The Magic of P-Town: The Princess and the Unicorn

The Princess and the Unicorn: The Magic of P-town

I returned to Provincetown in July for my yearly gig bartending at The Crown and Anchor during Bear Week. I stayed at the Outermost Hostel on the outskirts of the center of town near the old high school and across from the baseball fields. The hostel has a collection of four cabins with bunk beds and an en suite upgrade from my childhood summer camp. It's charmingly rustic, affordable, and sufficient--“Old Cape Cod” as the song goes.

My walk down the hill to work charmingly takes me past the signature skyline piece of Provincetown: Pilgrim Monument; a 252-foot-tall granite bell tower based on a medieval Italian tower. The monument commemorates Provincetown as the first spot the Pilgrims landed and where the Mayflower Compact was signed in the harbor before they moved on to Plymouth. It was begun in 1907 when Teddy Roosevelt officiated at the laying of the cornerstone piece. President Taft returned in 1910 when it was completed for the dedication. I always enjoy taking it in whenever I leave or return "home" to the hostel, especially when it is lit up at night.   

I was hoping to have a silly time with Dana, a dear friend and townie at a Boatslip tea dance. The Boatslip is a long, two level hotel on Commercial Street with an expansive deck and pool overlooking the same harbor the Pilgrims moored. It's view is peacefully picturesque with all the sailboats dotted throughout the water, along with the Long Point Lighthouse exclamation pointing the end of Cape Cod in the distance. 

The light of Provincetown that has inspired artists for over a century is so stunning one could burst with its beauty, especially during the hours from 4-7 when The Boatslip hosts their tea dance. It's a great spot where one can kick off their evening before dinner. They’re famous for the rum punches and pre-party atmosphere where friends reunite for music, dancing, and people watching…or cruising and selecting a potential paramour for the night. 

I had never been a huge attendee of tea--as I work in the same loud, party environment--choosing to spend my time off in some of the quieter atmospheres of P-town. But I have come to appreciate tea for the surreal view it offers, along with the lively characters mingling and laughing, and go at lease once a summer. 

A few years ago while making my way through a crowded dance area I stopped to allow people in the opposite direction to pass. As I waited, the side view of a man in a blue suit covered in tiny red and yellow flowers was inches from my face excitedly talking to someone. 

Wow! What an amazing Elton John impersonator, I thought.

While I waited I leaned in closer--enough to have him feel my breath on his skin--to study and admire the artistry of the creation. When the path cleared, I moved on. It wasn't until later in the night after bumping into some acquaintances on Commercial Street who I relayed the story to that I learned it was Elton John, a lively, mingling, and laughing character. 

  In recent years Dana and many others have occasional dressed in drag with beautiful feminine dresses wonderfully accessorized with body and facial hair. I wanted to experience it with Dana, who has a plethora of dresses to choose--from vintage prom to bridesmaid--in his closet. I had tried some on last year but eventually opted out of doing it that summer. I wanted to save my virgin drag experience for my 40^th a few months ago (Blog #9--Lady in Royal Red).

This year with the death of Bushia in the spring I didn’t need Dana’s styling assistance. While helping to clean out nine decades worth of belongings from her house I came across some vintage 60’s dresses with a Jackie O sense of style. They. Fit. Perfectly.
I packed the most summery frock in my bag; along with a necklace I had given Bushia for her 90^th birthday, some earrings from the 40’s that matched, and a pearly clutch, I had my outfit for tea. 

It so happened that Bushia would have turned ninety-three during the week I was in P-town on 14 July. Synchronistic struck when that was also my one day off.

Perfect! I thought. I could have a little celebration in memory of her and give her a laugh on the other side wearing her dress and jewels. 

Unfortunately, Dana had to work. I was disappointed. It wasn’t something that I wanted to do by myself. I hoped to share it with someone.

As the week went on I thought perhaps somehow, someway, an escort would appear. But with each passing day the chances looked slim. The faith became less, but remained.

Meanwhile in my cabin I was fortunate. You never know who you may be sharing a living space with when going the hostel route. I hoped at the very least it would be peaceful, even if all the beds were occupied. Luckily the first three nights I shared the cabin with only one other guy. It was helpful to have some quiet time and privacy in between my shifts. Fortunately the manager informed me I would have the place to myself once he left. 
But when he did, two last minute reservations came in and my company doubled. They both stayed one night and again, the manger said I would be alone after they departed. I went in to work happy, anticipating that moment the next morning.

As I walked back to the hostel at 1:30 a.m. after my shift I stopped at Town Green, a tiny park behind Town Hall at the base of Pilgrim Monument. The lawn is bordered with a path and benches. The center has a large bas-relief sculpture of the pilgrims signing the Mayflower Compact.

I sat on a bench to wind down after a busy night of slinging drinks. It was the early morning hours of the start of my day off and the sky was filled with stars.

“Happy Birthday Bushia,” I said gazing up. 

I wondered which summer star was Bushia. Fittingly her birth name, Stella Theresa, meant Star Summer. I figured one had to be her. 

Just as I had the thought my head turned toward the right in just enough time for the split second appearance of a shooting star. I was stunned. I couldn't believe it. It had been years since I'd seen a shooting start. I couldn't even remember.
When I was in the bush of Africa earlier this year my friend Delphine saw one when we were walking outside one night. I kicked myself because I didn't see it and really wanted to. It's such an extraordinary experience to me; what seems like a tiny flash from Earth actually being a gigantic ball of fire and gas whirling through space lightyears away. But that one was meant for Delphine. Now, there was one meant for me.  

“Oh, there you are!” I said with a laugh and smile in my heart. 

Then I slowly walked back up the hill, passed the monument, and into my cabin, enjoying the  night before drifting off to dreamland. 

In the morning I heard both cabin mates leave early. I lied in bed a bit longer and enjoyed the quiet morning, and a cabin to myself. But shortly after nine the door opened. A new stranger burst into the bungalow and immediately started chatting me up like he hadn’t seen me in years. My vision of a private cabin once again vanished.

            Can’t he see I’m still in bed resting? I thought with a bit of irritation.

But I was gracious and friendly. I decided I might as well get up and start my day as we continued to talk. His name was Tim and he had driven from Columbus, Ohio. I released any grumpy morning feelings of annoyance once I found out it was his first time in Provincetown. I wanted to be a good ambassador to P-town and start his first experience off positively.

Tim’s quick wit and humor quickly grew on me and our common Mid-western roots bonded us. I shared a bit about P-town, things to do, and answered his questions. I began washing up and applying sunscreen for a day at the beach. Afterward, I wished Tim a nice afternoon and surrender to the fact my drag celebration would not happen then walked to the beach.

When I returned Tim was in the cabin and we began sharing our day. I was curious to know about his first experiences of P-town and he filled me in. Conversation flowed like we’d known each other for years.  

“I like you,” Tim said. “I want to hang out with you more. What are you doing tonight?”

“Well I was supposed to dress in drag and go out with a friend for some silliness. But he has to work.”

“I’m totally down with dressing up with you! I've even got a rainbow colored unicorn wig in my car that I could wear.”

Of course you have a unicorn wig in your car, I thought.
My heart grinned knowing what I had envisioned for my outfit.

“Ok, I still need to find a few items. But that sounds like fun. Let me pop into town and look for the finishing touches.”

I walked down the hill to Commercial Street and into the Marine Specialty store. It’s the type of shop that is cluttered with everything from old airline plates to gas station attendant jumpsuits. I needed footwear to match the bright yellow dress with white polka dots and kept it simple—since it was summer—with a white flip-flop. The next and most important crowning piece I found near the register: a tiara. 

I had wanted to get Bushia a tiara for her 90th birthday. I thought turning ninety deserved one. But I knew her all too well, and her hair—a silvery beehive that had not changed since long before I was born—would trump wearing a tiara and being messed up. Besides, for those that read Blog #9, Princess Julie Ann was in need of one. 

I figured I would wear the tiara for Bushia's birthday in addition to her dress and jewels as a way to make it up to her. In recalling memories of her since her death one popped in that was a regret. It was probably twenty years ago in Michigan during Pulaski Days, an annual Polish festival in the fall we attended as children.

As an adult, if I was in town during the celebration I would take Bushia to her Polish hall for a meal. The particular memory I felt regret over we attended the celebration in downtown Grand Rapids. It was near the enormous orange Alexander Calder sculpture, La Grande Vitesse, that has stood on a plaza near City Hall for decades, which served as my first introductory wonderment into art as a powerful statement when I was a child. The memory is of Bushia and I sitting on folding chairs near the sculpture as Polka music played and people danced around.

“Do you want to Polka?” Bushia asked.

She loved to polka. And we had polkaed many times from childhood through adulthood, at Pulaski Days and weddings.

“No, I don’t really want to,” I said for whatever stupid, stupid reason.

“Ok,” she said with a bit of disappointment.

So that is where the memory ends: the two of us sitting on folding chairs, watching. We should have been dancing. Stupid me.

After acquiring the accessories it was time to find a lipstick. I opted to keep it simple again and choose a bright red--15 Scarlet--to pop against the yellow. I headed to Klymaax, a store offering all your dress up needs from costume jewelry and clutches to boas and headdresses. A transgender’s toy store. 

As I turned to exit the store I became very excited when I saw a townie I knew bathed in the light of Commercial Street about to enter the store when I realized I left my sunglasses on the counter. He is someone who has been one of those innocent crushes in town for years. Someone you know has a good heart, the definition of a prince, and who expresses such happiness to see you--every time.
P-town can be wonderful for platonic flirtations that make you feel like a teenager made of Jell-O, because it always remains in that fantasy realm. There is also a straight boy I've had one on, but that is another tale, and they will both remain mysteries. Have your own. 

It had been a couple years since I'd seen this particular man, and I certainly didn't think he'd recognize me. I don't even think he remembers my name, which doesn't matter when such warmness is expressed during our one minute together out of 525,600 minutes in a year. But he makes the one feel like 525,600. Like you're the only one on Earth. 

After grabbing my sunglasses I turned and there he was, in the center of the store. I smiled, as crushes make one do without-a-choice. I expected a handshake after I reminded him who I was. But he smiled back, and quickly scooped me into his arms with the urgency of taking a breath after holding it for a long time.
He planted a friendly kiss on me like a Golden Age leading man. I melted. After our minute of small talk I dashed out onto Commercial feeling lighter in my feet and thrilled that P-town's magic provided a kiss as part of the day from a prince for the princess. It felt like it was my birthday: a tiara, a kiss, woo hoo!   

When I returned to the hostel Tim began assembling his outfit while cracking me up. The mane of the wig cascaded down his back and framed his face in bright rainbow colors, topped with a golden sparkly horn. He paired it perfectly with a white t-shirt covered in a repeated pattern of a lounging, half-naked 40’s pin-up girl along with orange suspenders.

After a little photo shoot with Tim as the model, I slipped into the bathroom, into the dress, donned the jewels, and began outlining and coloring in my lips—harder than it looks, as I slipped outside the lines a bit. Then crowned myself with the tiara.

“I couldn’t have planned or written a script any better: The princess and her royal unicorn,” I said as we looked at ourselves in the mirror.

“So what do I call you?” Tim asked.

“Julie Ann.”

“Got it, Princess Julie Ann."

“And what are my royal duties your royal highness?”

“Just hang out with me and have fun.”

“No problem. Let’s go!”

I grabbed my clutch and we headed down passed a lit monument to Commercial Street. We found a bench in front of Town Hall to people watch before deciding on a destination for the evening.

A little girl approached Tim and wanted to know where he bought his unicorn wig. She didn’t care about my tiara, but rather had her sights set on being a unicorn.

“I was born like this,” Tim said with a straight face to the little girl’s grandmother’s annoyance. I started to smile at his deadpan response but stopped when I looked at the girl. I couldn’t tell if she was mad at Tim for messing with her or about to cry.

“I’m only kidding. I actually bought it at Target. But last Halloween, so check then.”

 “You might want to look at the Marine Specialty store,” I said. “You can find just about anything there. It’s where I found my tiara.”

So off they went to find their own magic.

As we sat there the lively atmosphere from a packed Tin Pan Alley restaurant across the street had a live band whose music spilled out into the street. I was tickled when at one point “Happy Birthday” began playing and a group of people shouted the familiar words that flooded out into the street.

Yes, Happy Birthday Bushia, I thought.

I had imagined a nice little celebration at a charming restaurant suited for a princess. But when the Governor Bradford was suggested as the destination, I went with the flow because it was the complete opposite of what I had envisioned.

The Governor Bradford is an old restaurant that feels like the early era of whaling days in P-town. Its atmosphere is dominated in wood with the feel of a quintessential coastal fisherman’s hangout. But it has also mixed in modern day P-town flair: shiny cellophane fringe backdrop from floor to ceiling on the stage with disco balls above, Christmas lights strung throughout, and a screen for nightly karaoke led by long time townie and entertainer Dana Denzel.

We sat in the back as Tim started scrolling through the songbook, while we listening to and applauding each star-for-a-moment singer. Soon a table cleared closer to the stage and we moved up. After a handful of performers Tim was called up. With wig and magical horn on, he took the stage for a rendition of “Look How Far We’ve Come” by Imagine Dragons.

The crowd loved him and his outfit and the cameras started going off, my own included. He was a shooting summer star, shot from above, the gift of a new friend brought to me from Bushia. I laughed and cheered as my tiara sparkled with each movement.

Not long after Tim sang we both felt it was time to move on. But I was hoping for a dance. We had crept from wallflowers behind with a mostly straight crowd and slowly made our way to the center. It was a little fear I still wanted to push through, so I could then not care to be seen. 

“Ok you ready to go?” Tim asked, just as Ms. Denzel introduced the next singer. It was now or never.

“No let’s have a dance first!” I said.

“I’m down,” Tim replied.

Duh Duh Da Da Da DUH DUH! the music began.

Up we popped and rushed to the floor. A handful of others had the same idea and soon we were surrounded.

Let’s go girls, come on, the singer sang Ms. Twain’s words. I’m going out tonight, I’m feelin’ all right.

 A man quickly grabbed Tim for a spin. While I danced like no one was watching. But people were watching and started taking pictures of us. A wave of bashfulness hit but quickly passed as I concentrated on, and danced for Bushia, the words soaring into the air.

No inhibitions, make no conditions…I ain’t gonna act politically correct…I only want to have a good time!

Suddenly what seemed out of thin air like a magician’s trick, a young woman came up and snatched me for a dance. Her energy was Alpha, determined to dance with me. I had no problem with it. We held onto to each other not saying a word simply laughing and smiling. I lead and spun her around, she lead and flung me around never separating.

Man! I feel like a woman the chorus rang out.

It exhilarated me inside and out, sending shivers of excitement once I realized the enchanted way it played out. It wasn’t a Polka, but the song that ended up being the one I danced to was perfect in its own right.

Afterward I thanked the woman and she disappeared into the crowd. Another little gift from Bushia, or, was it Bushia? A blithe spirit as Noel Coward put it. I’d like to think so, bringing the message of her favorite Polka song, “I Wanna Dance With You.”

And, with Tim's sung message of "Look How Far We've Come" established, we exited stage left. 

  

Moral of the story:

If someone asks you to dance, get up off your arse, and as Lady Gaga said, JUST DANCE! And...believe in magic.

x

x

x

Jason