Bright lavender n eon
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The great butch loner hits the Vegas strip
"A Total Personal Health Concept"
change girl uniform, and for laughing, bold
Silver.
There were rows and rows of slot machines,
barely clothed waitresses serving trays of free
lthough I wanted to be at the Lambda
drinks,
people who’d staked out machines,
Literary Awards in Las Veg* and had
business at the American Bookseller. Associa
playing three at a time. The fever of gambling
was in the air. Somber women and men dealt
tion Convention afterwards, I might not have
cards, spun roulette wheels, pulled in chips. But
been able to face the 18 hour drive each way to
attend if I hadn’t longed to see all that neon.
how would I ever find the LAMMYS?
I spotted a tall, good-looking young man in
a tuxedo. His posture was excellent. He moved
with grace and assurance.
“Are you here for the LAMMYS?” I dared.
He smiled down at me and said he was.
“But first. I ’m showing my friends— ” there
were two casually dressed men behind us
“— the statue of David. I can point you in the
right direction, though.”
Off I went, only to doubt my success when I
still wandered a labyrinth of gaming tables
several minutes later. Solution: two men in
tuxedos this time. At the door where all the lost
One o f my most pleasant childhood
gays converged, I met the owner of Bright Pink
nostalgias is of New York City nights. I can
Literature, the local gay bookstore. Great name,
remember being just tall enough to look out a
I thought, picturing a huge bright pink neon
window. Was it a red neon sign that I saw
sign. Despite my social ineptitude (a truly great
across the street? Yellow? Did it depict a
butch loner couldn’t possibly mingle comforta
blinking cocktail glass or a watchmaker’s
bly), I felt at home.
symbol? Whatever, to this day neon means
I also felt like a lovingly wrapped pancake.
glamour, excitement, romantic lonesomeness.
My call for help in a recent column— I couldn’t
Neon beckons me out and on into the world, to
figure out appropriate attire for this event—
pursue my destiny, to find my particular glory.
elicited wonderful response. Lover sewed
I had to see Las Vegas.
sparkling metallic thread along the royal blue,
My style of travel, when Lover can’t be with
black, turquoise and dark rose stripes of the
me, is to assume the identity o f the Great Butch
Guatemalan vest I ’d purchased for the
Loner. You know the image: stalking cities in
occasion. Georgia, my lesbian octogenarian
search o f idiosyncratic crones, exploring odd
firiend, advised me to wear black corduroy
picturesque comers— always observing life
jeans. (Her first pair of slacks, daring garb fifty
from the sidelines. If I wore a cape. I ’d
years ago, were boys’ cords purchased by her
probably do melodramatic furling movements
lover for a fictitious male relative.) A physi
with it, hiding half my face as I push through
cian-poet passed on the tux shirt, lavender
mysterious doors into exotic buildings. If I had
cummerbund and bow tie she’d worn to her
super powers I ’d be taken for Bat butch.
residency graduation. I turned down a friend
Alas, I ’m only Little Lee all grown up, a
who offered me the lavender-tipped button-on
woman alone on city streets. My first night in
ruffles she’s worn to her bonding ceremony.
And of course, I wore my patent leather
Vegas, not knowing the temper of the town, I
dancing shoes.
didn’t even dare to walk the famous strip to get
to the LAMMYS. The next night, inebriated
To tell the truth, just about the time I
men accosted, commanded, insulted me as I
chickened out of walking two miles along The
walked near my hotel.
Strip in these gladrags, I also decided to ditch
Yet the city has its power. It haunts me. One
the cummerbund and the patent leathers. Great
thing I can’t forget is The Mirage Hotel and its
Butch Loners don’t make spectacles of them
block-long artificial volcano. Every half hour at
selves.
dark, fire roars 54 feet high, cascades down
At the very last minute, as I was about to
waterfalls and crosses toward the throngs that
walk out the door. Lover called unexpectedly.
wait for it. Las Vegas’ more garish displays,
“I’ve decided,” I announced and told her
though obscene money wasters, toy like movie
about my terminal gaudincss phobia.
epics with our lust for grandeur.
'T m sure you’ll look great whatever you
The LAMMYS were held at Caesar’s
wear,” she said supportively, but I heard the
sigh in her tone.
Palace. I had spent the night before in Tonopah,
Nevada, a small, old fashioned western
Well, Great Butch Loner couldn’t bear to
mountain town. It would have fit inside
disappoint the Femme Who Loves Her. I
Caesar’s Palace. It must have taken me 15
dressed in full colors. And went out into the
minutes to travel from the parking lot to the hall
romance of the sparkling desert night, through
through the casinos. Though Jane Rule’s Desert
the rowdy crowds and the jingling coins at
o f the Heart was set in Reno, a smaller and
Caesar’s Palace, glowing like a piece of gay
more benign gambling town, I felt as if I’d
neon.
entered the novel as I searched for Ann in her
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