Excerpt from a series of life events in the short story “Tawdry”
Racks of sequined, beaded and silk to polyester dresses greeted Lyndon at the 3rd Floor of Macy’s Union Square Evening Dresses department on a Thursday morning. Since they open at 10:00 am, the notion of a hectic clothes-flying-off-the-rack scenario would be too far-fetched. This is uncharted territory for him. He’s never bought a woman’s dress in broad daylight before. The last time he tried doing so was at night time, before closing at Marshalls. He purposely stood behind at end of the line of customers queueing to pay so no one would judge him. The salesgirl’s left eyebrows arched at him as she gave him his change and receipt.
“Who shops at 10:00 am in the morning for evening wear?” He thought as he set foot on the escalator going up the third floor. Trying to act cool and sophisticated, Lyndon couldn’t help but bite his lower lip inside with his teeth as the escalator lifted him to queendom come. As soon as he reached the landing and turned left, there were a few customers milling around, quite unusual for a Thursday morning.
“What the hell are these people here so early? Is there a sale going on? Can’t they just go away for a few minutes?” he thought.
He turned to the right and he saw women behind and at the front of the register looked at his way. He realized that the black saleslady was directing something for them. Clad in a brown cap over black hooded sweatshirt, blue jeans and a small black backpack, he thought of heading back down to the front door but he had to do it. Now that he’d won a drag queen pageant called Miss GAPI, she had to look presentable at parades, street fairs and other LGBTQI events. As Jasmine F. LeaBag, s/he was invited to cut the ribbon for a hair and nail salon opening at the Tenderloin owned by one of the judges of the pageant that coming weekend.
“Ok, here we go,” Lyndon took a deep breath as he began walking aisle to aisle, stopping by the racks of black, red, purple and navy dresses and made mental notes of the ones he liked. The parameters were—it had to be dark-colored, floor-length, cheap or on sale. A short, gray-haired, bespectacled Asian saleslady clad in black jacket and cream skirt passed by on the right, pulling with her a rolling clothes rack full of dresses. Their eyes met but Lyndon turned around quickly to check at the first dress he set his eyes on. She stopped for a second, cocked her head to the left, then went to the other side of the room, dragging the rolling rack behind her.
At last, he found the sale racks, which was hidden all the way to the back of the department, behind a group of mannequins that wore accessories like gloves, hats, and jewelry. He eyed where the fitting rooms were. Shoot, he thought, why do the fitting rooms have to be far from cash registers? He bit his lip, thinking how he is going to sneak into the fitting rooms to try on the dresses without being caught? San Francisco may be a liberal city but people still dress conservatively. He sighed. Maybe I need to go to Ross or Goodwill instead? But the thought of being caught wearing cheap, tacky gowns made him cringe. “Nope, I will get that fucken’ dress today.” He inhaled deeply, then looked through dress after dress, hanger after hanger, in all of 5 racks at the sale aisle. One was ideal, a long black number in rayon crepe with black and silver bugle beading on the low decolletage but it was only a size 12. Another, in navy blue silk chiffon that was tight at the bodice and flowy full skirt, had a left leg front slit up the waist, yet it was a size 16. The only size 18s he saw were two gowns; a black one with padded shoulders, sweetheart neckline, tight bodice and flared skirt and the other was a red silk number with vertical gold beads spaced 2 inches apart that started from the bust down to the hem. Hmmm, he thought.
“Can I help you sir?” A loud, nasal voice from behind startled Lyndon. He turned around to see that the same Asian saleslady from before was behind and smiling at him.
Shocked, he acknowledged her presence with a forced smile.
He took a deep breath, cleared his throat and said, “Um, er, I am, ahhh, lookin’ for a dress for my sister?”
She scanned Lyndon from the floor up but before she opened her mouth, Lyndon motioned his right hand in front of his body from right to left, “She’s about my size but a little taller, a black dress if possible.” He looked at her with bated breath.
She paused and looked at the rack, “I see. Your sister will have to fit into the dress before you buy it for her, right? She said, her right eyebrow slightly raised.
“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll just buy the dress and make it fit for her. I am very creative.” He looked down, not directly looking at the saleslady.
She smiled at Lyndon, “Just so you know, if it doesn’t fit for your sister, you won’t be able to return it back because it’s a sale item.”
Lyndon replied, “Well, okay. But the dressing room though, it’s too close to the busy register, people will think I am buying the dress for me. It’s embarrassing!”
The saleslady lifted her right hand and motioned at Lyndon, “No worry. Come with me, I’ll take you to another dressing room away from everyone.”
Lyndon’s mouth opened and his eyes glowed. He pulled out the two dresses he eyed earlier from the rack and followed the saleslady to the other fitting room, which was behind the cash registers. She turned to the left and turned the lights on. Lyndon’s mouth was still open as she opened the stall on the left, closest to the door, to let him in.
“I’ll come back in 10 minutes okay. Take your time. I am sure your sister will appreciate your help.” She winked at Lyndon and walked away.
“Oh my god! A fat, bald Asian man is trying on evening dresses at the Macy’s women’s fitting room,” he thought as beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.. He tried to catch his breath through his mouth as he took off his clothes. The full-length mirror showed the thick folds of his belly on top of his black boxers. He tried the red gown on. The skirt was too long. He thought of wearing gold stiletto platforms on it but the dress was tight. He might need to wear a corset and not eat for 3 days. Then he tried the black one. It fit perfectly. He turned around and thought of what accessories to wear when he heard a commotion from the outside. Footsteps and voices of young girls and women went into the stall across Lyndon’s.
“Mom, this dress makes me look old,” a girl’s shrill, whiny voice echoed all over the dressing room.
“Well then try this on, Brittany, this cream-colored ball gown,” replied the woman.
“That makes me look pasty!” the girl retorted.
“OH SHIT, Oh god!” Lyndon thought. He picked his clothes from the floor up to the hooks at the stall and leaned on his body sideways on the wall opposite the hooks for fear of being caught. He fumbled on the zipper as he tried to unzip the dress when a familiar voice came in and asked, “Is everything alright ladies?”
“Yes, everything is fine, thanks much,” the woman replied. They were still debating about the color and size of the dress the mother picked for her daughter.
A pause.
Then she bellowed to Lyndon’s direction, “Is everything alright, SIR?”
The girls at the stall abruptly stopped their conversation. Silence.
Lyndon could not believe it. Is she for real?
He thought as he swiftly put his boy clothes on, then he grinned mischievously and replied in a low, baritone voice, “Yes ma’am, everything’s all good!”
It got quiet for 4 seconds when one of the girls whispered, “Mom, there’s a man in the women’s dressing room.”
The mom replied nonchalantly, “Oh honey, it’s San Francisco!”
Lyndon bolted out of the room to the counter and asked to pay for the black dress quickly.
“What the!!!” Said a man in large black/white plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots who was standing in front the dressing room after he saw a fat, short Asian man rush out.
The black saleslady looked at Lyndon, whose face was beet red, smiled at him, and helped him with the transaction.
“Please, can you rush this, pretty please!” Lyndon pleaded, his voice shrill and breathing fast while his hand shook as he handed her his credit card.
“First time? She asked.
He looked down, his mouth shut and nodded.
“Hopefully it won’t be the last.” She said and handed him the receipt and shopping bag. She winked at Lyndon.
With his shoes thumping to the exit, the Asian saleslady greeted him with a smile and a nod. He mouthed “Thank you” and took a deep breath as he walked down the escalator.
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