In my family everyone always idolized my Aunt Barbara. She is ten years older than my mom. Legend has it that at the age of 17 she ran off to Miami. There she became a Playboy Playmate at the official club. In those days, I am promised, that required no nudity... only an outfit that closely resembled a french maid costume with little bunny ears and a white cotton tail. I've seen old newspaper clippings and I must say, she looked gorgeous.
Barbara cashed in on her God-given beauty in Miami and suddenly she had all the nicest clothes. She was hanging out with wealthy business tycoons and movie stars. My grandparents, who had always been dirt poor, thought that was just swell. And they told everyone how proud they were. My Mom, who was not even ten years old at the time, was mesmerized by her. She bought my mom clothes and tried to save her from the perils of growing up poor. My Mom never forgot what Barbara did for her.
When Barbara married, she and her new husband Irv brought a pony all the way down from Michigan in the back seat of their brand new red convertible Cadillac. Irv was the charismatic boisterous type. He made money hand over fist and there were never any ,um, ethical limitations. He saw the pony by the road at a small farm somewhere along their route to Florida and thought that it would be a great present for my Mom and her younger sister. So he bought it from the farmer and he and his young wife were on their way. Apparently the pony was the only realist in the car because everyone else had forgotten that he wasn't potty trained... That trip to Florida turned treacherous pretty quick and the smell never quite came out of the Cadillac's white leather seats. But my Mom got her pony and that was it, she had formed a fascination with her sister that has lasted a lifetime. Whatever Barbara had we had to have. It was like watching fashion emerging from Paris... you know it's going to take a season or two, but sooner or later it's going to get to you. Mom bought Barbara's car when she decided to sell it, we lived in her old house when I was a kid, and we hired all her housekeepers including Erica.
About twenty years ago my aunt hired Erica. I am not sure how they were introduced. But she was a trans-sexual. I will never forget the terror in my brother's eyes the first time he met her. We had been warned by our Mother that no rude behavior would be tolerated. He wasn't at all happy about the situation. He barricaded himself in his room and said he preferred to clean it himself. I was a little amused by my brother's apprehension and I teased him. I used to tell him that I saw Erica staring at him. Ok, Ok that was mean of me. But in my defense,he teased me endlessly when I refused to wash my hair for a week after seeing Poltergeist... and since he's always been a capitalist, he didn't even blink when he charged me a week's allowance to guard the shower door when our Mom finally made me wash my hair.... I guess all is fair in sibling love and war.
For the first five years Erica was extremely quiet. She cleaned the house perfectly. She didn't waste time or watch soap operas like all our other housekeepers had in the past. She drove a shiny grey mustang and she always wore perfect make-up. She was almost the perfect Southern Belle. My brother and I grew to like her. By the time we were teen-agers I had figured out that Erica wouldn't tell on me for the beer that was in my closet and my brother had realized that she could clean his room much better than he could. We weren't good friends to her by any means. When our friends told us how weird she was, we agreed. She was the butt of some of our jokes, and sideways glances, but she was growing on us... and then somewhere along the line, we started defending her.
When my Grandparents were away caring for Grandpa's sick mother in Detroit, Erica was hired to clean their house. When they returned, they decided to have her come once a week. Grandfather had no idea that she was a he, or that he was a she... and over time he started to look forward to her coming every week. Erica was very patient and polite to him. She was soft-spoken. When Grandpa had a stroke and was paralyzed on his left side, Erica was his hero. She would help him fix his car. She would give my Grandma a much-needed break to go shopping and have lunch with friends. Grandpa was constantly telling Gramma, "why can't you be more like Erica? What a woman! She makes me lunch and then helps me fix my car..." It became a family joke. Grandpa had an innocent crush on a trans-sexual. And this was a man who was set in his ways. He was a bible-thumping, God-fearing, chauvanist from the south. Gay people were going to hell.... and he had a trans-sexual sitting on his lap. It was priceless.
At the birthday party we had for Grandpa a few months before he died, he made only two requests. He wanted to eat Coney Island hot dogs and he wanted Erica to be there. By that time someone, probably one of my uncles, had whispered in his ear that Erica may or may not be all natural woman. But by then he didn't care. Among the hundreds of pictures we took that day, there is one of Erica sitting on Grandpa's lap in his wheelchair with his birthday balloons, both of them smiling...
Since I've moved to New York I have attempted to hire several house-keepers of my own. They never last. They shrink my clothes, break my furniture, steal my money... and I am left longing for Erica, the sweet trans-sexual housekeeper that won all of our hearts. Somehow it gives me peace to know that she still cleans my Mom's house every Tuesday at 9 a.m.