Put The Bass In Your Walk - Part 1
Put The Bass In Your Walk
Band(s): THS, CS, The Dresden Dolls, Butch Walker and random others, both bandom and non-bandom related
Pairing(s): Gen with implied Gabe/William and Amanda/Neil
Word Count: 19,788
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language and cattiness
Summary: Greta Salpeter is a recent music school graduate and amateur burlesque singer who gets the idea of becoming a drag queen after being inspired by a Edith Piaf loving queen named Emanuelle. When she's about ready to give up after continuous rejection, she meets a strange performer named Jack Jillian who agrees to help Greta with her dream. Through Jack, she meets the matronly Maya T. Sycamore, a southern diva with a big heart and a lot of connections and the sassy Nueva Herrsey, an up and comer trying to recover from heartbreak. Can they teach Greta the tricks of the trade? Can she help them past their own problems off stage? It's a story about loving yourself, loving others, and loving whatever shade of lipstick you can find in your makeup box.
Author Notes: Written for bandombigbang, Wave 1. Thanks so much to unrequited_rain for betaing for me. Your purple notes made me smile! To one_more_cherry for being a third set of eyes and a wonderful cheerleader, no matter what crazy idea I'm writing or thinking of, frankie_ann for being the awesome roommate who gets what I'm talking about when I tell her my story plans, chibijelly for providing necessary distraction when I would get in over my head, and to sobota for talking me through the one night I was trying to break 10,000. The line about appropriate hip movements was from our AIM convo and was too good not to include in the story. To alljustlovers for your wonderful mix! Finally, to every drag performer I've ever known, met or watched, this story wouldn't exist without your own wonderful brand of crazy. If you're curious, I wrote a post about what inspired this story here. Spoilers for the story, so you might want to wait to read it.
This was the worst idea Greta had ever had.
It was bad enough that no one had really understood her brief foray into burlesque. Despite the fact she was having fun with it, some of her friends from school still seemed to have this belief that she had become a stripper in some bout of post graduate insanity.
She considered getting new friends.
Besides, it was only a temporary thing until she could find a job. It’s not like she planned on being Greta Goldenlocks for the rest of forever.
Greta knew when she saw her that she didn’t want to do just burlesque anymore though. She wanted to do something else. Something grand. Something even more over the top.
Her name was Emanuelle Le Petit. She was a drag queen that had been hired to entertain between Victoria’s routine to ‘Cherry Bomb’ that could only be described as “lolita-esque” and Stefani’s mini light show after Ashlee had called in sick that night.
Most of the group had been caught up with making sure Stefani didn’t electrocute herself when Emanuelle went on, but Greta had found herself entranced with the new performer. She was tall, slender and strode across the stage with much more grace than most biological women Greta had known in her life. She was decked out in a rich green dress and her rich brown hair had been swept up into a tidy up-do. Greta knew that it was most likely a wig, but she really didn’t care. Emanuelle could have been bald and Greta still would have been entranced as she lip synched along with Edith Piaf.
As soon as Emanuelle stepped off stage, Greta had made up her mind. She didn’t want to just be a part time burlesque performer. She wanted to be a drag queen just like Emanuelle.
“Can you even be a drag queen?” Victoria asked backstage when Greta told her fellow performers her grand new plan. “I mean, you’re already a woman!”
Greta was ready to give Victoria an unsure answer, but Stefani chucked one of her earrings at Victoria instead. “Of course she can! You’ve never heard of a faux queen?”
Victoria tossed the earring back at Stefani, but she ignored it as she sat down next to Greta. “Greta, if you want to be a drag queen, I say go for it. I think you’d be wonderful. Don’t you, Victoria?”
Victoria looked over at the two of them. “I don’t doubt the talent. I just worry they’ll eat her alive. Queens in this city are notorious divas.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Greta said, leaning her head on Stefani’s shoulder. “Still, I have to try. I mean, I got experience here. How different could it be?”
Over the next week, Greta learned that it was very different. The various gay bars and drag clubs she sought out didn’t seem to care that she had been doing well for herself in the three months she had been working at the Parisian Nights Club. They were either conveniently not hiring new performers or they would straight up tell her that they weren’t seeking women to be queens. “We’re always looking for Drag Kings if you’re interested in that,” one owner had told her. Greta considered it, but that’s not she wanted to be. She didn’t think she’d be very good at being a King anyway.
So here she was at the end of the week, sitting in a dark corner of some performance bar called The Berlin, crying into her cosmo. They weren’t hiring anyone either, but Greta figured she’d just buy a drink from them anyway after the week she was having.
This really was the worst idea she had ever had. She made a mental note to never listen to Stefani again, no matter how optimistic she seemed about something.
“Goldielocks, why are you crying?”
Greta looked up at a voice that was talking to her. The voice was a bit husky and the body it belonged to was bound and made up to be masculine. Greta could tell that she was actually a woman as she stood this close to her, but she would have done a double take if she was on stage. Greta figured that was the desired effect. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” the masculinely dressed stranger said as they took a seat across from Greta. “Girls like you don’t need be crying during cabaret.”
Greta gave the stranger an uneasy grin. “You would be if you had the week I’m having.”
The stranger leaned forward. “Try me.”
“Seriously?” Greta was a bit surprised that they were willing to listen to her.
“Tell Jack Jillian everything, dear.”
“Jack Jillian,” Greta repeated. “You’re a drag king then?”
Jack shrugged. “I prefer ‘performer without gender restrictions’. King, queen, crossdresser, genderfucker, genderbender, he, she, zie... I’ve been called all of it.”
Greta smirked. “Makes me wish all these club owners were as progressive as you.”
Jack raised hir painted on eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Greta said with a nod. “I mean, I guess that’s what I get for getting a half brained idea to attempt to become a drag queen. When I’m...y’know...”
Jack reached over and grabbed Greta’s hand. “You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?”
Greta was a bit surprised by hir straightforwardness. “Well, I guess I thought I did. I learned how wrong I was though. I mean, it was easier for me to get into doing burlesque at Parisian Nights.”
“Did you know somebody who worked there?”
Greta paused. “Well... yeah. Dusty, this girl I was in school with, suggested me for a job opening. Taught me everything she knew too.”
“And you didn’t think that was going to be any different when you attempted to get into the Drag game?”
Greta opened her mouth, but quickly closed it. Jack had a point. “...Well damn.”
Jack flashed her a smile and patted her hand. “Look, Goldielocks, I love the enthusiasm, but no drag club is going to hire you. Well, not yet anyway. Clubs may say they want amateurs, but they want amateurs with a name behind them. A queen or king they know they can trust. Or fear. It’s usually fear.”
Greta pursed her lips before taking a swig of her cosmo. “Right. And I don’t know any drag performers. How am I going to get that?”
Jack drummed hir fingers against the table, a smile playing on hir face. “I just might know someone who can help you out.”
Before Greta could answer, a bartender shouted at Jack to get on stage. Zie jumped up, but not before giving Greta a kiss on her hand. “See me backstage after the show. Ask for Amanda.”
Jack dropped her hand and rushed to the stage. Waiting for her was a tall man in bright, doll like makeup and a long, ruffly black dress. The man approached the microphone. “Hi. I’m Jill Jackson. This is Jack Jillian. We’re going to perform for you lucky little bitches tonight.”
The crowd up front clapped. Jack poked Jill in the side and pointed to the opposite side of the room from where Greta was sitting. Jill got what zie meant right away. “And as always, Jack would like to dedicate this to the hot British guy writing in the corner of this dark club.”
The room seemed to laugh and a dark figure at the other end just waved at Jack. Greta smiled to herself a little bit as Jill launched into an over the top lip synch to ‘Like A Virgin’ as Jack kept trying to feel hir up and find a way to take the ruffly black dress off. Jill would just swat hir away and continue.
Even if Jack was lying to her, at least Greta was getting her first smile in a week.
-----------------
When Jack and Jill finished their set, people began milling around the club. Going between tables to chat or going to the bar for more drinks before the next act was supposed to go on. Greta just finished her second drink, paid the waitress, and made a beeline for the backstage door, where a somewhat large female bouncer was standing. “Sorry,” she said in a deep, booming voice. “Performers only.”
Greta didn’t want to upset the bouncer, but she needed to see Jack. “Jack told me to meet him... her... after the show. Said to ask for Amanda?”
The bouncer frowned, but nodded and went behind the door. It seemed like forever until she appeared again and held the door open for Greta. “Go ahead, she’s waiting on you.”
Greta nodded her thanks as she ducked under the bouncer’s arm to the warm dressing room. The door slammed behind her and Greta jumped.
“Is that you, Goldielocks?”
Greta looked up to see a woman with flyaway red hair in a too big The Who shirt sitting at a vanity, drawing on a pattern of swirls where her eyebrows should have been. She smiled at Greta from the mirror. She had Jack’s smile. “Jack?”
“Amanda,” she said, not looking away from the mirror as she put down the eyeliner she was using to draw her eyebrows on and made a move for the brightly colored eyeshadow. “I’m only Jack when I’m on stage.”
Greta moved in closer to where Amanda sat. “It’s going to take a while to get used to that.”
“It’s not as hard as you think,” Amanda said, streaking her eye in blue.
Just then, the man Greta knew as Jill popped out from behind the curtain. Instead of the ruffly dress from before, he was dress in a plain black shirt and shorts. “Amanda, have you seen my cellphone?”
Without a word, Amanda picked up the phone sitting near her on the vanity with her free hand. “You let me use it earlier, Brian. Remember?”
The man now known as Brian strode into the room and took the phone from Amanda’s hand. He then looked over at Greta and smiled. “Well well, who’s your friend?”
Amanda opened her mouth, but then quickly closed it. “You know, I don’t think I got her name. I’ve just been calling her Goldielocks.”
Greta rolled her eyes and extended her hand to Brian. “Hi, I’m Greta.”
“Good to meet you, Greta,” Brian said, shaking her hand. “Any reason Amanda lured you back here?”
“Yeah Brian, make it sound like I’m going to eat the poor girl.”
Greta shrugged. “Well, Amanda said she could help me with something. Or Jack said that.”
“Jack and Amanda aren’t mutually exclusive, Greta,” she said, closing her makeup box and pushing back from the vanity. Greta could see the green and blue striped tights she was wearing underneath her skirt. “If I said I’d help you as Jack, I’ll help you as Amanda.”
Amanda picked up a pair of heels from the other side of the vanity and started to slip them on. Brian looked back and forth between the two. “Well, if you don’t mind me asking, what does the girl need help with?”
“She’s trying to make the jump from Burlesque to Drag and is failing miserably,” Amanda said as she finished putting on her shoes. “Or did I miss something?”
Greta shook her head. “No, that’s pretty close. I keep getting turned down because I want to be a queen.”
Brian pursed his lips in a look of sympathy. “Well, good luck with that.”
“We don’t need luck,” Amanda said, standing up and walking across the room to grab her jacket and her bag. “We just need Maya to hear her out.”
Brian snorted. “You’re really taking her to Mama Sycamore?”
“Why not?” Amanda said, slipping on her jacket. “If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t even have this gig with you. Maybe she can help her out.”
Greta watched this ping pong back and forth for a minute before she finally interrupted. “Ummm... who’s Maya?”
Amanda just smirked as she strode back to the other side of the room and took Greta by the arm to lead her out. “You’ll see. I’ll see you tomorrow, Brian!”
Brian waved at Amanda as she pulled Greta out of the room. “Good luck, Goldielocks!”
The door slammed shut behind the two women as they made their way back through the club. Amanda waved at a couple of people near the bar before they made it to the front door and stopped. “Okay, kid. Do you really think you’re ready to do this?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really,” said Amanda with a slight shrug. With that, she took Greta’s arm again and lead her out into the street and into the night.
Part 2
Band(s): THS, CS, The Dresden Dolls, Butch Walker and random others, both bandom and non-bandom related
Pairing(s): Gen with implied Gabe/William and Amanda/Neil
Word Count: 19,788
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language and cattiness
Summary: Greta Salpeter is a recent music school graduate and amateur burlesque singer who gets the idea of becoming a drag queen after being inspired by a Edith Piaf loving queen named Emanuelle. When she's about ready to give up after continuous rejection, she meets a strange performer named Jack Jillian who agrees to help Greta with her dream. Through Jack, she meets the matronly Maya T. Sycamore, a southern diva with a big heart and a lot of connections and the sassy Nueva Herrsey, an up and comer trying to recover from heartbreak. Can they teach Greta the tricks of the trade? Can she help them past their own problems off stage? It's a story about loving yourself, loving others, and loving whatever shade of lipstick you can find in your makeup box.
Author Notes: Written for bandombigbang, Wave 1. Thanks so much to unrequited_rain for betaing for me. Your purple notes made me smile! To one_more_cherry for being a third set of eyes and a wonderful cheerleader, no matter what crazy idea I'm writing or thinking of, frankie_ann for being the awesome roommate who gets what I'm talking about when I tell her my story plans, chibijelly for providing necessary distraction when I would get in over my head, and to sobota for talking me through the one night I was trying to break 10,000. The line about appropriate hip movements was from our AIM convo and was too good not to include in the story. To alljustlovers for your wonderful mix! Finally, to every drag performer I've ever known, met or watched, this story wouldn't exist without your own wonderful brand of crazy. If you're curious, I wrote a post about what inspired this story here. Spoilers for the story, so you might want to wait to read it.
This was the worst idea Greta had ever had.
It was bad enough that no one had really understood her brief foray into burlesque. Despite the fact she was having fun with it, some of her friends from school still seemed to have this belief that she had become a stripper in some bout of post graduate insanity.
She considered getting new friends.
Besides, it was only a temporary thing until she could find a job. It’s not like she planned on being Greta Goldenlocks for the rest of forever.
Greta knew when she saw her that she didn’t want to do just burlesque anymore though. She wanted to do something else. Something grand. Something even more over the top.
Her name was Emanuelle Le Petit. She was a drag queen that had been hired to entertain between Victoria’s routine to ‘Cherry Bomb’ that could only be described as “lolita-esque” and Stefani’s mini light show after Ashlee had called in sick that night.
Most of the group had been caught up with making sure Stefani didn’t electrocute herself when Emanuelle went on, but Greta had found herself entranced with the new performer. She was tall, slender and strode across the stage with much more grace than most biological women Greta had known in her life. She was decked out in a rich green dress and her rich brown hair had been swept up into a tidy up-do. Greta knew that it was most likely a wig, but she really didn’t care. Emanuelle could have been bald and Greta still would have been entranced as she lip synched along with Edith Piaf.
As soon as Emanuelle stepped off stage, Greta had made up her mind. She didn’t want to just be a part time burlesque performer. She wanted to be a drag queen just like Emanuelle.
“Can you even be a drag queen?” Victoria asked backstage when Greta told her fellow performers her grand new plan. “I mean, you’re already a woman!”
Greta was ready to give Victoria an unsure answer, but Stefani chucked one of her earrings at Victoria instead. “Of course she can! You’ve never heard of a faux queen?”
Victoria tossed the earring back at Stefani, but she ignored it as she sat down next to Greta. “Greta, if you want to be a drag queen, I say go for it. I think you’d be wonderful. Don’t you, Victoria?”
Victoria looked over at the two of them. “I don’t doubt the talent. I just worry they’ll eat her alive. Queens in this city are notorious divas.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Greta said, leaning her head on Stefani’s shoulder. “Still, I have to try. I mean, I got experience here. How different could it be?”
Over the next week, Greta learned that it was very different. The various gay bars and drag clubs she sought out didn’t seem to care that she had been doing well for herself in the three months she had been working at the Parisian Nights Club. They were either conveniently not hiring new performers or they would straight up tell her that they weren’t seeking women to be queens. “We’re always looking for Drag Kings if you’re interested in that,” one owner had told her. Greta considered it, but that’s not she wanted to be. She didn’t think she’d be very good at being a King anyway.
So here she was at the end of the week, sitting in a dark corner of some performance bar called The Berlin, crying into her cosmo. They weren’t hiring anyone either, but Greta figured she’d just buy a drink from them anyway after the week she was having.
This really was the worst idea she had ever had. She made a mental note to never listen to Stefani again, no matter how optimistic she seemed about something.
“Goldielocks, why are you crying?”
Greta looked up at a voice that was talking to her. The voice was a bit husky and the body it belonged to was bound and made up to be masculine. Greta could tell that she was actually a woman as she stood this close to her, but she would have done a double take if she was on stage. Greta figured that was the desired effect. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” the masculinely dressed stranger said as they took a seat across from Greta. “Girls like you don’t need be crying during cabaret.”
Greta gave the stranger an uneasy grin. “You would be if you had the week I’m having.”
The stranger leaned forward. “Try me.”
“Seriously?” Greta was a bit surprised that they were willing to listen to her.
“Tell Jack Jillian everything, dear.”
“Jack Jillian,” Greta repeated. “You’re a drag king then?”
Jack shrugged. “I prefer ‘performer without gender restrictions’. King, queen, crossdresser, genderfucker, genderbender, he, she, zie... I’ve been called all of it.”
Greta smirked. “Makes me wish all these club owners were as progressive as you.”
Jack raised hir painted on eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Greta said with a nod. “I mean, I guess that’s what I get for getting a half brained idea to attempt to become a drag queen. When I’m...y’know...”
Jack reached over and grabbed Greta’s hand. “You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?”
Greta was a bit surprised by hir straightforwardness. “Well, I guess I thought I did. I learned how wrong I was though. I mean, it was easier for me to get into doing burlesque at Parisian Nights.”
“Did you know somebody who worked there?”
Greta paused. “Well... yeah. Dusty, this girl I was in school with, suggested me for a job opening. Taught me everything she knew too.”
“And you didn’t think that was going to be any different when you attempted to get into the Drag game?”
Greta opened her mouth, but quickly closed it. Jack had a point. “...Well damn.”
Jack flashed her a smile and patted her hand. “Look, Goldielocks, I love the enthusiasm, but no drag club is going to hire you. Well, not yet anyway. Clubs may say they want amateurs, but they want amateurs with a name behind them. A queen or king they know they can trust. Or fear. It’s usually fear.”
Greta pursed her lips before taking a swig of her cosmo. “Right. And I don’t know any drag performers. How am I going to get that?”
Jack drummed hir fingers against the table, a smile playing on hir face. “I just might know someone who can help you out.”
Before Greta could answer, a bartender shouted at Jack to get on stage. Zie jumped up, but not before giving Greta a kiss on her hand. “See me backstage after the show. Ask for Amanda.”
Jack dropped her hand and rushed to the stage. Waiting for her was a tall man in bright, doll like makeup and a long, ruffly black dress. The man approached the microphone. “Hi. I’m Jill Jackson. This is Jack Jillian. We’re going to perform for you lucky little bitches tonight.”
The crowd up front clapped. Jack poked Jill in the side and pointed to the opposite side of the room from where Greta was sitting. Jill got what zie meant right away. “And as always, Jack would like to dedicate this to the hot British guy writing in the corner of this dark club.”
The room seemed to laugh and a dark figure at the other end just waved at Jack. Greta smiled to herself a little bit as Jill launched into an over the top lip synch to ‘Like A Virgin’ as Jack kept trying to feel hir up and find a way to take the ruffly black dress off. Jill would just swat hir away and continue.
Even if Jack was lying to her, at least Greta was getting her first smile in a week.
-----------------
When Jack and Jill finished their set, people began milling around the club. Going between tables to chat or going to the bar for more drinks before the next act was supposed to go on. Greta just finished her second drink, paid the waitress, and made a beeline for the backstage door, where a somewhat large female bouncer was standing. “Sorry,” she said in a deep, booming voice. “Performers only.”
Greta didn’t want to upset the bouncer, but she needed to see Jack. “Jack told me to meet him... her... after the show. Said to ask for Amanda?”
The bouncer frowned, but nodded and went behind the door. It seemed like forever until she appeared again and held the door open for Greta. “Go ahead, she’s waiting on you.”
Greta nodded her thanks as she ducked under the bouncer’s arm to the warm dressing room. The door slammed behind her and Greta jumped.
“Is that you, Goldielocks?”
Greta looked up to see a woman with flyaway red hair in a too big The Who shirt sitting at a vanity, drawing on a pattern of swirls where her eyebrows should have been. She smiled at Greta from the mirror. She had Jack’s smile. “Jack?”
“Amanda,” she said, not looking away from the mirror as she put down the eyeliner she was using to draw her eyebrows on and made a move for the brightly colored eyeshadow. “I’m only Jack when I’m on stage.”
Greta moved in closer to where Amanda sat. “It’s going to take a while to get used to that.”
“It’s not as hard as you think,” Amanda said, streaking her eye in blue.
Just then, the man Greta knew as Jill popped out from behind the curtain. Instead of the ruffly dress from before, he was dress in a plain black shirt and shorts. “Amanda, have you seen my cellphone?”
Without a word, Amanda picked up the phone sitting near her on the vanity with her free hand. “You let me use it earlier, Brian. Remember?”
The man now known as Brian strode into the room and took the phone from Amanda’s hand. He then looked over at Greta and smiled. “Well well, who’s your friend?”
Amanda opened her mouth, but then quickly closed it. “You know, I don’t think I got her name. I’ve just been calling her Goldielocks.”
Greta rolled her eyes and extended her hand to Brian. “Hi, I’m Greta.”
“Good to meet you, Greta,” Brian said, shaking her hand. “Any reason Amanda lured you back here?”
“Yeah Brian, make it sound like I’m going to eat the poor girl.”
Greta shrugged. “Well, Amanda said she could help me with something. Or Jack said that.”
“Jack and Amanda aren’t mutually exclusive, Greta,” she said, closing her makeup box and pushing back from the vanity. Greta could see the green and blue striped tights she was wearing underneath her skirt. “If I said I’d help you as Jack, I’ll help you as Amanda.”
Amanda picked up a pair of heels from the other side of the vanity and started to slip them on. Brian looked back and forth between the two. “Well, if you don’t mind me asking, what does the girl need help with?”
“She’s trying to make the jump from Burlesque to Drag and is failing miserably,” Amanda said as she finished putting on her shoes. “Or did I miss something?”
Greta shook her head. “No, that’s pretty close. I keep getting turned down because I want to be a queen.”
Brian pursed his lips in a look of sympathy. “Well, good luck with that.”
“We don’t need luck,” Amanda said, standing up and walking across the room to grab her jacket and her bag. “We just need Maya to hear her out.”
Brian snorted. “You’re really taking her to Mama Sycamore?”
“Why not?” Amanda said, slipping on her jacket. “If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t even have this gig with you. Maybe she can help her out.”
Greta watched this ping pong back and forth for a minute before she finally interrupted. “Ummm... who’s Maya?”
Amanda just smirked as she strode back to the other side of the room and took Greta by the arm to lead her out. “You’ll see. I’ll see you tomorrow, Brian!”
Brian waved at Amanda as she pulled Greta out of the room. “Good luck, Goldielocks!”
The door slammed shut behind the two women as they made their way back through the club. Amanda waved at a couple of people near the bar before they made it to the front door and stopped. “Okay, kid. Do you really think you’re ready to do this?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really,” said Amanda with a slight shrug. With that, she took Greta’s arm again and lead her out into the street and into the night.
Part 2