By Laurent Clow
Judy B. Goode takes the stage in tight black shorts and a black tank top with a silver sequined "J" over the breast. In her right hand is a microphone; tucked under her left arm is Chloe, her blind, tawny toy poodle dressed in a tuxedo.
"I've never sung to a sober group before," Goode says, before slipping into a soft, slow rendition of "New York, New York."
Goode and Chloe sway on stage, their movement hampered by an overflowing costume rack and two blue plastic storage tubs packed tight with Chloe's wardrobe and various props. As Goode sings, two dogs in the bar bark and howl with the music. Chloe calmly rests in Goode's arm, oblivious to the canine hecklers in the audience. Goode laughs and takes a break from the song. Her voice will be a little weak today, she explains—she's been cheering for the Lightning all week.
"I'm going to sound lusty tonight," she says.
Goode is a petite, wiry woman with short brown hair that surprisingly turns into a long, blond braid in the back. By day, she cleans houses and boats in the St. Petersburg area. But every Thursday night at 6:30, she channels the spirits of Liza Minelli and Judy Garland at Grand Central Station, at 2612 Central Ave. Goode's latest gig is emceeing the "Pride Pet Show" at the bar, part of the annual St. Pete Pride Festival. She may get her big break, however, in the Toronto SkyDome in two weeks.
As "New York, New York" winds down, she hands Chloe to a friend offstage and does a quick costume change. From a blue plastic storage tub she pulls a short black wig, a shoulder-length headdress of multi-colored beads and a mustache; she hits "play" on the stereo and "I Got You Babe" trickles quietly out of the speakers.
Goode throws on the black wig and beads, lowers her voice so that it's deep and husky. As she croons "I Got You Babe," Goode is gone—she's all Cher now, soon to be joined by Sonny.
"This is going to be difficult," she says as the chorus comes up.
For the big finish, Goode doffs the beads and slaps the mustache on her face, sings "I got you to hold my hand" in Sonny Bono's nasal voice, yanks the mustache off, throws the beads on, and sings "I got you to understand" as Cher. The audience of 15 applauds and Goode takes the tuxedoed Chloe back into her arms.
Goode's 30-year career has taken her from Ohio to Florida and to Europe and back. On June 25, Goode, 49, will get another crack at stardom: her song "God Made a Rainbow of People" will be used in a JumboTron video at the Toronto SkyDome as part of Pride Community Day, sponsored by the Toronto Blue Jays. More than 50,000 could hear Goode's song.
"I think she has a very eclectic style. She's diverse, very talented," says Deb Belinsky, executive producer of game entertainment at the SkyDome. While in town two weeks ago to see a Lightning game, Belinsky and a friend caught Goode's performance. When Belinsky heard Goode's song, she asked to use it in the JumboTron video.
"What I liked about [the song was] it transcended all this issue and meaning and everything else and [said] people are people…and I think that's an important message to convey if you can," says Belinsky.
Goode is well-known in the St. Petersburg area and has a wide circle of friends and, as she calls them, "groupies." Brian Koch and Chris Bohmholzt, patrons at the bar, had Goode perform at their May 15 commitment ceremony.
"'God Made a Rainbow of People' was our opening song," Bohmholzt says. "When she did her performance, everybody loved it, even the straight people. We're trying our best to make her big."
Goode sits at the bar of Grand Central Station, drinking a Stoli martini, straight up with a dash of olive juice, two giant olives resting in the middle of the glass. Whenever she wants to make a point, has something serious to say or has a juicy bit of gossip, she leans in close and grabs a listener's arm. Tending bar is Mark Bias, one of Goode's best friends. The two trade quick quips as she sits at the bar.
Originally from Cleveland, Judy B. Goode (and yes, that is her real name) was "always a ham" as a kid. She grew up listening to Judy Garland and Broadway music. Goode got serious about theater as a teenager when, after seeing "1776," she rushed out to buy the script book and recreated the production in her room—featuring herself in every role. She went to summer theater camps and was set to go to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York on a scholarship when she was 19. Goode wanted to be "Liza Minelli and Judy Garland all wrapped up into one."
"I did one of those dumb things and got married instead," she says. That's where the "Goode" came from. She kept her husband's last name even after they divorced in 1984 because her maiden name "was not a stage name."
Goode ditched Broadway for bars after she got married and started singing at watering holes in Cleveland.
"I only knew 10 songs," she says. "This Italian guy who was running the bar, he said, 'You've got to wear makeup, you've got to wear slinky clothes.' He really shaped me…I was a lounge lizard back then."
After moving to Florida in 1979, Goode began singing at a Holiday Inn and garnered a gay following.
"Gay guys would come in and say, 'Bette Midler started in bath houses, you should come to a gay bar because the boys love you,'" she says.
She made friends in the gay and lesbian community and was invited to start singing in a lesbian bar in Tampa.
"I said, 'Oh, no no no, that's a lesbian bar and I'm straight,'" Goode says. "But I went there and the next thing you know…"
Goode came out in 1984. She says her husband at the time took it very badly. "He's a good man, the only man I ever loved," she says. "He was very handsome, he looked like a young Robert Redford."
Goode's mother learned she was lesbian a short time later. Sitting on the beach one afternoon, Goode's mother asked about her partner, Angie.
"My mom leaned over and said, 'I know Angie's gay. Are you gay, Judy?' And I said yes, and she said, 'Are you happy?' I told her I was and she said, 'OK,' and that was it."
She pauses and, sensing the conversation is getting too serious, says, "My brother's always been a pain in the ass, though, but he voted for Bush, so what does he know?"
Goode divorced her husband, David, in 1984 and began traveling. Meanwhile, Goode's kids, Todd, now 28, and Candi, now 29, lived in Florida with their father.
"I couldn't stand leaving my kids. I spent most of their time growing up talking to them on the phone," she says.
Goode has been cleaning houses for the last three years, but she doesn't like to dwell on the topic. She started the job following a breakup with her girlfriend of 11 years.
Cleaning houses gives her free time to keep singing. As for the breakup, Goode wrote a song for her ex-girlfriend called "Rot in Hell." Today, she says, "I don't want anyone…All I need is my little toy poodle."
Mark Bias, who owns MC Films in St. Petersburg, got her back on stage at Grand Central Station, after a two-year absence following what she describes as a particularly bad breakup.
"Judy is genuine. She's 100 percent just Judy. She doesn't try to be anyone but herself," he says. "She's the John Waters of the lesbian scene. She has her own little cult following."
Bias encouraged her to record a CD last fall. The CD, which includes "God Made a Rainbow of People" and "Rot in Hell," has sold about 150 copies since its debut.
"[My dream] used to be to be big and famous, but it's impossible now unless you're Britney Spears…and anyhow, I'm a cabaret singer. Right now, I'm just shooting for this song to be heard. I think it needs to be heard by the whole country," Goode says.
Bias slips Goode's CD into the stereo and plays "God Made a Rainbow of People." Goode stands up and starts singing along. A few feet away from Goode, Koch and Bohmholzt embrace and start to dance. Goode grabs her martini glass, the two men grab their beers, and they raise a toast.