Burlesque Rocks

Two years ago, I opened my laptop to write. The words I wanted to say didn’t come, so I wrote the story below, which then led me to write the first five thousand words of my memoir. This was all kickstarted by one event. My friend and burlesque partner in crime Helen/Trixi Tassels died. Now felt the right time to share the first thing I wrote after she died…

At 31 years old, I was in a single bed in a terrace house in the heart of Clapham Junction. The house was amazing; I was renting a room, and my landlady, Hilary, was awesome, but I was constantly craving my own space. Every month, I took a look at London rental prices and got scared back to thinking: ‘It’s not so bad, living in someone else’s home, with my landlady living upstairs’.
Sure, I thought I’d have my life sorted by the age of 30, but well, it was 2012, and things just weren’t the same as when my parents were kids. Well, that’s what I kept telling myself anyway.

One day, sitting in said room, I felt anxious. The following week, I was launching my first monthly cabaret show: A Little Cabaret. Instead of setting up a pre-sale link, I decided to go with ‘pay on the door’. No pre-bookings. I was shitting myself. Had I made the right choice? According to Facebook, around 100 people were planning on coming. I was dubious; I was beginning to learn that just because someone said they were coming on Facebook didn’t necessarily mean that they were. I was putting a lot of pressure on myself, and I was desperate for it to work so I could start making the move away from my full-time job.

‘Shake it off, Flynn. Let’s distract ourselves.’ I thought to myself

As I picked up my laptop, I was thinking about the latest burlesque fad. Every performer I knew was thinking about taking up fire to give them a “unique” selling point. Fire definitely looked cool, but I really didn’t (still didn’t) like the idea of accidentally swallowing paraffin, plus the smell stayed with you for days. Gross. That did not sound like fun at all! And if everyone else was doing it, was it truly unique?

I opened the laptop, and another email popped up from Smokin’ McQueen. I rolled my eyes. This guy was desperate to do the show. He was over from the States and was only in London for a week. The video links he had sent me were awesome. He had been on America’s Got Talent, but I had a full lineup up and if he did the show, it lowered the profit share. With all that experience, surely he was going to want a proper fee. I decided to be straight with him and fired off an email outlining it’s a new show and it would be a door split, so he may walk away with only a fiver. Within minutes, he replied with:

Yes, that’s no problem I’d love to do a show in London while I’m here.

I figured if he didn’t mind earning £5, well, that was his lookout. I sent the technical info email and the deadline for sending it all back to me. Then I got back to searching burlesque and fire on YouTube.

The top video was: Trixi Tassels – Cowboy.
With an eyebrow raised, I clicked on it. The stage was dark, and a repetitive beat was playing. Trixi Tassels entered, cowboy hat lowered over her eyes; her red hair and red lips were all you could make out. An oversized leather overcoat hid her figure and costume.

Daa – da – daa

The beat was heavy and repetitive. As she made her way through the audience to the stage, Trixi stepped and bumped in time with it. Once on stage, she began to slowly tease off her coat.

I couldn’t help but be blown away by her musicality. It was insane; every movement was perfectly in time with the music, and as she moved her hips, she picked up different accents in the music. With each movement she was building tension. Every bump and grind of the hips was perfectly placed.

The coat was off!

A pair of ass-less chaps and a sparkly corset was revealed. I wasn’t in the audience, but I was going wild from my single bed in Clapham Junction. The red Swarovski crystals glittered in the lights, highlighting her silhouette. She turned, showing off her ass (I do love a bum shot), which was the perfect distraction as she lit the fire sticks that were on the table at the back of the stage. I took a deep breath in, my depressing surroundings forgotten. She began sweeping the fire along her arms and down to her legs.

‘Wait a second, did she just?!’

“Yes, she did,” I replied to myself out loud.

“She just burnt her chaps off!”

“Whoa, I think I’m in love.”

The fire stick moved to her corset, and yep, she burned that off too!

“How did she do that?”

And there she was, I was sitting up straight in my bed, and the crowd went wild as she stood naked in a pair of tassels, pants, and cowboy boots. Wow.

The fire sticks weren’t out; she does some fire play over her almost naked body, which kind of felt a bit anti-climactic. Until…

“NO WAY!” I gasped out loud

‘This is not a drill; she just lit her tassels, and she’s tassel twirling!’ My mind was blown

Her tits were on FIRE!

I was out of my bed, cheering.

I think to myself, ‘THIS WOMAN IS AMAZING!’

Then it kicked in.

‘I could never afford to book her.
I could never come up with an act as good as that.
There’s no way I’m setting my tits on fire.
Great, now I’m more depressed.’ I grabbed the duvet and covered my head.

A week later, and I was dressed up in my corset and bustle, waiting by the door to the backroom of The Cavendish Arms. The first ever A Little Cabaret had gone really well. I couldn’t believe so many people had come to see the show! And then there she was.

‘Oh my god, oh my god, she’s coming over’

I was in a total panic. Trixi Tassels herself was walking towards me. I couldn’t run away; she had seen me and had made eye contact. She swept her leopard print scarf over her shoulder and adjusted her bag. How she made such a basic movement look so cool, I had no idea. And then she was right in front of me. ’You can do this, play it cool.’

“You’re Little Lady Luscious, aye?”

She was even cooler in person with her flaming red hair and perfectly coordinated outfit of black and red. Not too heavy on the make-up, but the signature red lip was there. After watching her YouTube video, I had googled her and had found her website.

Pulling myself together, I replied.
“Yes, and you’re Trixi Tassels. Thank you for coming to the show!”
“I was here to see Smokin’ McQueen. We used to be part of the same troupe in Australia. I enjoyed the show. I’d love to perform in your next one.”

I nearly died. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out. “I can’t afford you! It’s a door split” My brain went into overdrive, so many thoughts, mostly along the lines of:

‘Why does she want to do my show?
She’s going to say no.
I’m an idiot.
Is that a New Zealand accent?’

She laughed, “Ah ha ha, that’s alright. You’ve created a great atmosphere, and I love the venue. I’d love to perform here in your show if you’ll have me.”
‘Is this woman insane? Of course I’d have her.’
I realised she was looking at me and waiting for a reply. Kicking aside my awe, I finally replied,
“I’d love to have you!”

We exchanged email addresses, then Smokin’ McQueen appeared from somewhere, and they headed off to the bar to catch up. As the venue emptied, I was at a loss for words.

The whole night was surreal. My first cabaret had been a success! A great show, a fabulous audience, a famous burlesque performer said she wanted to do my show. I wanted to pinch myself and thought. ‘Trixi Tassels. Wow. This feels awesome. I need to celebrate. To the bar!’

And that’s how Trixi and I met, thanks to Smokin’ McQueen being so insistent. Our friendship developed over time. When I was working on a new project, I’d send Trixi an email, always with some trepidation, to see if she was interested in performing. Nine times out of ten, she would say yes. Over time, I learned that this was what she did. She said yes first, then figured out how to do it later. She never backed out after she had committed to doing something. Even the time her flight was delayed on the way back from Germany and she was teaching a floor work and hair flicks workshop for me. We’d worked on the workshop structure together, so I was able to get it started. Then about halfway through, she came in, suitcase and all and threw herself onto the floor, writhing and flicking her hair.

Returning to the early days of our friendship, Trixi would message me to see if I had any shows coming up where she could try out a new act. The answer was always a yes from me. And after pretty much every show, we would have a drink and a catch-up. She always had so much energy, I couldn’t keep up. I’d feel exhausted just listening to what she had been up to since the last time I had seen her. And she always acted like it was nothing.

In 2016, I had taken a short hiatus from teaching and producing. I decided to bring back my burlesque courses, but they needed a revamp, and the idea struck of teaching with someone. Share the load and fill in the gaps, the places where I didn’t think I was strong enough as a teacher. I fired off an email to Trixi, and in true Trixi style, she replied with a yes.

Our teaching styles really did complement each other, and we had the same attitude towards teaching. We both encouraged our ‘kids’ to find their style and allowed them to make their own mistakes. We were a team, and every so often after class we went for dinner in this little Italian across the road from the dance studio. We plotted, we bitched and moaned about work and drank some really nice red wine. One night, we almost convinced my Dad to start a pay-per-tassel channel. He had a motorised tassel chest and would sing sea shanties and strip. We decided the pay per tassel twirl could be his retirement plan. Sadly, he didn’t go for it in the end. I think my husband still owns the website address, though – Twirlmytassels.com

Our friendship grew during this time, and I began to see Trixi’s cheeky and competitive streak. The graduation shows, especially the ones at The Cavendish Arms, would regularly get out of control. One night, our stage manager and an unsuspecting member of the audience were invited to compete in various challenges throughout the night. After an arm wrestle and a feather boa dance, a twerk off was the deciding test. Neither knew what twerking was. After impatiently watching, Trixi jumped up to show them how it was done and won the twerking competition.

Then there was the glove off. We used to run an interval workshop for audience members. At first, we would compete against each other with our audience volunteers. These were pretty tame compared to the glove off. During COVID, we had to reassess our audience participation, and I came up with the idea of a glove off. Tom the tech would pick a piece of music, and we would remove a glove. The best glove removal won. And well, the gloves really did come off. Trixi went as far as eating a glove to ensure she won.

We really did get quite competitive over those glove-offs. But always had a good giggle about them afterwards.

When I decided to shut down Luscious Cabaret, Trixi said she was relieved. The person who always said yes was beginning to run out of steam and, like me, was ready to take a break. She was in the process of buying a flat, and her focus was on creating a beautiful garden and home for herself in London.

I was lucky enough to stay in her flat for the weekend. It was the last time I saw her before she died. The flat was very Trixi, perfectly coordinated black and red, with a beautiful garden outside. The garden wasn’t quite finished, but you could see it was beginning to take shape.

I was devastated when I heard the news of her death. She was diagnosed with bowel cancer, shortly before the last time I saw her and was in hospital when I stayed at her flat. She was due to start chemo in a week. Although the cancer was stage 4, we hoped, probably more me, that chemo would give her more time. On that visit, we laughed and reminisced over the students we taught together. Made plans to see Duff when he toured with his new album in a few months’ time. I didn’t want to leave, but she was tired, so we hugged and said goodbye. I was sure it wouldn’t be the last time, but less than a month later, the announcement came that she had passed away.

Trixi inspired me as a performer, but she also inspired me to keep going. Say yes and just do it. I do forget that from time to time. I’d been banging on for a while about how I wanted to write about my life. So not long after her death, I picked up my laptop and began to write. The first thing I wrote was the story of our first meeting.

I recently found the video of her performance on YouTube and realised I remembered it really well. Turns out that performance is a core memory for me.

So thank you, Trixi/Helen. In life, you made me a better teacher, person and performer. In death, you continue to inspire my weekly online classes (the “Walk Like A Camel” music I use in warm up always makes me think of you), and I look at your picture every time I need someone to say, “Yes, just do it! You’ll figure the rest out later.”