L^{e Grande Masquerade,1970 by Suzanne Nielsen}

LaVon spent the entire month of September getting prepared for her favorite holiday. By the time October thirty-first came, she looked more like Doris Day than Doris Day herself.

LaVon gargled peroxide every day to get her teeth virgin white that matched Doris’s. Her hair color was still a shade shy of Doris’s, Bodacious Blonde, but no one would know the difference once she put on the witch’s hat she had planned to wear for the modeling academy’s Halloween party later that evening. As a matter of fact, when LaVon went to Teener’s Costume Shop to pick up her rental witch costume, she came out of the dressing room in it and asked Mr. Teener if he thought she looked like Doris Day, and he said, “Is this a trick question, Lady? You look like a witch. Isn’t that what you came here for?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said, “right here,” pointing with all ten of her fingers to her face. “Don’t I look like Doris Day in my face?”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Lady. Your head looks like Doris Day’s from behind,” was Mr. Teener’s only reassurance. “I suppose you go by the name of Doris, too?” He asked.

“Oh, don’t be silly. Of course my name isn’t ‘Doris.’ It’s ‘LaVon.’ LaVon King is my name. Capital ‘L,’ small ‘a,’ capital ‘V,’ small ‘o-n.’ King, spelled just the way it sounds. Just refer to me as ‘your royal highness.’”

Mr. Teener was tidying up the shelves of synthetic wigs when he turned to LaVon and said, “I got a Doris Day story for you. I met her. Right here: right where we’re standing now,” he said holding a costume in his hand. “The Doris Day came in here. Oh, I guess it was about three years ago now. She was in Minneapolis making a movie with Tony Randall, it was going to be called Le Grande Masquerade. Anyway, she came in here with her manager one morning and asked to see some costumes for a Halloween movie shoot. I gave her this here costume to try on, and she looked great in it. Better yet, she said she felt great in it, and so that was the costume she and her manager left with. She was going to wear it for a Halloween party scene in the movie and then return it before they left town. I didn’t ask her when exactly they would be returning it. It was Doris Day, for God’s sake.

“I don’t know what happened, but the costume was left in a box outside my front door when I got to the store the next morning. In the box was a note she’d hand-written saying, ‘Thank you very much, Mr. Teener, for your trouble. Sincerely, Doris Day.’ Well, it wasn’t any trouble really, I had to take the side seams in a little before she left with it, and she wanted an under-the-chin tie added to the cap so I sewed that on quick for her, but it really wasn’t any trouble. I would have done the same thing for any customer. I don’t know whatever happened that made her up and leave the movie set so sudden, but I will say this for Miss Day: she’s an awful polite lady and prettier in person than in her movies. So, that’s my Doris Day story.”

LaVon grabbed the pumpkin costume out of Mr. Teener’s hands. As she hurried with it off to the dressing room, she yelled over her shoulder, “You still got that note she wrote?”

Mr. Teener could see a flurry of shadows from the dressing room. LaVon was out of that witch’s costume and into the pumpkin outfit in record time. “I got it somewheres. Probably the wife put it in a scrap book with other cards and letters we’ve gotten. Lots of famous people come in here. You’d be surprised...”

“How does it look?” LaVon was prancing around the store now with the costume on. She played with the strings on the cap, winding them around her fingers and trying to identify a smell that Doris might have left behind. Only a faint smell of dry-cleaning solution remained. LaVon wondered what cologne Doris Day would have worn when she had this costume on. “Not cologne, she would have worn perfume,” she said out loud.

Mr. Teener looked at LaVon who was now standing in front of the trifold full length mirror, talking to her reflection. “I’m not sure who you’re talking to, Lady, but I do know you reserved this witch’s costume three weeks ago, and if you’re now wanting Doris’s costume, I have to charge you for both.”

“That’s perfectly alright, Mr. Teener, I have a job. A full time job at that. I work at, or should I say, I run, Stage Light Modeling Academy--right down the street. I’m happy to pay for both.”

LaVon was notoriously tight with a buck, except when it came to shoes. She looked down at the pumpkin she’d turned into and having the chance to wear it was all that mattered to LaVon. She had to have the costume once worn by Doris Day. She gave Mr. Teener the cash for both costumes and left the store in such a hurry that she forgot her leatherette jumper hanging in the dressing room. By the time she realized this, she was already walking down Nicollet Mall. Someone yelled out to her, “Stop! Rebuke Satan. Let God into your heart. You are one of His children!” LaVon quickly scanned the mall for people wearing robes but found only one man, standing with his arms stretched out to heaven, holding a big, abused-looking Bible. When she caught his eye, the man started coming toward LaVon, pointing at her costume saying, “don’t you know the story of ‘Stingy Jack?’ My Dear Soul, Stingy Jack communicated with the Devil and the Devil won. The only light in Jack’s world thereafter, was the light of the coal from hell that Jack put inside a turnip, therefore starving himself out of eternity in heaven. My dear Woman, take off that Jack-O-Lantern costume and come sit by me. For I will show you the light into Jesus Christ’s world that beacons forth from Jesus Christ’s teachings. You will never feel hungry or lost again. You...” LaVon realized the man was talking directly to her. She tried to side step the man, saying, “Excuse me, Sir,” but he only fought to get closer to her. She could now smell his hot, putrid breath upon her forehead. He was at least a head taller than she. He grabbed hold of her arms and started shaking her body while shouting in her face, “Learn not the way of the heathen.” Drips of sweat flew off his face and hit hers like a stinging slap. Without thinking, LaVon smacked the man on the side of his head with her purse. “God damned Holy Rollers. You and your unnerving repentance. Leave me the hell alone, Pal,” she said. She bent down to pick up all the loose change and contents that flew out of her purse upon impact with the man’s head. The man bent down and handed her a copy of “The Cross and the Switchblade,” a paperback novel by David Wilkerson. LaVon didn’t know that much about the Jesus People Movement, but she did know she never liked the name “Jesus,” and she couldn’t ever feel completely comfortable around men in long robes.

The preacher was now trying to help LaVon put her things back into her purse until she hit him again, this time in the face, with the power of her fist alone. She never realized how much power she could pack into just one punch. “Help!” she screamed. “This man is crazy!”

During the height of the lunch hour on Nicollet Mall, not a police officer was in sight. The preacher backed away from LaVon and slithered like the hunchback of Notre Dame through the crowded sidewalks, blending in with all the other suited men who’d taken a break from their desks. As the crowd hurried by LaVon, stalling to stare for what could have only been a minute, LaVon felt afraid of herself. In her eyes, the crowd moved as though in slow motion past her with grimaces of horror on their faces. She had hit a man in broad daylight, on Nicollet Mall, while wearing a pumpkin costume and the horror of her actions frightened her. She wondered if the cold stares from the street strangers might turn her into a pillar of salt. A statue. A freak.

She felt small. “Maybe,” she thought, “I’m melting.” She touched her face. It was wet and burning. A salty taste slipped into her mouth, then, like magic, all street activity resumed its natural pace. She watched her feet pick up momentum, the beat of the street and banged into a woman carrying a small baby. “I’m sorry,” she said to the woman. The woman didn’t look twice at LaVon, she just made her way through the crowd. From then on, LaVon kept her eyes ahead of her until she got back to the Academy.

By the time she got back to her office, she felt almost composed, as though nothing had happened. She emptied her purse and tried to make sense out of the mess. Where were her business cards? She thought. She had a stack of them at least an inch thick with a rubber band holding them together, and now she didn’t have one. She grabbed hold of the chin ties again and brought them up to her nose as she gaily flitted her way back to the modeling academy. By the time she got to the front door, she had figured it out. Underneath the dry-cleaning solution, she detected a very faint trace of L’air Du Temps by Nina Ricci. She had smelled it once at the perfume counter while in Young Quinlan’s Department Store. She quickly unlocked the academy door and rushed in. She picked up her phone and dialed the operator. “Could I please have the number for Young Quinlan’s, Minneapolis? The perfume department please.” She tapped her pen on the desktop, waiting anxiously for the operator to give her the number. She noticed she had hung on to Mr. Teener’s pen. On the white plastic sleeve of the pen she read, ‘Come as you are, leave as who you want to be at Teener’s on Hennepin.’ There was an array of tiny floating masks, guarded by a shield, locking the liquid in place between the sleeves. Towards the end of the pen, there was a phone number, too. Just then, the operator gave LaVon the number and she wrote it down on her scratch pad. “Thank you so kindly,” she said before hanging up. She quickly dialed the number and asked for the perfume counter. “Yes, hello, I am looking for a scent. I believe it’s called ‘Laredu temps’ by Nina Ricky.” A haughty voice sniffed back to her, “Well, we have a ‘scent’ called L’air du Temps by Nina Ricci. Is that what you’re looking for?”

“‘Nina Reeshie,’ ‘Nina Ricky,’ same difference. You have it? How much is it?”

“That depends on what size you’re looking for. If your looking for an atomizer, a body splash or a perfume, maybe I can help you with specific prices. Do you know what you’re looking for?”

“How much for your cheapest bottle?” LaVon asked in all seriousness.

“L’air du Temps is not a ‘cheap’ fragrance in any form, ma’am. Why don’t I transfer you to the Max Factor counter if it’s ‘cheap’ you’re looking for. Just a moment please.” LaVon’s cheeks flushed from the insult. “Poo on you, you snotty, snippy little perfume counter clerk,” LaVon spit into the receiver. She hung up the phone and busied herself putting things away. She knew where she could get the scent now for sure and when she was good and ready, she’d go into Young Quinlan’s and splurge on a medium-sized bottle of L’air du Temps. Better yet, she’d stop by Young Quinlan’s tomorrow and ask for a sample. LaVon did that all the time with her Avon lady. All she had to do is say she had a sensitive allergy to some scents and she needed to try it out before she actually bought it. Just then, the phone rang, “Gooood afternoon, Stage Light Modeling Academy. This is LaVon. How may I die-rect your call?”

“Lav, it’s me, Billy. Listen, it looks like I’m not going to be able to make the party. I’m tied up in Lilydale. Diamond Jim’s is having me shoot a new ad for their restaurant, and it’s taking a lot longer than I thought. I might be able to get out of here by nine or so, but not before then. By nine, sweetie, I turn into a pumpkin and I’m already beat. I’m so sorry. I know how much you’re looking forward to the party, and I wanted to be there to help you get everything ready. How ‘bout if I give you a call when I’m ready to leave and find out how things are going. Lav?”

LaVon’s seething began.

“I fought the revolution to get back from Teener’s with my costume--a costume Doris Day herself once wore when in Minneapolis, all for this party. If you think for a minute that I’m doing this party without some help here, well you think again! Winifred’s called and said she can’t make it here until eight. I’ve got fifty-some students who R.S.V.P’d., looking forward to a costume judging contest at seven, and you’re going to tell me you can’t make it? I don’t think so, Mister.”

The last party LaVon hosted was when Candice turned six. That was the year Candice only wanted boys invited to her party. LaVon was worried that Candice might be precocious until she unwrapped her presents. Six boys, six presents, all of them with the same theme: cowboys. Candice got a cowboy hat from Dale, cowboy boots from Robbie, a bandanna from Clint, stirrups from Brucie, a real-looking metal cap gun from Mickie and a gun holster from Jimmy. When Candice had told LaVon she wanted ‘cowboy presents,’ LaVon bought her a gingham skirt and pink Naugahyde cowboy boots with butterflies on the toe tips. She’d gotten her hair ribbons with matching butterflies glued to the ends of the ribbon. When Candice threw the pink boots in the corner of the room and put on Robbie’s shiny black boots with red western scrolling, LaVon vowed not to have another party for anyone again. Surely the girls at the school would act more lady-like, and she hoped that would make for a better experience than the last.

Billy, LaVon’s new best friend, had promised the day Winifred hired her that he would be more than happy to help her with parties. “It’ll be good for the morale of the students,” he said. “I think it’s a great idea, and count me in on your party-planning crew.” LaVon felt close to Billy from that day on. Why, without his endorsement, she may not have been hired by Winifred that morning. As recently as yesterday, Billy had still planned on helping LaVon with the party. Winifred was out of town, and LaVon needed Billy badly.

LaVon slammed the phone receiver on the cradle with such force that it jumped up and dove off the corner of her desk. She started pacing the lobby while chewing on her Teener pen. She wasn’t a smoker. This threw a damper on the entire evening. LaVon had a surprise for Billy. She knew it was Billy’s birthday the next day and she had secretly invited Jack Beam, a friend of Billy’s from California, to come. Jack had called to tell her he was flying in for the event. He said he had a perfect idea for a costume, and she was not to breathe a word of it to Billy. It wouldn’t be until after the costume-judging that people at the party would unmask themselves, and Billy would then realize that Jack was there. LaVon had never met Jack, but she knew he must be a very nice man to come so far just to surprise his friend. Along with that big surprise, LaVon had made her own version of caramelized apples. With a hint of cinnamon. No one put cinnamon in their caramelized apples that she knew of and she assumed because Billy chewed endless amounts of Dentyne that he would love the subtle pinch of the cinnamon.

LaVon stopped pacing, picked the receiver off the floor and read the number on the Teener pen. When Mr. Teener answered, she talked a mile-a-minute into the phone. “Mr. Teener, hi, LaVon King calling from Stage Light Modeling Academy. You are a lucky man. We have over fifty girls, with rich parents, coming here tonight, looking for a good costume at the last minute. If you can get here about 4:00, with a dozen or so costumes, I can guarantee you’ll rent them all before seven tonight. Also, we would like you to judge our costume contest. You’ve got to be the most experienced man in Minneapolis to be our judge. Have everything here at four, and don’t forget my jumper hanging in the dressing room.

LaVon was just getting started. Mr. Teener showed up at the Academy at four on the button. He had his arms full of costumes that looked like they were used in the movie Gone With the Wind. Huge hooped dresses, big hats with yet bigger feathers, wigs on white Styrofoam heads and last but not least, LaVon’s jumper. LaVon was proud of her success at sales. Her only worry was that too many of the girls would be bringing their own costumes. But then again, that was sales: always risks involved. While Mr. Teener set up his costumes on a coat rack, LaVon went to the back of the academy where there was a kitchenette and started cutting up pineapple for a fruit bowl. Mr. Teener walked by and came hurrying in with a large garbage bag that he had used to transport some of his wigs. He ripped a hole at the bottom and slipped it over LaVon’s head. Then he ripped two more holes for her arms to poke through. “You must keep this costume clean,” he said to her. She had forgotten she was still dressed as a pumpkin. “You must like Doris Day as much as I do,” she said to him while cutting up melon. “Doris is swell, but I care about the costumes, Mrs. King,” he said.

By five, LaVon had come across some great ideas to scare the hell out of everyone at the party. She replaced 60watt bulbs with black light bulbs, giving the room a navy glow of mystery. She removed the shelf of fashion magazines in the lobby and replaced them with jars of floating impressions of guts, eye balls, a brain, an ear and a heart. Peeled mushy grapes worked perfect as eyeballs. Ace helped her out with animal intestines from his taxidermy shop for her other creepy filled jars. She swore she’d conceal the fact that all her imitations were just that, imitations floating in H20, and say they were the real thing, floating in formaldehyde. LaVon was having a great time. The last two accents to the Academy- -of-Horrors were the chilling music she’d put on a cassette and the dry ice in the lobby. She’d put the dry ice in a canning pot and set it on the desk she worked at during regular business hours. She listened to the tape she’d made earlier that month and cackled with her versions of witch’s laughter on the tape. She had it down, and for a brief moment missed the fact that she’d given up her witch’s costume for the pumpkin.

Then another revolution began. LaVon walked outside and got trapped in the entry way of the Academy by clones of the preacher man she’d tried earlier to erase from her memory. There were seven of them. Seven men, coming at her in a half circle, pinning her up against the front door of the Academy. The familiar faced preacher came up to her and spat in her face as he recited Deuteronomy 18:9-14. “When you enter the land the LORD your God is giving you, do not learn to imitate the detestable ways of the nations there. Let no one be found among you who sacrifices his son or daughter in the fire, who practices divination or sorcery, interrupts omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead. Anyone who does these things is detestable to the LORD, and because of these detestable practices the LORD your God will drive out those nations before you. You must be blameless before the LORD your God. The nations you will dispossess listen to those who practice sorcery or divination. But as for you, the LORD your God has not permitted you to do so.”

LaVon heard the same sentence over and over again she thought, the same sentence she had read when she was a young girl and went to the Bible seeking answers to why her parents beat her. “We do it in the name of the LORD,” they’d say. “It hurts us more than it hurts you and hurts God most of all.” LaVon slid to the ground. She had decided long ago when she left high school and home for Chicago, that she would never believe the word of the LORD again. She would never believe her parents hurt, too, as they whipped her with her father’s belt. She never believed for a minute that if there was a God, he would have let her parents use his name with each strike of the belt.

The word ‘detestable’ brought back the same sting to her ears as her father’s belt did some forty years ago. She left that notion behind but when the Christians breathed their venom on her body, she felt once again small, detestable and afraid.

People walked by the scene in front of the Academy noticing the scene but not stopping to get involved until a woman carrying an umbrella approached the semicircle. When she saw LaVon curled up in the fetal position by the Academy’s front door, she started wielding her umbrella with a vicious force and a remarkable skill. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” said the woman, as she dispatched the stunned evangelists with a series of graceful, yet powerful parries and thrusts. The chastened attackers skulked down the mall like thieves in the night. The woman came up to LaVon and said, “Honey, where are you trying to get to?” LaVon tried to speak but instead she pointed toward the door of the Academy. The woman helped LaVon up, opened the door and said, “well let’s go in then. Those assholes were out of line. Forget about them now, and let’s enjoy the party.”

LaVon walked in to the Academy, backwards, keeping a close eye on the umbrella lady. She finally mustered, “who are you?”

“I’m Jack. And I’ll bet you’re LaVon.”

“Oh, where are my manners?” she said. “Come in. Yes, I’m LaVon. And you’re Jack? You’re quite a swordsman. Where did you learn to do that?”

“Hollywood. I must have had a dozen small parts in pirate pictures.”

“How nice to finally meet. And thanks for rescuing me.”

Students started coming in two at a time, all dressed like Twiggy lookalikes. Mr. Teener tended his costume corner alone. LaVon noticed he had some backdrop he had taped to the wall. A painted scene of a large white plantation house with a blazing sunset in the backgound. He had put a sign in front of his costume rack. Gone With the Wind Photos, Only $2.00. He had a small Polaroid waiting patiently around his neck. No wonder she liked Mr. Teener instantly. It wasn’t just the Doris Day story he had told her. He was an entrepreneur like herself, LaVon thought.

LaVon was pushing food. “There’s plenty to eat. Please help yourselves to the buffet table,” she kept saying to the party attendants as she mingled through the crowd. For the most part, the costumes lacked originality. LaVon noticed Mr. Teener now had a growing line of young girls waiting their turn at being Scarlett O’Hara. While he stayed busy, LaVon had determined her pick for the winner of the costume contest. Mary Poppins kept asking people if they needed a spoon full of sugar to wash the food down. LaVon didn’t see the humor. Finally, LaVon asked ‘Mary’ to help with the judging. Mr. Teener would obviously be tied up for a long time.

“I like the Julia Child lookalike, myself,” she told Jack. “Absolutely,” he said back. LaVon picked up the intercom which rested on her desk in the lobby and said, “Could I have everyone’s attention, please. We would like to announce the winner of the costume contest. If I could have everyone’s attention, please.” Mr. Teener looked over at LaVon, shrugged his shoulders and she read his lips, “Sorry.” His line kept growing. LaVon figured Mr. Teener was going to walk away with more money than she had budgeted for the party itself.

“Mary Poppins is going to announce the winner. Would everyone quiet down, please. Thank you.” Mary took the intercom in hand and said, “the winner is... Julia Child.” LaVon still couldn’t place the oddly familiar face of the Julia Child lookalike until, to her astonishment, who but her friend, Billy, took off the apron and wig. LaVon had been had!

“Son of a gun,” she said to Billy when the judging was over and the hum of the crowd returned.

“Sorry, Lav, I didn’t know any other way for you to be completely surprised,” Billy said to her.

“Son of a bitch, if you don’t have better-looking legs than me,” she said. “I hate that. No one has better looking legs than LaVon King, or so I thought. Keep your pants on in the future, Billy.” Billy and Jack laughed as LaVon stood in amazement at Billy’s good looking gams. “Maybe Doris Day’s legs are that good. But I gotta tell you, Billy. You sure fooled me. Come here, you,” she said as she hugged Billy tightly. “Hey, I haven’t told you about my costume,” she said. “Smell here.”

Billy smelled at the hat strings. “Dry-cleaning solution,” he said.

“No, no. L’air du Temps, Billy. This very costume was worn by Doris Day when she was in Minneapolis making a movie. Mr. Teener over there has a handwritten note from Doris herself, thanking him for letting her use it for the movie. Isn’t that something? Here I was all excited about it and right when I got back from Teener’s, you call and tell me you can’t make it because you’re tied up at Diamond Lil’s.”

“Diamond Jim’s, Lav.”

“‘Diamond Jim’s,’ ‘Diamond Lil’s,’ same difference. The point is you got me so mad I forgot all about telling you I would be wearing Doris Day’s costume. Looks like Teener’s bringing in a haul. Good for him. I like the guy. He’s a smart cookie.”

LaVon stayed to see the last person leave and to lock up. After Mr. Teener packed up his costumes and gear, he approached LaVon, holding out two crumpled ten dollar bills. “What’s this for?” LaVon asked. “You did okay for me tonight, Mrs. King. I made out alright on the costumes and made $118.00 on those stupid Southern Belle photos.” LaVon whistled appreciatively. “You’re a smart businessman, Mr. Teener,” LaVon said smiling. “You’re pretty smart yourself,” he said grinning back.

After she cleaned off her desk of empty paper plates, plastic forks and punch cups, she sat down to write Doris Day a letter.

October 31, 1970


Dear Miss Day,

I have written you many letters which I have never sent, but this is one that I am going to send. My name is LaVon King. I live in Minnesota and am a very good friend of Mr. Teener of Teener’s Costume Shop on Hennepin Avenue, in Minneapolis. Tonight I threw a very successful Halloween party, and I happened to wear the very costume of Mr. Teener’s you wore when you were in Minneapolis filming Le Grande Masquerade. You must remember, it is a pumpkin costume and I still have it on as I sit here typing this letter to you. I just have to know, do you like L’air du Temps perfume as much as I do? I thought I recognized a hint of it on the costume when I picked it up from Teener’s today. I won’t bore you with many details of my life in this letter, but I just want to tell you that I am feeling especially happy tonight. Happy because I pulled off a successful party, happy because I got to wear a costume worn by the actual Doris Day, and happy because we now have a mutual friend in Mr. Teener. I have always idolized you, Miss Day, and I want you to know that if you ever come to Minneapolis again, you must visit Stage Light Modeling Academy. That is where I work. It’s a very well respected school and my very good friend, Billy Blakey, is our fashion photographer. He has worked with some famous movie stars in California. You may have heard of him. Anyway, he can also be a nincompoop. He had me thinking he wasn’t able to come to the party tonight because he was working on a very important job but he showed up as Julia Child, and I’ll be darned if he didn’t fool me until the end, when he finally revealed himself. You should see the legs on him! Well I told him tonight that he might have the prettiest legs ever, next to yours, of course. I have a good set of legs, myself, but his put mine to shame. Anyway, Doris, I hope you don’t mind that I call you ‘Doris,’ I had a wonderful Halloween! And I hope you did too.

Yours truly from Minnesota,


LaVon King

When LaVon got home that night, Ace was asleep in the recliner. She changed into her nightie, brushed her teeth, situated her hair net and then she called to Ace to come to bed and Ace responded just like a well-trained house pet. She slept fitfully while having nightmares that she was a one-woman army against the faces of hundreds of despicable people who did their fighting in the name of the LORD.