Even Cowgirls Get the Blues

The surprise of Sissy Hankshaw

is that she did not grow up a neurotic disaster.

If you were a small girl in a low-income suburb

of Richmond, Virginia, as Sissy was,

and your own daddy sometimes makes jokes

about you being "all thumbs,"

then you toughen up... or you shatter.

Oh yes!

Oh, did you make a wish?

No, and I'm afraid she ain't gonna make much of a brain surgeon, neither.

Hey, she could be a butcher.

She could retire in two years on the overcharges alone.

She might make a hell of a hitchhiker. Ha ha ha ha ha.

If she were a boy, you mean.

She is, if I may speak frankly,

somewhat of a medical oddity.

Well, the Lord made them things big for a purpose.

Although...

Lord only knows what that might be.

Doc, oh Doc...

if a young man ever shows up here

with ugly fingers...

you know, would you please...

Dear lady, please remember the words of the painter Paul Gauguin

who said, "The ugly may be beautiful...

but the pretty, never."

I don't suppose that means very much to you.

I'm not stupid.

There's nothing about your past, present or future...

that your hands do not know.

And there is nothing about your hands

that Madame Zoe does not know.

I, Madame Zoe...

er... Jesus-fucking-Christ!

Husband...

is she gonna find a husband?

Oh...

I see men in your life.

Oh...

I also see women.

Lots and lots and lots of women.

Oh...

let's get out of here.

The gods did not choose Sissy Hankshaw

for her thumbs per se,

but rather for the use that she would make of them.

Hitchhiking would become her customary mode of travel.

Hitchhiking would become, in fact, her way of life...

a calling to which she was literally born.

"Greater freedom of movement."

"Sissy, precious being,

how are you, my extraordinary one?

Next time you're near Manhattan, do ring me up.

There is a man to whom I simply must introduce you..."

- Crimeny. - "Thrill! The Countess."

Goin' north?

- You want some? - Thanks.

American cheese.

It's the king of road food.

You in show business?

- I was a successful model once. - For magazines?

I was the "Yoni Yum Feminine Hygiene Dew" girl

from 1965 to 1970, and then I got laid off.

- So now you're bumming around? - Yeah.

Hitchhiking?

Please don't think me immodest...

but I'm really the best.

- You're the best? - Yeah.

I am.

When I was younger, I hitchhiked 127 hours without stopping.

I crossed the continent twice in six days,

cooled my thumbs in both oceans,

and caught rides after midnight on unlighted highways.

When I'm really moving...

moving so freely, so clearly, so delicately

that even the sex maniacs and the cops

can only blink and let me pass...

then I embody the spirit and the heart of hitchhiking.

I have the rhythms of the universe inside me.

I'm in a state of grace.

Well, right off...

I don't remember how old I was when I found out I was part Indian.

My mama's family, a lot of them had lived out west in the Dakotas.

One of them had married a squaw, Siwash tribe.

You may say that my pleasure in Indianhood

and my passion for car travel might be incongruous...

if not mutually exclusive...

but after all, first car that ever stopped for me

had been named in honor of the great chief of the Ottawa.

New York City.

Sure is a hell of a town.

Ominous.

...gold or silver beads, she has... - Ah!

Sit down, dear, do sit down.

Take a load off those lovely tootsies.

Would you fancy some sherry?

Shit, oh goodness, I'm all out of sherry.

How about some red Ripple?

You know what red Ripple is, don't you?

Fruit punch with a hard-on.

To my own special Sissy.

So my letter brought you flying, huh?

Now where were you?

Salt Lake City? LaConner?

I may have a little surprise for you.

But first tell me about yourself.

It's been six months, hasn't it? In some circles, that is half a year.

- How are you? - Tired.

That is the very first time

in the eons that I have known you

that I have ever heard you complain,

and now you're tired, poor darling.

"Born freak can only go uphill."

Freak shmeak!

All of us are freaks in one way or another.

Try being born a male Russian countess

into a white, middle-class

Baptist family in Mississippi and you'll see what I mean.

Well, I've always been proud of the way nature singled me out.

It's the people who have been deformed by society I feel sorry for.

I've been steady moving for 11 years and some months.

I think I should rest up for a spell.

I'm not as young as I used to be.

Shit, oh goodness! You won't be 30 for another year

and you're more beautiful than ever.

Does that mean you have an assignment for me?

You were the Yoni Yum girl

from... let's see...

1965...

through 1970.

And you always smelled so nice...

like a little sister.

I loathe the stink of females.

They're so sweet the way god made them.

Then they start fooling around with men

and soon they're stinking like rotten mushrooms...

like an excessively chlorinated swimming pool,

like a tuna fish's ree-tirement party. They all stink...

from the Queen of England to Bonanza Jellybean... they stink!

- Bonanza Jellybean? - What?

Oh...

Jellybean...

Well, she's a young thing who works on my ranch.

Anyway, my dear, I am getting out of photography now

and into watercolors.

The exact man that I have wanted you to meet,

is my artist, the watercolorist.

- But Countess... - No, no, no.

Don't get agitated. I realize that you have always avoided

all but the most rudimentary involvements with men

and I might add, you have been right.

But what I am getting at, is there comes a time

when it is psychologically impossible for a woman to lose her virginity.

She can't wait too long, you know?

Now I'm not saying that you must lose yours,

but uh... just ponder it a bit, that's all.

Well, what makes you think this watercolorist and I

would develop a romantic relationship?

I can't be sure that it would,

but what have you got to lose?

Well, okay, I'll try it...

for you. It seems kind of silly, though...

me goin' out with an artist in New York City.

Oh good, good, good, good!

You'll enjoy it, you'll see.

Julian is a gentleman.

And by the way, Sissy,

he is a full-blooded Indian.

Hi.

Julian? Are you okay?

This is bad. We better get him home.

He has asthma. Take him home, he'll be fine.

- You come with us. - Yeah.

- The cigarette is not helping. - I beg your pardon.

Hold up.

I've been enthralled with your photographs for years.

When the Countess said that you might like to meet me,

he never explained why.

I was ready to paint... for free.

And now I had to go and spoil it.

Let's talk back at your house.

Come on, honey. It's gonna be fine. We're going home.

- Oh God, this is dreadful! - It's not your fault.

You know, asthma attacks are brought on by emotional stress.

Poor Julian he is just so high-strung.