Seth appears in the doorway. ‘Robin—’
‘Sit down,’ I say.
‘Why?’
I smile. ‘Do you trust me?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Then have a seat.’
He sits at Kaye’s workstation and I grab a chair to sit opposite him. I take out my brushes and my make-up, waiting for him to ask me to stop, but he doesn’t, so with a careful hand, I start to paint his face.
‘What are you doing?’ he asks.
‘Painting you,’ I say, gently using a bit of yellow to cancel out the colour of the bruise blooming below his eye. ‘Do you mind?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘You going to tell me what’s up?’
I sigh. ‘I had an argument with Natalie, and also with Greg, so at the moment it’s me and you against the world. How about that?’
He shrugs. ‘I think that could work.’
I sigh. ‘I feel like shit.’
‘Is that why you keep checking your phone?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘I sent an apology,’ I say. ‘I’m waiting to hear back.’
‘It’ll be OK, you know?’ he says.
But I really don’t know that. I don’t want to cry about it right now, so I double down on the painting.
‘So, you gonna tell me what happened with them?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know if I want to,’ I say. ‘They already think I’m a bad person – I don’t want you to think that too.’
Seth sighs. ‘Start talking,’ he says. ‘You’re painting me – I can hardly respond right now.’
I explain what I did, trying to ignore the tiny winces he gives every now and again. I don’t know if I’m touching the bruise or touching a nerve. I’m not sure which is worse.
‘Oh, Robin,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘You know what.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I’m a total fuck-up.’
He shrugs. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that lying is bad,’ he says. ‘You also don’t need me to tell you that your friends are reacting like this because they love you and you hurt them.’
I stop painting. ‘Then why are you telling me?’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Maybe you need to hear it out loud,’ he says. ‘You need to fix it.’
‘I know.’
‘ASAP.’
‘I know.’
‘You can’t paint your problems away,’ he says, which makes me smile.
‘Watch me.’
I contour him, I highlight him, I give him a blue eye with a heavy wing because I think it will suit him and I’m right, and then I start to paint myself. The silence between us is so comfortable I just want to sit in it for a while, him watching me as I make a start on my face, as I transform into someone new. I wish I knew how to make it right. I don’t know if I can now.
‘I know, I know, I’m late,’ Kaye says as he enters the bar. He stops when he catches sight of me and Seth. ‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’ he asks.
‘Thought it would be worth getting into full paint while we waited,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know how long you’d be so—’
‘So that’s why Seth is fully painted and you’ve only just finished your eyeliner?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You look good,’ Kaye says to Seth. ‘Have you considered drag?’
Seth snorts. ‘God no. Happy consumer and observer. I could never do what you guys do.’
Kaye curtseys. ‘Not all are given such gifts,’ he says, then turns his attention back to me. ‘Finish your face and get to the stage. We’ve got work to do.’
I finish painting and head downstairs with Seth, who is looking properly handsome in his paint. Kaye has turned on all the lights in the bar, but it looks seriously different in the day time. The artwork is still there, the tables, the colourful walls, but there’s definitely something about it that feels a few shades wrong. It doesn’t have any life in it, only the remnants and echoes of the energy I normally feel when I’m here. Layers of it, from last night and from decades ago.
Seth sets himself up at a table near the back of the room, pulling a sketchbook out of his bag. I head to the stage.
It’s bigger than I remember. Last time I was on it, I was focusing on not falling apart in front of a room full of people.
‘Have you had a chance to think about what you want to do?’ Kaye says.
I have. Well, sort of.
‘I would love to sing,’ I say. ‘But after what happened last time I don’t know if I could do it without having some major trauma flashbacks.’
Kaye rolls his eyes. ‘Sweetheart, with lines like that you were born to be a queen.’ He leans against the bar. ‘What do you want to be doing, then?’
‘Well, I thought that maybe I could lip-sync,’ I say. ‘It seems like the sensible thing to do. And easiest I guess?’
Kaye stands back up. He looks around himself, perplexed, like he is searching for something to beat me over the head with. I’m trying to figure out what I’ve said wrong here.
‘What?’ I say.
‘You think lip-syncing is your easiest option?’ he says. ‘You still have so much to learn, sweet boy.’
‘Why? What have I said? They do it on Drag Race all the time and—’
‘You need to stop speaking before I smack you over the head with a bar stool,’ he interrupts, holding up a perfectly manicured hand. ‘You want to do a lip sync because you think it’s easy?’
I look over at Seth who pulls an ‘I don’t know’ face and goes back to his sketch pad, still totally listening, waiting to see if I manage to fit my foot further into my mouth. I don’t want to make it worse, so I just stay quiet.
Kaye sighs and hoists himself up on the bar. He crosses one leg over the other and looks over at me.
‘There is a great tradition of lip-syncing that goes way beyond doing it for your life or your legacy or the house down boots mama werk yes gawd.’ He tongue-pops and it is quite possibly the loudest noise I have ever heard in my life. I actually wince. His mouth must be cavernous.
‘So, tell me about it,’ I say.
‘It’s about more than knowing the words to the song,’ he says. ‘It’s more than just putting a frock on and mashing your mouth around the lyrics for three and a half minutes.’ He stops, looking a little off into the distance. ‘Well, it can be. It depends who you ask.’
He hops off the bar. ‘It’s exactly like when you’re singing something. It’s about connection. A song can be so carefully chosen that it takes you right back to a particular moment in time and you present that onstage in front of an audience and give them a piece of your life, as it were. The best lip syncs I have seen are the ones where the artist is connected to what they are miming to, where they are living that moment, which is in itself a representation of the past, in the present. And in that moment it takes on a new meaning depending on who is watching, where it’s being performed, how people are impacted by watching it. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ I say dumbly. ‘I mean, I think so?’
‘So it’s more than just picking a song that you like, Robin,’ he says reverently, his voice hushed. ‘You can do it that way, absolutely, and there is so much fun to be had, but let’s dig a little deeper. Let’s find a song that speaks to your soul. And it’s possible you’ll have to do it a hundred times over before you find the right one, but you’re looking for something that you feel connected to.’ He looks up at me hopefully. ‘What song do you want to try?’
I start running through song choices in my head, trying to find one that might speak to me in that way, that might give the effect that Kaye wants. I look over to Seth who is pretending to work, but still stealing enough glances over here that I know he isn’t working that hard. All I can think of are musical-theatre songs, a few pop songs here and there.
‘Hey, don’t tell me all your ideas at once,’ Kaye says. ‘Take your time, please.’
‘Sorry,’ I mumble. ‘I can’t think – there’s t
oo many songs I—’
‘You know this isn’t about being perfect, right?’ Kaye says. He says it so flatly, so simply, that it almost knocks me off balance. ‘You’re allowed to try things out, play around, fuck it up and fail. That’s the whole point of this, of performance. It’s not supposed to come out perfect first time round. Even when you actually do the thing in front of an audience, you can let yourself discover things.’ I must look at him a little blankly because he rolls his eyes. ‘Look, you’re a dancer, right?’ I nod. ‘Well, you didn’t just walk in there on your first day and triple pirouette or jump into the splits or whatever,’ he says. ‘You had to work at it. And you’re a singer, right?’ I nod. ‘Well, you didn’t just wake up with breath control and placement, you had to work at it. You’re an actor, right?’ I nod. ‘Well . . . acting was never my strong suit, but I bet you don’t know all the acting techniques. You wanted to go to drama school so you could keep working on your craft. What would be the point in going if there wasn’t anything to work on?’
‘So I’m allowed to be wrong?’ I say. It doesn’t sound quite right to me.
Kaye laughs. ‘The more wrong you are, the more we have to play with,’ he says. ‘Give me everything you’ve got and we’ll see where we are. Give me your phone.’
‘What?’
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I’m going to put on a song and you’re just going to perform it.’
‘You can’t do that – what if I don’t know the words?’
He shrugs. ‘We’ll find one that you know,’ he says. ‘Casual reminder, Robin, that this is supposed to be fun!’
I sigh and get my phone out of my pocket, opening Spotify and handing it to him.
My whole body is shaking. I’m nervous as Kaye walks over to the sound system. There is a distinct, electrical hum as the speakers click on, a pop as he plugs in my phone, and I realize I’m not breathing, and I need to breathe.
And a song starts to play.
I’ve heard it a million times before, but not for the longest time. I couldn’t tell you the last time I voluntarily listened to it. But I know it so well. ‘Born This Way’ by Lady Gaga. Her voice has already started and I’m not doing anything.
‘I wasn’t ready!’ I shout over the music.
‘Pick it up!’ Kaye calls back. ‘Come on. You know it?’ I nod. ‘Then do it!’
The beat is there, familiar, like it’s already imprinted on my soul, the music transmitting from the speakers and running across the room to infect my body, my brain.
My mouth starts to move. Without thinking about what I’m going to do next, I perform to the empty room, to Kaye and Seth.
Don’t be a drag.
Just be a queen.
When I’m done, I’m sweating, I’m breathing heavily, I can still feel the echoes of the song dancing on the tips of my fingers, the words still fizzing on my tongue. In that moment, I was her, and I was living it and even now it’s over I can still feel it in myself.
I look at Kaye.
‘Shit,’ Seth breathes. I look at him. He’s smiling. He’s smiling so much and I can’t believe that I’ve had that effect on someone by lip-syncing.
I look back to Kaye. I don’t know what I want him to say, or what I want him to do, but to see him standing there smiling is maybe just enough.
‘It’s not perfect,’ he says. ‘But I think you know what I mean now, don’t you?’
And I think I do. Maybe someone smarter than me could put it into fancier words, but it’s more than a song – it’s a feeling, it’s a moment. A lip sync is lived by the performer and, possibly, by the audience.
‘Not perfect by any stretch,’ a voice says from the door. I turn to see Carrie standing in the doorframe. I wonder how much of it he has seen. ‘But you might be all right.’
‘Really?’
‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up,’ he says. ‘You think you can whip him into shape before Friday?’
Kaye smiles. ‘Of course.’
‘Pride cometh, dear.’
‘He’ll be ready,’ Kaye says. ‘Don’t you worry your ageing little head about it, Carrie. You’ll have him for your show.’
Carrie walks over to me, weaving his way through the tables to the stage. I’m really towering over him right now, not just in the heels, but on the platform.
‘The paint is good,’ Carrie says. ‘But paint doesn’t make a performance. Remember what I said.’
‘Don’t fuck it up?’ I say.
‘Don’t you dare,’ Carrie says. ‘See you Wednesday night, my darling,’ he calls to Kaye as he leaves.
‘It’s a start,’ Kaye says. ‘Everybody has to start somewhere. Find a song that speaks to you, that means something to you, and we’ll work on it. Don’t let Carrie get in your head. Let him spur you on . . .’
‘Kaye—’
‘Don’t call it a comeback,’ he says. ‘Shake off the fear of the last time you were on that stage and know that you’ve got this, OK?’
I nod.
‘Now get back to school,’ he says. ‘You’ve got classes, haven’t you?’
‘Gosh, you’re such a mum.’
‘Don’t start that now,’ he says. ‘You’re making me sound old. Now, get back to school and work hard or you’re grounded.’
Even as we approach the school, dread fills the pit of my stomach. We walk in and I can feel eyes on me and Seth, people that no doubt saw what he did to Connor or have heard about it through the grapevine. I’m obviously guilty by association and their eyes on me is . . . a lot.
When I get to the common room, Greg and Natalie are both in there. Natalie is at one of the desks with Holly and Eric from her law class. They’re deep in conversation, but Natalie still looks up briefly when she sees me. And Greg is sitting with people that I don’t even know, people who are probably in his science classes. There’s a brief moment where his face brightens and I swear he is about to talk to me, but he stops himself and turns back to his friends.
I look at Seth.
‘Can we go?’ I ask.
‘Robin, you need to—’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I say. ‘I can’t right now.’
He nods and we walk out.
TWENTY-SEVEN
When I get home, Mum is parked outside, so I hurry in to see what happened between her and Mrs Finch. Mum probably tore her to shreds. There is still a weird sort of tension as I walk into the kitchen. But at least we’re talking now.
‘Hey, sweetie,’ Mum calls from the kitchen. ‘How was school? How’s the pretty boy that saved your face?’
‘Good,’ I say, not a lie, but not the truth either. I seem to be doing that more and more lately. ‘I didn’t hear any screams or rumours of you getting dragged off school property by security, so I assume you didn’t completely obliterate Mrs Finch?’ I add.
Mum appears at the kitchen door. She has two cups of tea in her hand and passes one to me. The silence is unnerving. There is something about it that tells me this isn’t the conversation I thought we were going to have.
‘Do you want to sit down?’ she asks, gesturing to the dining table.
‘Sure.’ I take a seat and she takes one opposite me, the table between us, a barrier. Something is going on.
‘So I spoke to Mrs Finch. We had a long chat,’ Mum says. ‘And you’re right, she’s sort of pushy and domineering and to start with I was totally against everything she was saying. I was kicking off – I was interrupting her – she said something about how fiery you are, and this is where you must get it from.’
That makes me smile. Even though in every TV show I’ve ever watched people are scared of turning into their mums, I think my mum is pretty cool, so I always thought it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I did.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘And then what?’
‘She tried to push it, but I stood firm, told her that you knew your own mind, you worked hard and wanted to figure things out on your own,’ she says. ‘She didn’t like that, but I think it
was better it came from me rather than you. The only thing she disagreed on was that you work hard.’
I blink. ‘What?’
‘She told me you’ve been cutting classes.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘You’ve been running out on your free periods with that pretty boy who saved your face?’ Mum is waiting for me to say something. ‘She doesn’t think he’s a good influence on you and—’
‘No one seems to.’
‘Regardless,’ Mum continues. I can tell she’s trying really hard to keep calm. ‘You’re sneaking off to that club, aren’t you? What the hell are you thinking? Are you really going to tank your last year at school for the sake of a job in some gay bar?’
And I have a choice here. I can either continue to keep this from her or I can come out with it. With all the lying I’ve been doing over the past couple of weeks, all the hurt I’ve caused, maybe the best thing to do is just be up front about something for once.
‘It’s not just a job, Mum,’ I say. ‘I’m performing.’
‘You’re what?’
‘I’m going to Entity because I’m performing there on Friday,’ I say. ‘It’s kind of a big deal and it’s the best I’ve felt about myself in a long time and—’
‘No.’
‘Mum!’
‘No, Robin, I can’t believe you would do this,’ she says. ‘I told you no, and you’ve disobeyed me. Does my trust mean nothing to you?’
‘Mum, it’s really important to me and—’
‘And my trust isn’t?’ she says, and I can see that I’ve hurt her.
‘I know I shouldn’t have lied, but I couldn’t let them down, Mum. This could be a huge opportunity for me,’ I say. ‘Next year I—’
‘No, you’re not doing it, Robin. While you’re under my roof, you play by my rules,’ she says.
‘Oh, don’t be such a cliché!’
‘Robin, I’m not having you go to that club every night, while I sit at home and worry about whether or not you’re going to come back alive!’
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