The Chronicles of Lana: Of Gin and Men

By Lana

The Chronicles of Lana--Of Gin and Men is a collection of very short stories providing humor for adults, written by a prim and proper midlife debutante, as she follows antics of her two gay cousins. Lana finds herself in some provocative situations and places; and since she writes about them rather explicitly, her Chronicles are for adults only.

In her Chronicles we find Lana encountering all types of people as she goes about getting her hair done at Mr. Gene's upscale salon or traveling to Atlanta with a van load of gay, lesbian, and cross-dressing gospel singers.

Though prim and proper, she's accepting of alternative lifestyles, explaining from her in-grained Calvinistic theology that people are who and what they were meant to be. And Lana likes her gin and men.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lana
• Release date: Aug 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465746764

Lana

Lana is a unique blend of Old South debutante and hip contemporary. Born in 1952 in Charlotte, NC, she was a member of an old and prominent family. Lana was presented officially to high society at the age of 17. After studying at Chatham Hall in Virginia, she returned to Charlotte to attend Queens College and was awarded her bachelor's in liberal arts. She traveled widely and became enamored of gay men over the world. After her son and daughter were grown, she took up writing.

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Don’t buy The Chronicles of Lana if…

You’re under age 18, homophobic, hate sex, dislike satire, and have no sense of humor.

The Chronicles of Lana

—Of Gin and Men

By Lana

Smashwords Edition

Copyright .2011 by Curt Collins

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Table of Contents

Chapter 1-Out, Damned Fly

Chapter 2-Tripping to Atlanta

Chapter 3-Renting a Room

Chapter 4-Handling Snakes

Chapter 5-Adeline the Star of Starr

Chapter 6-Getting 30 a Day

Chapter 7-A Too Small World

Chapter 8-Cousin Boger Tells The Story

Chapter 9-Picking Up Trash

Chapter 10-Queen of the Double Wide

Chapter 11-Roommates

Chapter 12-Tramping at the Trailer Park

Chapter 13-Whatever Will Be Will Be

Chapter 14-A Gift Horse

Chapter 15-Honeymoon in a Cyber Tube

Chapter 16-Ricky Dale Has Seen Better Days

Chapter 17-The Big Dipper

Chapter 18-A Yankee Teacher Tenant

Chapter 19-B. C.’s Story

Chapter 20-Eddie the Glory Hole Maker

Chapter 21-A Universal Hiss

Chapter 22-His Genius Is Large

Chapter 23-Aunt Cullie and the Disinheritance

Chapter 24-Lana Live and Loaded

Chapter 25-Misery Loves Company

Chapter 26-Roomers

Chapter 27-Unmentionables

Chapter 28-Safe Sex

Chapter 29-Club D: Delicious or Damned?

Chapter 30-Midnight at the Oasis

Chapter 31-Lonnie’s Fit

Chapter 32-Signs Following

Chapter 33-Spotting an Old Trick

Chapter 34-T. Mack’s Free Trip Surprise

A Note From the Author

Chapter 1-Out, Damned Fly!

I was sitting at Mr. Gene’s Salon having my hair clipped and shaded. Relaxed and chatting away, I was startled out of my wits when IT appeared. From out of the fragrances of the almost mesmerizing atmosphere, there it was. In the middle of the gold veneer panel that topped the cabinet of the styling station in which I sat, reflecting magnificently in the mirror, was this FLY!

Oh, my stars and garters!!! I was screaming!

Darling! What is it? Mr. Gene (who, of course, cares for me personally) was almost beside himself, as his soft, manicured hands quickly were clasped across his chest in his fright, his flowery silk tunic fluttering from the swift movement he had made.

It’s that damn fly! Gene Dear, don’t you see that hideous fly, lurking there on your hammered gold leaf atop your alabaster box? Well, honey, when I said that I thought Mr. Gene was going to faint right off the bat. He almost fell to the floor in a swoon, but then caught himself mid-stumble as he screamed to the top of his lungs.

How did that damn thing get in here!? What are we going to do?! It was more a statement of exasperation than a question.

Well, darling, for starters could we get hold of a fly swatter?

Lana, darling! You know that I’d not have any fly swatter inside this salon. I forbid any cleaner to use anything besides feather brooms and electric vacuum cleaners.

By this time, a number of the upscale patrons and startled stylists were gathering at my station to learn what was going on because of the commotion. I thought Tuley Pettigru, her bright red lipstick smeared and making smudges on her soft white hands, was going to faint.

"Lana, WHAT is it? Tuley had rushed to me with both hands in the air. When I told her we had spotted a fly inside the house, Tuley’s small thin faced turned even paler, and I feared she might faint. But Mr. Gene assisted her to a damask draped settee and handed her a very large gin and tonic to steady her nerves.

I must admit that I immediately became quite concerned for dear Tuley because she had turned quite pale before the gin could take any effect. It is rough on us ol’ girls who were born to the blue—actually purple because both Tuley and myself are traced back to a bunch of kings—but, as I said, it’s rough on us to encounter any such monster as a fly. At our homes we have two sets of doors at each entrance to be sure such varmints cannot get inside. Of course, I always keep my smelling salts handy whenever I’m outside. A girl never knows, honey, when she might see something that could cause her to go into a swoon or get the vapors.

By this time, I had already pulled my own gin and tonic flask from my big purse and was tilting it delicately toward my trembling lips. The diamonds encrusted on the hammered gold flask to form my monogram were catching the glitter from the heavy crystal chandeliers in Mr. Gene’s Salon.

Several of the Salon employees had gathered to assist Tuley and me and to help Mr. Gene to a small couch where they put large silk pillows behind his back and lifted his legs onto the damask.

Girl, you get a glass for Mr. Gene to have some gin and tonic from my flask! I spoke rather sharply to the one female stylist, who’s rather plump but has a pretty face, because, unlike those darling men who were scurrying in every direction to assist us, she stood gawking.

She moved quickly at my command, however, and produced a Waterford crystal gin glass in no time.

Very soon, the color was back in Mr. Gene’s and Tuley Pettigru’s faces, and I was feeling my gin enough to relax.

Darlings, this reminds me of an Emily Dickinson poem I had to study when I was a prep school student at Chatham Hall, I began and then quoted the line, I heard a fly buzz in the room as I lay dying.

Ohhh, Lana! Tuley broke into tears. Then Mr. Gene started weeping and honking his nose into a paisley design silk handkerchief. The next thing I knew I was weeping into my gin. Four hours later, I was able to leave the Salon because Mr. Gene finally was able to finish my hair. The color’s a new highlight for me. I call it gin blonde.

Chapter 2-Tripping to Atlanta

I can hardly believe all that occurred on the trip to Atlanta I took a while back with a busload of cross-dressing, drag queen gospel music singers.

Honey, let me tell you for sure this excursion with the MCC (Metropolitan Community Church) was one bodacious ride into unbelief and not anything like any Sunday school outing or trip I ever was on with any group. Not from Covenant Presbyterian, First Church, The MPP (Myers Park Presbyterian) Church, Christ Episcopal, The CCOG (Central Church of God), the Methodists, the Baptists, or even the Pentecostal Holiness Church!

You know I'm very ecumenical and love to mix and mingle with all sorts of people--I collect interesting people--it just makes life so much fun! Well, the way I got into this trip was quite unexpected. I was working one day at the office of a friend of mine who publishes three newspapers--two queer. His printer had run late, and there were about 30,000 advertising flyers to be inserted within one day into his monthly queer newspaper called Q Notes so that it would hit the streets on time.

My friend, whose name is Jim, rang me up late night and said, "Lana, if you possibly can, please come over tomorrow and help us get these flyers inserted! I'll pay you ten dollars an hour, buy you lunch, and love you forever! And you know you'll have fun with this bunch over here.

Jim, honey, I wouldn't miss this for the world! What time do you want me there? I could hardly wait until morning.When morning finally broke and I got to Jim's building I walked into the motliest crew of people with whom I ever had worked. Shawda Mawda! This bunch beat out even that wild and crazy bunch with whom I had worked at Bush--Quayle headquarters! Sitting at one end of the long worktable and inserting papers as she groaned and grunted was a 350-pound black man in drag named LooLoo. LooLoo, I came to learn as the day went on, was 48 years old. She was wearing a red flowing dress and a headdress that was a sort of turban with streamers that fluttered in the breeze of the fans. The headdress was bright red, too, as were her lipstick and dangling earrings. I noticed that on her enormous feet were black Reeboks. O, Lordy, I'd just love to present her to society at The Charlotte Country Club where I made my own debut in 1968, as a girl of 17.

As the day wore on, LooLoo kept complaining to us about being exhausted, saying, Children, Mother is tired!

Also in this razzle-dazzle crew of workers was a man named Morgan Brooke, who appeared to be perfectly normal except that he was just a tad on the swishy side. Morgan's wavy gray hair was separating widely in the middle of his head to reveal the mid-life bald spot he so obviously was trying to conceal by combing his hair with a lot of twists and flourishes and brushing it toward the middle of his gleaming cranium. As the day progressed, Morgan and I took a real liking toward each other, as we say down South. He revealed to me in our daylong conversation that only two weeks before he had told his wife after 25 years of marriage he was gay. Even though I could sympathize with him, I also could sympathize with his wife. Lana, she is being SO unreasonable! Morgan lamented.

Now see here, Morgan! You're the one who's being a little on the unreasonable side! After all, when a woman has been married to a man 25 years, had three children by him, and put up with all his crap, and then he tells her he wants to have all his good times with another man, it is not unreasonable for her to be upset!

I realized I was raising my voice to Morgan. And I didn't mean to be rude. I just didn't mince my words with him. But, too, of course, there's a lot to be said for honesty in an intimate relationship (and marriage is that), and if your partner is not satisfying you sexually something certainly needs to be said. I know some married couples where the man and woman sleep in separate bedrooms all the time. Honey child, that is not a marriage! Even when Clavo gets so old his pecker won't salute and I get so old my love hole shrivels up, I still want to be able to snuggle up next to that sweet, hairy hunk of man! I pray God I can!

But now let me get back to how I got involved in the trip to Atlanta. As LooLoo, Morgan, and I worked along with Rick (the drop-dead gorgeous black-haired, big blue-eyed, long-lashed 23-year-old doctoral student) and Sammy (the swishiest blonde queen in our Queen City, so called for namesake Queen Charlotte, wife of George III), conversation got around to the trip to Atlanta. The rest of them all were talking about it; and from hearing their talk, I thought they were planning to go on some sort of sporting event.

You know that Danny Boy really can throw it up high. He really hit some great highs and scored big the last time. Sammy was talking to the group. Later on, I understood that throwing it up high did not refer to playing basketball as I had thought but rather to the pitch of Danny Boy's tenor voice. Morgan (called Morgan the Organ by the rest of the group) asked me to go with him to the break room for some coffee, and I did.

Lana, go with us to Atlanta tomorrow, he begged.

Exactly what is this Atlanta trip all about, Morgan?

Oh, this is the world-wide meeting of the Metropolitan Community Church. People from all over the world will be there! You know you want to go on a van with a bunch of drag queens and cross dressers who are all gospel singers! Now I was interested!

You mean that I can ride down with you all?

Why yes, Lana, honey. You can ride with us on the church van. Even though I'm not one of the singers, I'm going along. And you can go, too. In fact, you can stay with me in my hotel room because I've reserved a room and am planning to stay by myself.

For a brief moment the fleeting thought that maybe Clavo might not like it flew through my brain, but I quickly quashed that thought. What the heck, Morgan's not interested in a woman like me or any woman because he just told his wife he's queer. I later told Clavo I was going to Atlanta with some of the girls--because actually that's what the queens in this bunch consider themselves to be. I put some clothes into my valise, kissed Clavo goodbye, and made plans to meet the vanload of gospel singers early the next