A chapter where Briony visits an LGBT nightclub and gets a revealing insight into another side of Daphne's life.

The Ram 17

Briony Betrayed wife and mother.
Sion Her eight-year-old son.
Ellairy Her nine-month--old daughter.
Arfon Brionys’ abusive and unfaithful husband.
Dave Cadwalloder Welsh bachelor hill-farmer.
Jenny and Lassie Daves’ sheepdog bitches.
Laddie. Daves’ sheepdog.
Jessica and Pansy Daves’ sows.
Angel Daves’ mare.
Gabriella (Gabby) Angels’ foal (Gift to Sion.)
Daphne Daves’ ‘girlfriend’
Cledwyn. Farmer further down the valley (Neighbour.)
Blodwen Cledwyn’s daughter.
Rachel Daphne’s TV friend.
Shirley Rachels’ GG wife.

The Ram 17

Briony was pleased that a taxi was waiting at the hotel entrance for inevitably the rain had started again. She had purchased a new outfit with stunning four-inch heels and she did not want to ruin them before she’d even got to the gay village around Hurst Street. She could not help but notice the dozens of eyes that followed them through the foyer. She also could not fail to notice that Daphne AND Rachel looked stunning, perched on five inch heels with legs that certainly went ‘all the way’.

‘Why did tee-girls have to have such well defined and slender legs?

It seemed as though mini-dresses and tights were just screaming to be worn by them. Briony also found herself being emboldened by Daphne and Rachel as they strutted towards the taxi with nary a jot of concern or fear. They thanked the doorman so casually that it seemed to Briony as if they did this kind of thing every night. She turned to Shirley and wagged her head in amazement.

“They don’t seem to give a toss do they?”

“This isn’t Llanidloes or Machynlleth Bri’. No inbred bumptious farm-boys with prejudices as thick as their heads. This is Brum darling, second only to Manchester for LGBT tolerance. Come on, get in, there’s clubbing to be done.”

As Briony settled in a corner seat, Rachel gave the driver instructions.

“The Melancholy Pussy, please driver.” Rachel declared to the driver.

Briony spluttered with amusement as the driver acknowledged without a single reaction.

“Bloody hell. Who though that name up?” She asked.

“Uuuhm, I did actually.” Rachel ‘confessed’.

“You!?. What did you have to do with it and how on earth did you come by that idea?”

“Long story, get Daphne to tell you sometime. She does it better than I do.”

Briony turned to Daphne who smiled. “Not yet darling, wait until eight o’clock in the morning.”

Briony frowned, shrugged and resolved to pursue the question the next morning.

‘But not at eight o-bloody’ clock’, she told herself.

The taxi threaded its way through the evening traffic and eventually disgorged them under a canopy that erupted over the pavement by dint of a small lay-by cut into the sidewalk between two trees. Briony stepped out into a well-lit pool of light that cast a pinkish glow over everything that fell within its influence. Then she looked up into the entrance foyer and noted there were several levels inside. The club seemed to stretch up and back forever; not to mention down into the very bowels of Birmingham. It was a huge place. Next she studied the clubbers queuing eagerly along the pavement, (sidewalk to our transatlantic sisters.) The queue stretched around the block and most of the clubbers were dressed flamboyantly.

“I’m thinking this is a clear sign that it’s a gay club.” She called to Daphne over the lively chatter that erupted from the queue waiting to get in.

“Not exactly, more like an LGBT club. Come on, stay close to me.”

After being whisked by the bouncers through the press of bodies Briony found the four of them standing in an oasis of calm to the side of the main foyer. A throbbing beat was rumbling from down below and Briony was wondering how they got in so easily. Before she got an answer, a door opened to the side of their personal oasis and Rachel promptly ushered Briony through it. Shirley followed close behind but Daphne stayed talking to the manager who was formally dressed in a white tuxedo and bow tie. Rachel opened a drinks cabinet and offered Briony a drink.

“What’s your poison?”

“Oh! Nothing alcoholic; not this early anyway. I’ll have to pace myself if I’m to last to eight o’clock.”

“Good girl. Diet coke okay?”

“Tonic water I think.”

Rachel reached into the cabinet and promptly arranged Briony’s drink.

“Let’s go down to the office. Daphne’ll be a while yet.”

Shirley led the way down a stairs that obviously paralleled the main stairway but it was separated by a concrete wall. Briony quickly realised she was in a private part of the club as she passed a dressing room with several drag queens getting ready. next she saw a woman counting money and another tapping away on a computer.
Briony surmised 'Obviously they were ‘back-stage’ or in the admin section

Then Shirley opened another door to reveal a pleasant rest room with chairs, a table and private lavatories. She wondered how or why she had been brought to what was obviously the very private heart of the club; well separated from the loud raucous public places that obviously lay out past the stage to the left and through another steel door into the dance area. She turned to Rachel.

“Have you got some pull or something with the management?”

Rachel looked mildly surprised and replied.

“Don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

Tell her Shirl’, Daphne’s obviously been hiding her light under a bushel.”

Shirley frowned in puzzlement then explained.

“Uuuhm Briony ... Don’t you know? Daphne owns the Melancholy Pussy.”

“What!”

“She’s the owner, you know, ‘Le Patron’, the boss, the big cheese. She owns it, lock stock and barrel.”

Briony was struck dumb as her jaw worked to make words. Her mind turned back to the huge jostling queue on the sidewalk and she did some quick calculations. There must have been hundreds waiting to get in and there were probably hundreds more already inside. She had seen the entrance charge displayed at the main door and the maths was easy. ‘Daphne was making thousands of pounds per night simply on the entrance fees alone!’

She sipped her drink thoughtfully as she settled into one of the comfortable armchairs then she waited for Daphne to appear. Outside she heard some ribaldry between Daphne and one of the drag queens then a loud cheer from the club auditorium. Somebody had obviously taken the stage. Rachel stepped forward to activate one of the security screens and Briony was surprised to see Daphne compeering the introduction to the clubbers. Obviously, Daphne was in her element. She made a few wise-cracks then introduced the main compere for the evening. She was a drag-queen that Briony had seen on national television. Her eyes popped disbelievingly as she finally realised the size of Daphne’s operation. She turned again to Rachel.

“Bloody hell! She's a the secretive little minx! She’s never mentioned any of this! And you say all this is hers?”

“Well ... well yes. It is actually. And you say she’s never mentioned it to you?”

“No. Not a whisper, not a word. She sure keeps things under her hat doesn’t she?”

With that, the door from the stage opened and Daphne burst in while laughing at some remark that had been made by one of the drag queens in the changing rooms. Briony could see that Daphne was already on a high.

“Well! The funs’ started girls, and it’s only December the thirtieth. Roll on tomorrow night eh.” She turned innocently to Briony and smiled. “You up for some dancing girl?”

Briony could hardly refuse. There and then was neither the place nor the time to ask about the club.

‘Those questions would have to wait,’ she had to tell herself for about the fourth time that night. She set her drink aside on an occasional table, placed her clutch bag alongside Shirley’s’ and the others inside the desk by the wall then the four of them sallied forth onto the dance floor.

The noise of the thumping beat hit her like a wave as she stepped through the door. She hadn’t realised how effective the sound-proofing was in what was obviously Daphne’s office.

Before Briony had even taken her first few steps she saw Daphne going large in the middle of the dance floor. She was throwing herself about with total abandon and Rachel was almost mirroring the hectic activity. If the deafening beat had allowed, Briony would have asked Shirley if they danced like that all night but talking was a hopeless endeavour. For want of anything else, Briony fell into the beat and started swaying in harmony with the music. As her eyes became accustomed to the negligible lighting interrupted with powerful strobes flashes, Briony began to recognise other tee-girls dancing wildly around the floor.

‘These girls certainly knew how to party, extrovert and flamboyant hardly covers it', she grinned to herself as her grin became an almost permanent fixture.

Eventually she began to feel weary and she sidled over to some occasional seats in a corner where she could sit and watch the furious activity. She could not believe just how frenetic the tee-girls were and she resolved to ask Daphne at some suitable opportunity. Eventually, she sensed a person looming over her and she affirmed it was Daphne who was signing ‘upstairs’ with her finger because speech was still impossible with the deafening noise.

Briony got to her feet and hobbled, slightly painfully up the stairs as she followed Daphne and a forest of superbly shaped legs, all belonging to Tee-girls. After three flights of stairs Briony found herself in new, calmer territory where the sound of the music was all but inaudible. At last she could talk.

Sadly this luxury was denied her at first while the tee-girls caught up on gossip and generally chatted about friends who’d made it to the festivities. On all sides Briony heard various questions and answers describing who had come, who was coming and who was not. Eventually Daphne re-appeared at her side.

“You’ve ignored me all night!” Briony complained a little peevishly.

“Yes darling and I’m sorry. I had to catch up on all the gossip and chat with friends. Tomorrow night I will devote my entire time to you but tonight, it’s all about playing ‘mine host’, sorry about that. I have to keep abreast of the scene to keep the club popular. If it begins to feel jaded, people stop coming.”

“That’s something I was going to ask you; how many people come here in one night?”

Daphne wrinkled her brow and sucked her lips.

“'Bout a thousand on average. It’s a big place. At a crush, like tomorrow night, there’ll be about two thousand.”

“Two thousand!” Briony almost screeched as she did a rapid calculation. “That’s ... twenty thousand quid in a night!”

“Well; yes,” Daphne confirmed, “but there’s a lot of overhead, wages, artists fees, maintenance, insurance; you name it. The first drink is free, the entertainments licenses cost thousands a year. Every parasite in the city wants’ a piece of the action.”

At this Rachel appeared at Daphne’s shoulder. She had been ear-wigging the conversation.

“We even have to hire armed police guards after that business in Manchester. They’re very discreet but they’re there and they’re expensive. They’re on overtime; you’ll meet the inspector somewhere in the club. He’s in uniform and it helps to deter drugs. That’s not to say there are no drugs. It’s almost impossible to prevent them. Daphne has to pay for anything up to six armed guards who patrol the club and the street outside. A drive-by shooting would be a catastrophe for the whole village. The police keep the place clear and they enjoy the odd sortie into the club as they rotate duties.”

“Drive by shooting!” Briony swallowed nervously. “Is that likely?”

“Can’t say,” Rachel continued as Daphne thoughtfully sipped a coke through the ubiquitous straw, “but the criminal element would lu-urve to get its hands on this club; on the whole village in fact. The pink pound is very wealthy so gays and more especially tee-girls, come from all over seeking anonymity in the crowds. They want anonymity and safety so we do our best to offer that. Despite what people think, Tee girls are still vulnerable to abuse and prejudice, not to mention discrimination.
There was one case a few years ago where one of the girls inadvertently met her gay line manager at a club in the village and the gay boss tried to get her sacked at work the very next Monday. It was a national department store chain in Birmingham, you know, one that sells everything.

Neither knew about the other’s circumstances until that fateful meeting and the gay boss eventually admitted to the tribunal that he thought she would ‘out’ him at work. Then he told an even worse lie by suggesting that she was stealing stock from the ladies clothing department. It wasn’t true of course but it nearly destroyed her. It sounds incredible but it was true. He had prejudged her without even talking to her about it. She kept her job only because the higher management were more open-minded and somebody pointed out that she seemed to have a remarkable record in sales. I all came out of course when she was forced to admit that her transvestism enabled her to understand women’s fashions and thus she was able to sell to women as a sympathetic, understanding man. Women shoppers loved her.

This was before the latest transphobic legislation of course. However, she never trusted her line manager again. Eventually the gay moved to another branch and peace returned when she was promoted. The upshot was; the girls at her place of work became immensely supportive because her case had finally cleared up a lot of issues surrounding prejudice. That’s the reality for girls like us Briony and there’s still a lot of shit out there.”

Daphne put down her coke and added.

“That’s what this convention is all about. Rachel is the organiser and I’ll be attending for the first Monday and Tuesday, then I’ve got to return to the farm.”

Rachel interrupted.

“That’s not to say Daphne is disinterested. This club acts as a Mecca for young-uns just coming out and they invariably find their way here. The usually turn up during the day when the village is quiet and they’re feeling their way. I have a companion, one of the drag queens, Margo who works from here and keeps an eye out for the drifters. This club is open more or less twenty-four hours except Sundays. She helps any frightened waifs and strays who have usually struggled to get here and sometimes run away from home. They turn up in the village and invariably find their way here, sometimes by word of mouth, sometimes by the internet, sometimes just luck or a lot of searching. Daphne works closely with the local police and this club supports a small flat run by Margo who lives in. She helps to liaise between the police, social services and the kids’ families. That’s Daphne’s contribution, she provides the funds and Margo provides the support. So you see, we all try to do our bit.”

Briony began to view Daphne in an even newer light. Apparently, the kindness and care she had shown Briony after the crash was a primordial part of Daphne’s nature, ‘It must be if she was as philanthropical towards total strangers as she had been to her,’ Briony concluded. She stood up, stepped over to Daphne and threw her arms about Daphne’s neck.

“You’re really sweet, d’you know that?”

Daphne responded by progressing the kiss to a passionate snog and Briony had no qualms about it. Rachel and Shirley just grinned.

The snog was only interrupted when a familiar voice sounded from across the room.

“Put her down Briony, you don’t know where she’s been!”

Briony spun around and squeaked with delight.

“Blod! I thought you were coming tomorrow!”

“Couldn’t resist could I? It’s jumping downstairs. If it’s like this tonight, what’s it going to be like tomorrow?” She turned to Daphne after Briony released her from her embrace.

“Hope you’ve booked extra bouncers.”

Daphne nodded then added.

“It’s an all ticket affair tomorrow. Two thousand tickets, that’s the club’s limit. Bobby the manager has organised the door cover. Superintendant Marlow has also organised a private ‘works party’ here so there’ll be about fifty coppers with wives, girlfriends, husbands and boyfriends, partying in the blue bar next to the dance floor. They’ll be using the back entrance for their own convenience and they’ll be useful back-up for the bouncers, I think you’ll agree.”

Blodwen turned to briony and grinned.

“You see! She thinks of everything.”

Shirley laughed then commanded the group.

“Come on, time for more dancing I think.”

By mutual agreement the tee-girl herd moved as one down the stairs to the dance floor and created a spectacular appearance as they invaded. Briony had never enjoyed herself so much as her own gyrations were totally eclipsed by the wild effervescence of Daphne’s friends. Eventually, she was glad to stumble into Daphne’s private office just to rest her feet and avail herself of the drinks cabinet. As she slumped into the welcoming armchair Rachel appeared to also get herself a drink.

“Feet sore darling?”

Briony nodded happily and kicked off her heels with relief. It was only one o’clock.

Rachel looked at Briony smiled and giggled.

“Girls, they just don’t have the stamina.”

Briony was too tired to argue and Rachel left her no opportunity as she knocked back her diet coke and disappeared out of the door to resume dancing again. When Briony next woke, she felt Daphne tugging gently at her arm, it was four o’clock.

“Come on lazy bones. There’s a celebration for you to attend.”

Briony struggled to wake and mumbled sleepily.

“What?”

“Blodwen’s announcing her civil partnership to Victoria. This has become an engagement party.”

Celebrations of marriages and births were meat and drink to Briony and she sprang to wakefulness immediately. Daphne led her to the upstairs quiet area where several dozen tee-girls and assorted partners were gathered together and holding glasses of champagne. Daphne took two flutes of champagne and passed one to Briony.

“To toast the happy brides darling.”

Then Daphne was called upon to make the toast. She made a brief funny speech then invited everybody to toast the couple. Next Rachel demanded a few words followed by another toast and finally Blodwen, then Victoria replied to their friends. After enduring a gauntlet hugs and kisses the pair escaped down to Daphne’s office followed by Daphne, Briony, Rachel and Shirley. There the friends had a chance to discuss future plans and dates whilst chatting until nearly six o’clock. Finally, Daphne scolded herself first and then her friends.

“My God! Look at the time! We should be up on the dance floor. We’ve only got a couple of hours clubbing left. Come on, you as well Bri’. Can’t have you spoiling the Daphne tradition, never in bed before eight.”

“There were a few small groans but inevitably the friends all rallied around and spilled out onto the dance floor. The city hall clock was just striking eight o’clock as their taxi emerged from the village and slipped away to the hotel. The distance was small but Briony was pretty sure she would never have managed it in heels. Her feet were torturing her but it was a happy pain. Briony had never spent such an enjoyable night and not once had she been pestered or felt threatened. In the taxi, she hugged Daphne tight as they giggled over funny events from the night before. Rachel and Shirley smiled benevolently as they saw a mother seemingly emerging like a butterfly from its pupae. Gone were the eyes hooded with fear, the crouched, nervous demeanour that so betrayed abused women. Briony was learning to fly again. Finally Briony remembered her question from the evening before.

“So Daphne Cadwalloder, how did the club get its name, ‘The Melancholy Pussy?”

Daphne grinned and explained.

“Well Rachel thought of it, apparently she’d been to Naples to see the ruins of Pompeii and there was a bar in Pompeii called ‘The Melancholy Elephant’ and the sign outside survived the Vesuvius Eruption. It must have been set in a stone mosaic or something.
When archaeologists discovered it they had a good chuckle and various theories were proposed as to how it got its name. Naturally the most popular theory was that the Landlord probably sold very strong beer or very bad beer. Inevitably when the drunken patron emerged he was probably badly hung over and felt as though he had a head like an elephant! Naturally that head was full of remorse or regrets so he left feeling like a melancholy elephant.

In the early days, before we opened our club we would often see unhappy girls who hadn’t scored despite all the gorgeous men around them. Some of them perhaps not realising they were in the gay village. It was only later, when they realised where they were, that they were full of regrets because they had not satisfied their appetites. To put it crudely they had ‘Melancholy Pussies’.

The name stuck and there you have it, the sad girls who were regretting that they couldn’t pull all the seemingly gorgeous talent around them and then realising why.”

Briony smirked and thumped Daphne affectionately.

“You’re awful! There’s a dark side to you, I’m only just learning about.”

“I did warn you,” Daphne grinned, “though it’s not so much a darks side as a wild side.”

Briony snuggled closer and lay curled into the crook of Daphne’s arm until the taxi pulled into the hotel forecourt. She hobbled delicately up the steps as Daphne paid off the taxi then they made straight for the lifts. Briony realised she was just sore, not tired. The enjoyment of the evening had left her invigorated. This was a life she could get to enjoy but her feet were screaming to come down off her heels.

As they staggered out of the lift, Sion was just waking up as the maid greeted them at the door to their suite. Briony grinned guiltily as the maid smiled knowingly.

“Miss Daphne know how to enjoy, yes?”

Briony’s grin widened as she nodded sheepishly.

“You had a good time then?” The maid asked.

“You bet!”