and pissy.
The freight elevator emptied into the living room, which had been Frank and Mom’s work room when they did shows together. Mom wasn’t great at sewing, but she could do almost anything with a hot glue gun and enough glitter.
Frank eased himself onto a crate of shoes and silently crept into the apartment. He kept low and out of sight of the windows. The lights were off and big boxes were piled everywhere. They seem to be new things for the apartment: furniture, electronics, and every modern convenience.
There wasn’t time to muse on all these things. But Frank noted that he hadn’t gotten much from Mom after her death. Even in a popular area, it was hard to keep an old club like The Ambry running. Either you short-changed the staff, cheated the customer, or you lived in a one-bedroom apartment with two kids and no husband. Tina seemed to have chosen massive credit card debt over family.
“I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at the dirt,” Dunaway exclaimed. The audience laughed at “Frank” on the stage. They were on their hands and knees scrubbing an invisible spot, ass thrown high in the air.
The old yellow carpet softened Franks’s footsteps. He crept cautiously to the kitchen/office. With a full kitchen downstairs, Mom had turned the upstairs kitchenette into her office. Bills were sorted in a dish rack and an old desktop slept on a flimsy plastic table. The bedroom door was ajar. Lights off. Transitioning from the carpet to the vinyl tile, Frank’s feet suctioned to the yellow floor with a nostalgic sound.
Under the sink was a big old safe, which Tina had left open. She was always careless with these things and it made Frank wonder why Mom had given her the club. A dark part wondered if Tina had messed with Mom’s will before she’d passed. He tried to push those thoughts down, Tina wasn’t that evil.
Next to the safe were cat supplies. Frank grabbed a packet of treats and a few cans of wet food for later. He gave the bag of treats a soft shake.
From the bedroom, a grandiose eighteen-pound ragdoll cat happily trilled. It was Mix Bizness.
One day Mom showed up with the cat and no explanation. Sometimes Mom would say she won it in a card game. Other times she’d say she found the cat behind a dumpster. One time, she even claimed to have just plucked Mix Bizness off the porch of a house as she walked by. All sounded like his Mom.
Almost before the line was delivered, the audience was primed to laugh as Dunaway said, “I could be a mother and a father!” Onstage Frank spun around to reveal a drag king version of themself.
He didn’t hold it against Mom if she had left the club to just Tina. Frank was getting more work around town, making it harder to have time for The Ambry. Commissions for custom outfits and wigs also filled his time and kept him afloat. He always made time for Mom when she called, which she didn’t do very often. She didn’t want to stand in his way and the calls dwindled to an occasional drag brunch and Mother’s Day shows.
The dark thoughts tickled the back of Frank’s mind again. Mom could be a bit flippant, but she was solid on her paperwork. She’d told him “Never let the tax man catch you with your pants down.” Nowhere in the will had Mom addressed the ownership of Mix Bizness, and ownership defaulted to Tina. His sister had never in her whole life given one crap about the cat and kept it to spite him. Frank was rescuing it from a life of vape smoke and negligence.
Frank crab-walked to the bedroom and shook the treats again. Excitedly, Mix Bizness bonked the bedroom door—closing it.
She wasn’t very bright.
The plan was to snatch her, smuggle her to a friend’s house, and keep the cat out of sight until Tina’s anger died down. Mix Bizness was a purebred beast of a cat and very easygoing, anyone could pick her up without complaint. The drag show was the perfect cover. Frank Perry, as Joan Clawford, was on the stage. He couldn’t possibly have taken the cat. Everyone had seen him on the stage the whole time.
Cautiously approaching the door, he nudged it open. Mix Bizness chirped and again shut the door with her massive weight. Frank sighed and pushed the door open again, this time holding it open for the simple cat to come through.
Through the crack in the door, Frank sees a faint blue light and hears his sister’s ringtone, a techno trash beat by DJ boyfriend.
Frank froze in place. His muscles trembled from being in a crouch for so long. His legs were strong but made more for strutting in heels than hunched barefoot on the floor. He tried to stay still and not draw any attention. Mix Bizness came out of the room and rubbed her fluffy flank all over Frank. Her tail instantly went up his nose and he took a deep breath to prevent sneezing. The phone rang and rang without anyone picking it up.
Mix Bizness arched her back and mewed louder.
Nothing from the bedroom.
Again, the phone rang. The same techno trash went on and on without anyone picking it up.
“Shall we open the presents now?” Faye Dunaway asks through a too-wide smile. Franks’s face is blank with fear as he repeats the words.
Frank eases through the door, leg muscles screaming. Opening the door slowly, waiting for someone to yell or attack him.
The ringing stops again, accepting another voicemail. Mix Bizness’ fluffy butt bounces excitedly into the room. She flops onto a pile of laundry in the corner.
On the yellow carpet lays Tina, face down. Her phone is screen lays near her head. There’s no blood, but by the light of the phone, he can see Tina is dead.
Frank rocks back and forth, landing on his ass.
He sits in the doorway for a very long time.
Tina was an asshole, but he didn’t want anything really bad to happen to her. He remembered her self-satisfied smile when she found out she owned the whole club.
Dunaway glibly whispered from the club beneath him, “No one ever said life was fair.”
Doing quick mental calculations, Frank figures he’s eaten up a fourth of his time. Leaving now, he can bring the cat to his friend, and be ready for the final act. Then he’d just have to make sure he was out on the floor being seen whenever someone found Tina’s body. He hopes she has someone to check on her soon. Maybe whoever was calling.
Resolved, he scoops up Mix Bizness and walks in a hurried crouch back to the living room.
Before crawling into the little elevator, Franks doubles back to the front door.
Using a dish towel, he opens the front door. The safe is already empty, he’s just setting up an extra alibi for the missing cat. Mix Bizness languidly swishes her tail, watching Frank as he sets up the details of her disappearance.
Frank pulls himself and the cat into the little box.
Still silently and subconsciously mouthing along with the dialog, Frank mirrors Faye Dunaway as she wails and cries, “I didn’t mean it.”
NOTABLE:
Second round entry for the 2024 NYC Midnight Short Story