Cyndi Lauper: A Memoir by Cyndi Lauper

sleeping lion, and at that moment I thought, “This must be my roar.” I kept going, though, because I was in an audition situation. I joined the band. (I’m leaving out the band’s name, for reasons that you’ll see later.)
    There was a gay singer who looked a little like John Travolta and a bass player who dressed like Bootsy Collins, although he was a white guy. I was a background singer, but every once in a while the background girls would sing lead, so whenever the band was sort of losing the crowd, they’d have me step up and do something like “Lady Marmalade,” “I’ve Got the Music in Me,” or “Tell Me Something Good.” I sang background with this other girl, Dale, who was awesome. I sang the high harmonies, so they started calling us Chip and Dale.
    Along with my new band, I got a new place to live: Fran’s apartment. She made a deal that I would be a live-in nanny for her two kids. So I did the gigs at night with the band, but then I had to get upearly in the morning and take care of the kids. And soon it started to get really weird. Fran was going through a very traumatic time because there was a lot of turmoil with her ex, and the kids were a little out of control. And one time I slapped her son. The kid did something to me, and it was a snap reaction. He went into the wall, and I never forgave myself. I was a kid myself, but I should never have ever, ever hit him. It’s just wrong, because if you teach violence, violence begets more violence. I could never get it right because I didn’t know how. I couldn’t be the nanny that she needed and I couldn’t bring stability to the place, so finally I just left.
    So I moved back to my mom’s place in Queens, and Fran started working in a bar as a barmaid to support her kids. Through her bar, I met a couple of guys I thought I was going to be with, because I just wanted to go out on a date. They never worked out. One guy was a Vietnam vet, but I was not sensitive to his plight and I told him I had marched against the war. He freaked out. That date ended abruptly. It should have because no one treated those guys fairly when they came back and I was a stupid kid who didn’t understand that. Then later, when I was the lead singer in the band, I started seeing this other guy who was friends with the drummer. But that ended when he became a nervous boyfriend who had to make sure everything ran smoothly at the clubs, even though he wasn’t our manager.
    The band got some good opening gigs. We opened for Wayne County—once when he was Wayne, and later when he was Jayne. Remember that musical Hedwig and the Angry Inch ? It reminded me very much of Wayne/Jayne, although actor John Cameron Mitchell said that the character Hedwig was based on a combination of a couple of people. Wayne was wild and funny. I was always afraid of him. He did say some nasty things to me, but I didn’t care. We played at the Coventry Club on Queens Boulevard, where Kiss played theirfirst gig. We opened for Isis, whose lead singer was a beautiful lesbian. She had white-blonde hair that she sprinkled with glitter. She also wore a white glittery shirt and shiny pants. She looked like an ice queen, but her guitar playing was on fire. In those days it was cool to see people living alternative lifestyles in those glitter bands—but even though a gay man could break through then, a declared lesbian never could.
    All of the club owners always had a problem with me, because I couldn’t stay on my feet when I danced. They would ask, “Why can’t she just stand there and sing?” I used to fall a lot because I’d be wearing high heels, or big platforms, and the lead singer would bend down and help me up, and then he’d fall and Dale would try and help us up and then we’d all be on the ground. That’s how I learned to talk onstage—because you gotta say something.
    We would drive to gigs in an old van and once we got in an accident. I think we were on the Southern State Parkway,