by TJ Klune
“Yeah?”
I winked at him. “Looking good, boy. If I wasn’t about to get married and you weren’t like a brother to me, I’d probably tell you that I wanted to put my face on your face.”
“Please tell me there’s more Jager,” Corey said, not looking away from me.
“So much more Jager,” Helena promised. She lifted a panel next to her that revealed a minibar with a familiar green bottle.
“It’s coming,” Dad said. “You can see it starting to spill over. It’s in the way he’s slinking lower in his seat.”
“That’s how sexy people sit,” Mom said. “I could never pull it off.”
“I’m doing it right now,” Nana said. “I can barely see over the steering wheel.”
“Paul, you should drink this,” Helena said, handing me a shot glass.
“Is that my sex juice?” I demanded.
“It is,” Helena said. “After this, it’s water for a while.”
“Bitches be tripping all up on me,” I said. I threw the shot back. “It’s how I do.”
“Remember when he was four years old and would sit in front of the TV watching Miami Vice and gnaw on a block of cheese?” Mom asked Dad.
“We did good,” Dad said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
IT WASN’T long before the limo came to a stop. Given that I was still wearing my sunglasses and the windows were tinted, I couldn’t see where we were. Helena wouldn’t let me out yet, saying that Corey would run in and make sure things were ready. I was a little bitter at that because I could feel Sexy Paul thrumming just underneath the surface, ready to break free and assume control. I had unbuttoned my shirt so it showed off my chest, briefly lamenting my lack of chest hair.
“It’s your fault,” I told Dad seriously. “You and your genetics.”
“What’s that now?” Dad asked.
“Chest hair. I’m trying to be Don Johnson, but I’m more like Cate Blanchett with my moobs and my paleness and my no chest hair. Damn you.”
“My bad,” Dad said.
“Like a pink hairless rat,” Mom said. “The both of you.”
“You’re sexy without it,” Helena said. “Trust me on that.”
“Damn right I am. Can I have my phone? I need to tell Vince something. Not something sexy. Or about breakfast.”
“What do you need to tell him?”
Sexy Paul cracked through. “Listen here, queen. You do me this solid, and I’ll make it up to you real nice.”
“Don’t you flirt in my direction, Paul Auster,” she growled. “That kind of power should not be wielded so lightly.”
I lowered the sunglasses on my nose so I could peer over them. I winked at her and licked my lips.
“Is he having a seizure?” Nana asked. “Because my limo insurance doesn’t cover that. My limo insurance doesn’t cover a lot of things. I actually don’t have limo insurance. This isn’t my limo.”
“I am a queen,” Helena hissed. “You think I haven’t been faced with Sexy Paul before? Child, please. I made Sexy Paul. I can unmake him just as quickly.”
Before I could turn up the heat, Corey opened the door again and leaned his head in. “It’s ready.”
Mom and Dad got out first. Helena started to follow, but I grabbed her wrist. “It’s happening,” I gasped. “I can’t fight it anymore. Sexy Paul is about to take over. You can’t let me do anything stupid. You know how I get.”
“I got you, baby doll,” she said.
I got out behind her, unable to resist smacking her ass.
I had entered the limo as Paul Auster, insurance claims adjuster, fiancé of Vince Taylor.
I exited as a sex machine.
I pulled myself to my full height. Everyone standing around me got the most lethal weapon in my sexy arsenal: finger guns while I bit my bottom lip, sucking it between my teeth. Mom and Dad were grinning at me. Corey was eyeing me as if he’d never seen me before (and probably thinking about how he wanted to tap that). Helena was rolling her eyes, and Nana was shedding her hat and jacket, wearing a purple muumuu underneath that had mine and Vince’s faces ironed onto it.
I cocked the tiara at an angle on my head so people would know who they were dealing with now.
I looked up to see where we were and was surprised to find the entrance to Jack It in front of us.
Charlie stood by the front door. He was dressed in a pair of leather pants and a leather vest, his boots newly shined. His arms still looked strong as he crossed them over his chest, and he was intimidating as all fuck. He held a slim piece of black material in his hand.
“Daddy,” I said, slinking in his direction. I thought he was trying to fight off a smile, and it looked like he was losing badly.
“Boy,” he said. “Jager?”
“So much,” I agreed. “I’m not even trying to fight it anymore. Just gonna let it happen. It is happening.”
“You need to put this on,” he said, holding up the little black slip. It was an eye mask, the elastic band swaying in the breeze. “And no peeking. God help you if you peek.”
“Kinky,” I said. “Are you going to spank me?”
“Do I need to?” he asked me, cocking an eyebrow.
“Sexy Paul doesn’t have time for spanking,” I said, words a little slurred. “He’s gotta go in and meet his adoring public. Maybe later after he gets done doing the Macarena. You know, like all the sexy people do.”
“Third person,” Corey breathed behind me. “It’s real. It’s happening and it’s all real.”
“Yep,” Helena said. “We’re in full Sexy Paul mode now. Sexy Paul, put on the blindfold. Don’t you sass me now, you hear?”
“My sunglasses stay on.”
“Take them off.”
“Helena.”
“Paul, I will fucking cut you if you don’t take these things off right this minute.”
“Eep,” I said, because even Sexy Paul knew not to fuck with a drag queen when she started to get snarly.
I took off my glasses and threw them down the street. They landed near a cracked-out-looking homeless man pushing a shopping cart. He bent down, picked them up, and crowed, “All right! Sunglasses coming down from the sky! Everything’s coming up Dave!” He put them on and started whistling as he pushed his cart down the sidewalk.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I got them at the dollar store. Ironically, they were two dollars.”
Helena snagged the blindfold from Daddy before I could react and slipped it over my eyes. “I already know where we are,” I said as she snapped the band around the back of my head. “I don’t know why you’re trying to keep it a secret now.”
“Oh wow,” Helena said. “Thanks for pointing that out. I didn’t even realize. Shut up.”
“I’m too sexy for my shirt,” I told her.
“I have no one but myself to blame for that, either,” she said. “Now, you stay right here with Charlie until he tells you otherwise, understand?”
“I might get mauled,” I said. “People walking by, wanting to tap dat ass. You better hurry.” I gave a little shake of dat ass, just to stress my point. I almost fell down.
“Oh now,” Helena said. “I’m so worried about you getting dat ass tapped. I should run as fast as I can.”
“I’ll hold them off,” Daddy said.
I heard the door to Jack It opening. Normally, the thumpthumpthump of bass and the shouts of people inside would pour out. But it was quiet, which was odd, given that it was a Saturday. Maybe Helena needed to do a show before we went somewhere else?
“I was sexting Vince,” I told Charlie, even if I couldn’t see him. “We were talking about French toast until Helena took my phone away.”
“I don’t know what that says about me that I understood what you just said. Mostly.”
“Backstreet’s back, all right,” I said.
“All right.”
“I couldn’t sext sexy because Mom and Dad were there and I was narrating.”
“Uh-huh.”
/>
Then I heard a beep.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, Paul.”
“Was that your video camera?”
“Yes, Paul.”
“You’re recording me?”
“You bet your ass I am.”
“Should I pose?”
“If you must.”
“I can do lunges. Everyone thinks lunges are sexy.”
“Please do. And then we can play this at the wedding.”
“Best. Idea. Ever.” But before I could start doing lunges, I heard the door open again and whispers going back and forth.
Then, “No time for lunges, boy. We’ve got to get you inside.”
I felt his hand grip mine, tugging me along. He moved slowly, making sure I didn’t trip over anything. The door closed behind us, and it was still quiet, more so than I’d ever heard it before. There was always noise inside Jack It, no matter what time it was.
“Are you taking me to a sacrificial orgy?” I hissed at Charlie. “You know I don’t do well in group-sex situations. I don’t like having more than one penis in front of me. I’m not ambidextrous, and I would hate trying to use my mouth on one and my hands on others. It’s like being told to pat your head with one hand and trying to rub your stomach with the other. It’s not possible!”
I thought I heard muffled snorts of laughter around me, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Do you really think I’d be taking you to an orgy?” Charlie asked, sounding long-suffering.
“I don’t know,” I said. “You’re dating someone now. I don’t know what freaky shit you’re into. You’ve changed, Charlie. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”
“Your parents are here. And Nana. I don’t think we’re going to an orgy.”
“Ohh,” I said. “Right. Also, I’m getting married. I don’t think Vince would like me patting a penis and rubbing another one on my stomach. No matter how sexy I am. Can I borrow your phone? I forgot to tell Vince how I’d make his eggs. He needs to know just how sunny-side up they can be when I got done with them.”
“Later,” Charlie said. “Trust me, I’m sure you’ll get to tell him that later. And if you could, do me a favor and make sure I’m nowhere near either of you when you tell him. I feel like I don’t want to hear anything having to do with your apparent domestication kink ever again. Take a step here.”
I felt him pull me up. I almost stumbled, but was able to catch myself when I took the step. I was turned around, unsure of where we were in the club. We weren’t in the Lair. Maybe we were out on the back patio where we’d—
Helena spoke from right next to me. She said, “Three. Two. One.”
The blindfold was ripped off of me.
The world exploded in color as strobe lights flashed.
The large crowd of people in front of us screamed.
I screamed along with them because I was unsure of what was going on and was convinced I was about to get attacked by a mob.
The people stopped screaming.
I kept on screaming.
Eventually, it died down, the sounds of my voice echoing around the main dance floor of Jack It.
Helena was staring at me in horror.
“What the fuck was that?” she growled at me.
I sniffed delicately. “I was just practicing for my role as a plucky sorority girl who finds herself embroiled in the snare of a psychopathic killer who likes to hit people in the back of the head with a sledgehammer. Ask me what it’s called.”
And because she couldn’t not, Helena asked, “What’s it called?” even as I could tell she was hating herself for playing along.
“Donkey Punch,” I said promptly. Then, “Hey, I know most of the people here.”
And I did. There were coworkers, family members, friends, people from the bar, homo jocks, the furries I’d randomly made friends with before Vince when I wondered if I’d wanted to dress as a wolf and have sex with a man dressed as a tiger (spoiler: I didn’t), the motorcycle club known as the Dairy Queens, the lesbian book club called the Rug Punchers I’d accidentally joined and proceeded to read really terrible Virginia Woolf poetry, some of Sandy/Helena’s previous one-night stands, a cadre of twinks I was sure Darren had plowed through, and Mike, the owner of Jack It, standing near the bar, looking as oily as usual, his comb-over doing nothing to hide the fact that he’d been thrust into middle age kicking and screaming, but for some reason, still managed to jerk off twenty-year-olds in the back room who thought it was part of the go-go boy auditions.
“Whoa,” I said as I immediately posed because I was too legit to quit. “Hey guys. Sexy Paul is here. You’re welcome.”
People cheered at that. Of course they did. I was amazing.
“Jesus Christ,” Helena muttered. “I did this.” But then she put on her Queen’s smile, painted lips stretched wide, baring her teeth. She brought her bedazzled microphone up to her lips. “Hello, boys and girls. I hope today finds you having done something… naughty.”
The crowd screamed in response.
I struck another pose, because Jager was my best friend.
“We’re here,” Helena continued, “because we are celebrating the unholy matrimony between two very important men in my life. You see, once upon a time, in this very room, the sweetest boy in all the world stood right up there in that balcony where Charlie and Corey are and looked down to see the homo jock of his dreams. Charlie, dearest, do you remember that day?”
The crowd turned to look up at Daddy and Corey.
“I do,” Daddy said into his own mic. “And if I recall correctly, Paul thought Vince was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. Which meant he wasn’t going to do anything about it at all.”
“That’s right,” Helena said. “I remember that. And didn’t the homo jock have a shot sent up to Paul, one which Paul promptly drank and then spit over the balcony onto said homo jock?”
The crowd laughed.
I did some lunges, my hands on my hips.
“He did,” Charlie said, sounding amused. “And that could have been the end of it, since Paul didn’t have any idea as to what he was worth.”
“We all knew, though, didn’t we?” Helena asked.
The crowd roared in response, even though I was sure at least half of them had no idea what Helena and Charlie were talking about.
“We knew,” Charlie said. “And then Paul had to go and hit him with his car—”
“That wasn’t my fault!” I shouted up at him. “Everyone knows you can’t just ride a bike into an open car door, what the fuck—”
“And then Paul took him to the hospital, got him drugged up, took him home, and never let him leave,” Helena finished with a flourish. “It’s the gay love story of the ages. Boy meets boy, boy hits boy with his car, boy and boy get married.”
I grabbed the mic in Helena’s hand and brought it to my mouth. “I’d just like to say that none of this is true.” I frowned. “Okay, wait. I suppose most of it is true. Dammit.”
Helena jerked the mic away from me and covered it with her hand to muffle the sound. “You know better than to touch a queen’s mic,” she hissed at me. “Try that again and I’ll chop off your hand, you understand me?”
“Bitches be trippin’,” I said.
She turned back to the crowd. “We’re here to rejoice in the love of Paul Auster and Vince Taylor who, by this time next week, will have followed in the footsteps of many a heterosexual who deemed it their right, but who also forced the homos to get the Supreme Court to make the decision that we were equally able to be just as miserable as the straight people. Paul and Vince are to be married and we are here to celebrate the fuck out of them.”
And maybe I forgot to pose for a few moments because I was too busy trying to keep myself from getting choked up. Once the crowd’s cheers had died down again, Helena got a wicked smile on her face that I didn’t like. It wasn’t her come-hither smile. It wasn’t her I’m-better-than-you smile.
No, this smile was
devious.
It was calculating.
It was evil.
It was her I did something bad and I don’t give a fuck smile.
Which, nine times out of ten, meant that something was about to happen that I wouldn’t like.
(The tenth time being, of course, something I did like, which was when we’d found out that Chris Evans had been in Phoenix filming a movie six years ago and we’d accidentally broken into the set to see if we could find his trailer as Sandy was convinced that Mr. Evans was on the down low and only needed to see Sandy spread out like a “love buffet of love” before he would ravish him with his disco stick. Suffice it to say, we were chased by security guards even before we’d started to scale the chain link fence. I’d never run as fast or as long in my life (at least three minutes of full-on jogging). We managed to escape, only to find out later that Mr. Evans was in another state right at that moment, but by then, Sandy had decided his celebrity crush was Gerard Butler (“He makes such terrible movies, and all I want to do is fix him!”) and so Mr. Evans was forgotten. It was one of those precious moments that I realized that no one would ever get me like Sandy would.)
But this time, here, in front of our friends and family (and furries), while I was hopped up on sexy juice, I knew Helena Handbasket was up to something I wasn’t going to like. This wasn’t breaking and entering to stalk a celebrity.
“As you can see, Paul’s feeling good,” she said.
And because I was drunk on Jager, I shouted, “I like the way I work it, no diggity, but you can’t bag it up.”
“Exactly,” Helena said. “And what is one thing a bachelor party always needs?”
The laser lights began to drop lower.
Helena whispered, “Entertainment of the… male variety.”
The crowd screamed their approval.
I stared at her in horror. “You know we said no strippers!”
She ignored me. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls… Paul’s parents and grandmother—which, honestly, I might not have thought this one through as much as I should have.”
“We should probably cover our eyes,” Mom said to Dad, who immediately buried his face in his hands.
“You better not be talking to me!” Nana said, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t survive the sixties and make it to being elderly only to be told that I can’t watch someone decades younger than me shaking their groove thang. Do you know what happened in the sixties? Hippies. Hippies happened in the sixties. I don’t think anyone took a shower that whole decade.”