Drag Me

By Re'Dina L. Frazier

Rated MA (Mature Audience). FOR STRONG LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE and SEXUAL CONTENT.
Drag Me is a skillfully clever spin-off of the Epic Novel Mrs. Tatterbaum. A dramedy about a man, Joseph Stiegler, a native of Valdosta, GA., who goes in search of himself after spending the Thanksgiving Holiday's with his family. The feeling of being invisible amongst the people in his life pushes Joseph to the edge of curiosity which beckons the question, is there more to life than simply existing. Dangling onto a thin rope of hope, thoughts of where his life is headed takes a front seat in Joseph's mind. He finds himself in a world filled with colorful lights, neon signs, big attitudes and loud personalities. A world where big hair, 8' inch stilettos, glitter pasties and tons of makeup are the Holy Grail. Cue in the laughter, doused with the occasional dramatic moments, that rest on the backdrop of soulful music. A true tour de force tale carefully woven into cinematic art. Will Joseph finally find himself? Or, will he forever drown in the Sea of Uncertainty. Strap on your seatbelts, this is going be one heck of an unforgettable ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664129467

Re'Dina L. Frazier

Re'Dina L. Frazier is a North American Businesswoman, Philanthropist, Theatre Director, Acting Coach, Inspirational Speaker, Playwright, Novelist, Editor, Producer and Director. Re'Dina is the CEO of a Nonprofit Organization whose core beliefs are founded on the practice of humane treatment and service to all living creatures. ° Re'Dina L. Frazier is the Author of over 300 written works of art. ° Of Which Includes: ° • Sadie, The Purple Butterfly • The Spiritual Covering • Rejection Is A Blessing • Mrs. Tatterbaum • Born For This • Operation: Save Halloween • Drag Me • Narcissist: The Soul Hunters • Zion •Eugene •Decadence •LuAnne : A Soldiers Story •Madam Ezekiel ° Stage Plays: • The Plight For A Higher Calling • After The March • Angels and Demons • Blood Stained Hands •Satan On Trial ° Serving as Writer, Director and Producer. ° Contact Information: [e-mail]

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 by Re’Dina L. Frazier. 818373

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

Rev. date: 09/25/2020

Contents

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ACT 1

Dr. Celeste Brennan’s Office

ACT 2

Eyes Wide Shut

ACT 3

Valdosta Transit Station

ACT 4

Joseph’s Condo

ACT 5

Club Sashay

ACT 6

Ambrosia’s Bar and Grill

ACT 7

Cathedral

ACT 8

Toast and Coffee

ACT 9

The Gentleman’s Closet

ACT 10

Jonah’s Whale

ACT 11

La’Trice Bistro

ACT 12

Marvin’s Office

ACT 13

Rachel’s Date With Barry

ACT 14

Club Sashay

ACT 15

Persuasions Winery

ACT 16

Dr. Celeste Brennan’s Office

ACT 17

Stonewall Enterprises

ACT 18

Bethany’s House

Act 19

Dr. Celeste Brennan’s Office

ACT 20

Valdosta Zoo

ACT 21

Gordero’s Cafe

ACT 22

South Georgia Regional

ACT 23

Joseph Visits Barry

ACT 24

Louisiana Bayou

ACT 25

Carmen’s Condo

ACT 26

Carmen’s Memorial Service

ACT 27

Club Sashay

- One Month Later -

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SCENE 27

Inspirational Thoughts

Bruised But Not Broken

To my greatest Encourager,

My Son,

♡Darius E. Frazier♡

Breath of my Breath.

Bone of my Bone.

You’re Simply The Best

Thank you for always supporting me and being my greatest Inspiration.

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Hello, I’m Christopher Joseph Stiegler, and this is my story.

It started one late evening on Thanksgiving Day 2012. I was visiting with my relatives for the holidays, as we often did, gathered together at my Mom’s house in South Carolina. Everyone was excited about their lives and sharing their stories of great achievements with one another. Some relatives were in other parts of the house playing various games and others were out back playing basketball, cards or simply sitting around talking and laughing, or watching the big screen television my brother and I hooked up before everyone arrived. My uncles and aunts were being their usual religious judgmental selves stuffing their faces. They’d spout their religious beliefs in one sentence and flounce their drunken rhetoric in the next.

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My kid sister, Gina, who had turned thirty four on this particular Thanksgiving Day, thought it would be a great idea if everyone spoke about something that they were grateful for. She’s a Sagittarius, so it’s in her nature to be philosophical - ever intuitive about the mysteries of life. As I set there listening to each one speak, I couldn’t help but think about my own life. It would soon be my turn to speak on the things I’m most grateful for on this day of thanksgiving. Would I play it safe and paint the atmosphere with soft pastel colors of niceties, that was sure to reveal my southern charm and etiquette. Or, should I throw caution to the wind by speaking on the things that were truly in my heart. I thought, how could I speak openly, with the beautiful smile gracing my Mom’s face, as she listened to her other children speaking in such a charismatic manner. How dare I, come to Thanksgiving Dinner and spoil the upbeat moods of everyone else.

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It wasn’t the right time, or place, for the dreaded thoughts plaguing my mind. So, I laughed, I joked, I told whimsical stories to pass the time, which was an affront to my very soul, because I loathed small talk. I was hurting inside, feeling as though life, itself, had given up on me. Everyone who sat around the livingroom seemed happy with the direction their lives had taken them. But, my smile was a mask, only set in place to hide the deep rooted pain I felt within. Oh, sure, I believed that the people surrounding me loved me; At least, within their own level of comfort. No one gathered in that particular space and time recognized that I never spoke on the things that I was most grateful for. It was as though, my thoughts and feelings didn’t matter. If I were to address it openly, they’d brush it off as a mere oversight. My family was prone to oversights, it was the building block of our relationships.

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There I was, a man in his late thirties, who was still too afraid to speak about the things troubling him, to his family. You would think that by having a large family, they’d be someone to confide in. My Mom was cool, but she had a tendency to try and fix everything, which only made those things that needed fixing worse. Bless her heart. My two brothers had their own family’s and a healthy dose of problems from that set up as is. My sister, although intellectually astute, wasn’t the go to person, because with her there was no holds barred. She was frank, showing no signs of mercy, and at this time in my life, I needed compassion and understanding. Now, don’t get it twisted, I’m not a weak man, not by a long shot. But, even the most masculine of men, need comfort and support by way of a hug every now and then.

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As family members begin their trek back to their homes, with the exception of a few stragglers, things started to calm down in the household. My Mom, sister and my aunt were washing dishes and mopping floors. My brothers were cleaning up the mess outback on the patio. And, I was busy keeping my nieces and nephews entertained, so that they wouldn’t be underfoot of the adults. In all honesty, I always felt it was my calling to entertain people. I don’t know, it’s something about being center stage, performing in front of a crowd that made me feel at ease. I loved making people laugh and bringing a bit of sunshine into their hearts. I guess, it’s the reason that I majored in Fine Arts, graduating with a Bachelor’s Degree. I knew that it would somehow land me right dab in the middle of make believe. Working in motion pictures has opened up a whole new world for me. It’s not so much the celebrities that I meet when I’m on location, as it is the artistry that goes on behind the cameras.

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One of my heart desires has been to work with Tom Savini. When it comes to makeup prosthetics in film, he is bar none - and, he’s still alive. Knock on wood. Some of his credits include Dawn of the Dead, Day of the Dead, Monkey Shine, Dust ‘Til Dawn, Friday the 13th, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 - also, Creepshow. He and George A. Romero had a working relationship up until Romero’s death. Savini directed the 1990 cult classic remake of Night of the Living Dead. Which was a remake of Romero’s 1968 cult classic Night of the Living Dead. It’s no wonder that Savini has his own school where he teaches the art of makeup prosthetics. Suffice it to say, he’s a big part of why I came to love the art of illusion through makeup.

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The smell of our Thanksgiving meal was still mingling in the air, the herbs and spices would linger on the cloth furniture for days. The vanilla extract was taking its final bow for the standing ovation performances it had received. My siblings and I were up passed midnight devouring the remaining pies that our Mom was famous for, sweet potato was my favorite. But, I was no stranger to pecan pie, it was my second favorite. We reminisce about days of old, how we would bicker about who got to lick the bowl.

My sister was smart as a whip, even back then, because she would opt for the blender’s beaters, which had more cake batter on them. Our Mom would work diligently in the kitchen each year preparing a Thanksgiving feast fit for royalty. We’d offer to help, but she’d shew us away. She never liked anyone in her kitchen whenever she was cooking. Mom was careful to prepare five turkeys each year, one for each of us - and one for the entire family. She’d place ours in tupperware containers and zip lock bags, for us to take with us. So, as you can imagine, we’d have turkey salad, turkey casserole, turkey sandwiches, turkey soup or turkey turkey, all the way up until Christmas - then it was rinse and repeat.

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It wasn’t until about 4am that we went to our bedrooms. Our rooms were the same as when we’d left home to start our own lives as adults. My trophies