Laurenina
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Dolores collapsed in a heap on the sofa in the dressing room.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can handle,” she moaned. “This show is killing me. I don’t know how much longer my voice can take this.”

Martin gave her his convincing look of empathy, and then said: “Darling, I think I have found the answer to your prayers. I think I have found an understudy who can take some of those harder numbers off your hands.”

“This is my show,” stated Dolores emphatically, but he could see that she was interested by the idea. Her look demanded more information.

“Now I don’t want you to shout or laugh when I tell you this, but last night I went to a show here in town and saw one of the best Nina Simones I have ever seen,” said Martin, adding: “Excluding you of course, my sweet thing.”

“Well why would I shout or laugh at you?” she quizzed.

“Well… it was a drag act.” He let the words sink in.

“Just a minute,” said Dolores. “Are you telling me that this Nina you have found for me, is a man?”

“A very convincing woman in costume,” Martin hurriedly defended. “And does all his own voice. Fantastic range. He can hit the high notes and has all the low notes that you find so taxing. You have to hear him. He is remarkable.”

“I am not having a male understudy,” said Dolores Flatly. “This is a serious show, not a comedy.”

“Honestly, if we didn’t tell, nobody would know this is a man,” said Martin “Before you say anything more, you have to hear him. He is on again tonight. A late show.”

***

Larry was escorted into the suite by a hotel porter and Martin greeted him at the door. They both seated themselves in opposite sofas in the large and opulent lounge area. Larry looked around and was impressed. He had never been in a luxury suite before.

“Larry, I want to say again what I said to you the night before last,” began Martin. “I just love your Nina Simone. And I want to offer you the opportunity to make a good living out of it.”

“Well, I have a job at the moment,” said Larry. “I only do the show thing some nights a week for some extra cash.”

Martin observed that his speaking voice was not deep, but not effeminate either. He was slim and not tall. His skin was not as dark as either Nina or Dolores, nor was his nose and mouth as wide as theirs. But he had the large limpid eyes.

“You have the opportunity to earn much more than a little extra cash,” said Martin. “Our show has been running for two years and we are about to start a world tour. We are talking net income of $200,000 within a year. More if box office receipts permit a bonus.”

“You’re kidding.” Larry was genuinely shocked.

“Dolores Simpson, our Nina, our principal performer, has authorised me to make you an offer based solely on your performance last night.” Martin leaned for with serious intent: “We are only in this town for another night so we will need a prompt response. So I need to explain one important proviso.”

Larry’s head was spinning: “Sure. Go on. Shoot. Whatever you want.” He added: “I have always wanted a chance in show business. Woah.”

“The proviso is that she will not hire you as a man. She will only want a woman for this role.” Martin leaned back after he said it, to watch for the reaction. There was only confusion.

“I guess I don’t understand,” said Larry, starting to feel that his big break was already evaporating. “I am a woman in this role, but as you can see, I am not a woman. Do you want me or not.”

“Oh we want you,” said Martin. “We just don’t want this role to be performed by a female impersonator. It is something that Dolores is very particular about. It’s a pride thing, I guess. I don’t quite understand it myself. But if you want this job you will have to take it as a woman. You cannot tell anybody that you are a man.”

“So you want me to pretend to be a woman,” said a shocked Larry. “Like off stage as well as on stage? Like walk around dressed as a woman between gigs?”

“We will help you,” said Larry. “For Dolores the important thing is that this is a serious tribute show. She feels a real affinity with Nina Simone. She is her idol. Her hero. A hero, or heroine for African Americans like her … and you. She is worried that having her portrayed by a man would make fun of her. That we could never bear. Do you understand?”

“She’s my hero too,” said Larry. “I do understand what you want, and why. I just don’t think I could do it.”

“If you sign this contract, you will need to.” Larry placed a document on the table between them. “This is the same contract as for all the members of the band. You would be hired as a musician. A back up vocalist who would come down on several occasions during the show to sing some selected numbers as lead. Numbers that Dolores feels are better suited to your voice range. You would be working under her musical direction. The contract is for the balance of this tour and then the overseas tour. Do you have family or dependents?”

It was all moving very fast. Larry was still collecting his thoughts when he stammered: “My folks live out of state but I live with my girlfriend …”.

Martin was a little surprised. He sort of expected that Larry might be gay. He was so neatly presented, and his longish and barely crinkly hair was pulled back into a small ponytail. His eyebrows appeared groomed rather than plucked – still male. But he made such a convincing woman.

Martin said: “Others in the band have partners but few take them on tour. It can be gruelling for partners, and will certainly be expensive. We only cover the costs of the artists involved.”

“So I guess I need to talk to her first.”

“I understand completely,” said Martin. “Take the contract. If you are with us, come here tomorrow before 10:00am with this contract signed, packed for travel and dressed appropriately.”

He picked up the contract and handed it to Larry. Larry could see that “The Performer” under the contract was not “Laurence Adams” but “Lauren Adams”.

“You mean dressed as Lauren?” asked Larry.

***

“That is crazy,” shrieked Leila, Larry’s girlfriend of just on a year. “Crazy good but crazy weird.”

“So what do I do, babe?” Larry needed guidance. He wanted to take the opportunity, but where would this lead.

“Honey,” said Leila. “This is what you have always dreamed of. What we have dreamed of. OK, so the girl thing is not what we had planned, but you can do it. You have to take it. You have to sign. You have to go. Quit the music store. It’s a dead end job. I can stay here working at my office job. I can join you when you get established. What an experience it will be. This is so exciting.”

“So how do I present myself tomorrow morning as Lauren?” asked Larry. “This is not a drag act. This is for real. I will never be able to convince people that I am a woman.”

“I can show you how to pass,” said Leila. “At worst you might appear to be a tomboy, but I am sure you can pass as female. You do it on stage every night. You just need to tone some things down a bit, and work on some other things. I am an occasional actress, remember. I know what’s needed. We don’t have much time, so we need to get busy.”

Under Leila’s direction Larry to a bath and shaved his whole body. On his upper lip and chin Leila used wax rather than a razor, and then special cream to soothe the shock to the skin. She took to his hair with straighteners, and then cut it into a bob with a side parting. That night he would sleep in curlers for a curl under style, not dissimilar from the hairstyle Leila had when he first met her.

She went on to pluck his eyebrows. For the show he had simply used concealer and had painted on eyebrows above where his were hidden, but as Leila pointed out, he would need to be able to appear among the travelling company, without makeup. The prospect was terrifying.

She reassured him: “It’s more about the way you move than the way you look.” She put him in one of her dresses and spent most of the evening coaching him on the basics. It included going down to the street and getting in and out of the car about 50 times.

She checked his voice. He had the gift of range from his singing, but needed to adjust tone in his speaking voice. She coached him in phrases and the movements of the head that could go with them. He was a good student. His voice was an instrument.

That night he wore one of her nighties to bed. They had the best sex they had ever had. He teased her that she must be a closet lesbian.

In the morning within seconds of his waking, her hand was on his cock again. Only this time, she told him to lie back and let her do the work. His hair was in curlers and in a net, and his face still carried night cream and it would every night from now. On. She told him to open his legs as she lowered herself onto his pole. She worked up and down him aggressively and when she heard him gasp she cried out: “Take this Lauren,” and pounded harder. If last night had been the best then that morning was something else again. His curlered head hammered the pillow. His male grunt was now more of a girlish squeal. The orgasm was different. It felt almost as if he had hot sperm inside of him, rather than the other way round.

It felt good.

***

Lauren wore a floral dress and pink sneakers over white socks. She could have worn jeans but Leila felt that she was able to carry things off and so needed to assert her femininity at the outset. That and the fact that none of Leila’s jeans fitted her and she could hardly wear Larry’s jeans. She would need to buy her own. Underneath the dress was a bra with padding and panties under a “foundation girdle” concealing the male junk. Lauren’s hair looked good with the curl under short bob and a side parting with a blue plastic barrette to match the blue dress.

It took Martin a while to recognise her. She handed him the contract and whispered: “About that help you promised. My suitcase is basically empty”. Her voice was a girlish purr.

“I meant it,” said Martin. “After I have introduced you to the band and the crew, why you don’t you ride with Dolores and me to the airport.”

The band was not large – four plus a 3 man brass section and a pianist. The crew included a sound man, a lighting man, two riggers and a wardrobe lady, plus Jerry the floor manager. The addition of a new member was a surprise, but warmly received by all except Ruby and Marcella, on background vocals. It was clear that they were a tight team and could not understand why another vocalist was needed. Lauren judged that it was best to leave that to Martin to explain.

Suspicion was aggravated by Lauren joining the star and her husband/manager in their limo, rather than on the bus to the airport. Lauren was aware of it, and the need to develop a working relationship with the team. But first she needed to work with management.

It was the first time that Lauren had met Dolores. She was determined to like her. After all, they had in common that they were both admirers of Nina Simone. But it was harder work than anticipated. Dolores was unhappy with some minor detail affecting the sound at the previous night’s show and she was grumpy. It took a while to break through.

Lauren had decided on the best approach. “I am really on a boat in the ocean here,” she said. “I don’t know the show. Not yet anyway. And then after the show I am supposed to live entirely in costume. I don’t know how to do that either. I really need your help.”

It worked. “Call me Dolores”, she said. “If you want to be a success, do exactly what I say.”

“Yes, Dolores”.

***

In the next town they checked in to the hotel and Lauren was given the room next to Dolores’ suite. Rather than assign it to the wardrobe lady she had arranged for a local dressmaker to come in and take Lauren’s measurements. These were needed to construct for Lauren a body stocking that would mimic the curves of both Nina and Dolores. Both had the curves of which Lauren had (at that time anyway) none.

But the same measurements allowed Dolores to select some items from the dressmakers selection and off the peg locally. The wardrobe lady Rita, did the running around, because Lauren needed to get to the rehearsal room.

Dolores did not attend all rehearsals. Over time she had got into the habit of only turning up to the last run-through before performance, she said to preserve her voice and avoid getting too tired for the evening. It gave Martin the opportunity to fit Lauren into the Act.

“Now everybody,” he announced. “You have all met Lauren. What you don’t know is that Lauren is already a very experienced Nina Simone mimic. She will be standing in for our star through the initial rehearsal sessions, but our intention is that she will perform a few of the numbers in the show in place of the star.”

If the band was uncertain, it was all dispelled with the first song Lauren sang. It was “I Got Life”. Just a brief intro and then Lauren’s voice – a perfect impression. And then ending on that long note, ever so slightly flat, just the way Nina did it. The band was clearly impressed.

Lauren was able to show her familiarity with all the material. While in her past performance before joining this company, she was limited to just a few songs more suited to burlesque, Lauren knew all of Nina’s music, and it showed.

As the band took a break Lauren went over to the piano and sat down. She depressed a couple of keys, checking the tone.

“Do you play”, Martin had not left the hall with the others.

“May I”, asked Lauren, and with Martin’s consent she took her place on the stool, pushing her dress under her thighs as if she had been wearing skirts all her life.

She started slowly at first. A tinkle of the keys then running her fingers down the board. Then the opening chords of “My Baby Just Cares for Me”. Then on to the bridge of that song, a short piano solo that showed real skill. The last verse she sang, showing that she could perform voice and instrument together. Her throaty Nina was perfect for the song. Martin closed his eyes and it was as if Nina Simone was in the room.

“So let me get this straight,” said Martin, with a broad smile on his face. “As well as singing like this, you play the piano like that?”

“Well not quite like Nina,” Lauren said. “She was a concert pianist, classically trained. I can barely read music. But I have been playing most of my life. We had a piano at home. My grandfather played honkytonk. My father a bit too. I am just self-taught I guess.”

Martin became suddenly aware of a problem. Lauren could play the piano, Dolores could not. Lauren could sing better than Dolores. The only thing with Dolores was that she looked more like Nina. Lauren was to too young, too slim, too pretty. But she had the voice of Nina Simone. The husky deep tones were there, and were always a challenge for Dolores. If you wanted the sound of Nina Simone it would come better from Lauren than from Dolores. His wife.

***

“You’re different,” said Leila.

“I just get used to talking like this all the time, that’s all,” Lauren explained.

“No. It’s not the voice. It’s all of you. You’re different.”

It was the first time they had been together for months. Leila had arrived too late to see the show, so she had gone straight to the hotel and been a given a key. To her disgust she had to pretend to be Lauren’s cousin. She would have been happy to be her lesbian girlfriend. The room had two beds, but they had only used one last night.

“It’s more intense now,” said Lauren. “I am doing most of the show these days. Dolores is just doing the older Nina, and the line between the older and younger has been slipping my way. I am now on stage for 80% of the show.”

“How does she feel about it?”

“She was pretty pissed at the beginning, I can tell you,” Said Lauren. “But she believes in the show, and I guess she was getting tired, because she seems to be happy to reduce time on stage and concentrate on being musical director and producer. That is what I have been saying anyway – reassuring her that it is her show and I am just the hired help. She’s a bit of a diva.”

“So are you getting more of the box office?” Leila was thinking about their future.

“Not that she knows about,” whispered Lauren. “Martin is slipping me something extra. He knows I am the real talent. He is really looking after me.”

Leila took a deep breath and then blurted out what she had been holding back: “I don’t think that I can go on much more like this, Larry. I never get to see you. I am stuck where I am while you travel all over. When I do get to see you, it seems weird. When we have sex it is like having sex with a woman, you look so much like one, now 24 / 7. I can’t tell anybody what you are doing and how well you are doing. I appreciate the money, but to be honest I am trying to save so that you can quit this gig and come home to me.”

“That’s not going to happen, honey,” said Lauren. “This is almost my show. I can’t walk away. The truth is that I was made for this part, except that I am not truly a woman.”

“What does ‘not truly’ mean?” cried Leila. “You are not a woman, you are a man. You sound like you have become something in between.”

“I’m on hormones”, said Lauren flatly.

“What?” Leila stared at the person that was her boyfriend. “When? Why?”

Martin said that it would help with my shape, and he was right. And it has helped with my skin and hair.”

“And last night?”

“I have to use Viagra these days. And I wore the night shirt so you would not see or feel my breasts. They are not big but they are growing. It is mainly the bootie that I have been using the pills to develop.”

He said it in a matter-of-fact way, but he was suddenly aware of the look of horror on her face.

“This was a decision we both needed to be involved in,” Laila screamed. “I am not sure that you care about me and what I think, at all.”

***

“Do you want to come here with me on the couch?” asked Martin, soothingly. “That’s what I am here for.

“Yes,” she sniffed. She went to him and curled up in his arms. He stroked her shiny black hair and kissed her smooth forehead.

“Nothing hurts me more than seeing you unhappy,” he said. “I will do whatever I can to bring you back from this. You know that. Don’t you?”

“Yes”, said Lauren, pulling him closer.

“Why don’t you wash up and we’ll make love,” he said. “Let me show you what it means to be a woman. To be my woman.”

“Yes please,” Lauren said. Somehow Leila’s letter did not seem to matter anymore.

She went to the bathroom and pulled together her enema equipment. She liked to use warm water with fragrant oil added. She removed the butt plug, inserted the nozzle and squeezed the bag. It felt good. She waited a moment before sitting on the toilet and opening up. Then she applied lubricant before spritzing herself with spicy scent.

Martin slid a pillow under her bottom. He liked to make love to her face to face. She was so beautiful. Her new breast implants were two perfect mountains of woman hood. The only blemish was the small limp penis and tiny balls, just above the welcoming entrance.

He slid his excited penis into her and heard her gasp and giggle.

Lauren said: “I love you inside me.” He did, but quite how he came to know that was confusing. It was just a kiss. Then it was a cuddle to reassure him. Then falling asleep in his arms. And now his penis buried deeply in his ass.

Lauren’s penis no longer functioned, so this was how he got his pleasure. And pleasure it was. These smooth strokes, that he could just enjoy to the full lying back. He looked at the man who now ruled his life. Leila had been important to her once, but this was her soul mate now. A man to pleasure her.

“I’m cumming,” Martin whispered. But he was already biting his large bottom lip to hold back the torrent of total joy. It struck them both. His fluid entered her and made her complete.

He rolled off her, but then enveloped her in his arms, disregarding the sticky residue that seemed to cover the sheets and their lower bodies.

“I thought that you might like to know that Dolores is not coming back,” he said.

“Thank you for telling me,” said Lauren. Somehow such momentous news did not seem to matter in that moment.

“You are my only Nina now.”

Lauren thought for a minute and then she said: “You know Marty, she really never got to know the person she was imitating. She was never strong enough for the role. I think that I have only just begun to understand Nina Simone, but she never did”.

“Tell me what you mean, Honey”, said Martin shifting up to nuzzle her ear.

“Nina was such a strong person, and as perfectionist she could be a monster. But at the same time she was feminine, and with a heart that made her so vulnerable, particularly to men. I don’t think that you can truly understand such a person until you are a woman.”

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2018