Miss Wayne & the Queens of D.C. (Book 3 in the Black & Ugly Series)

by T. Styles

  “Put ‘em out!” Kevin offers as he adjusts his surgically enhanced breasts under the white mini t-shirt he wears. The extra tight pair of grey gym shorts hugs his small legs. “We hate them anyway!”

  “Look, bitch! I don’t need to hear all that. What I need is help gettin’ these fuckas out of my house!”

  “I ain’t mean to make you mad. I just hate the House of Dreams.”

  “Me too but cash is cash! Plus you already got work done!” He points jealously at his breasts. “I want work done on my body too. All I need is twenty thousand more and I’ll be able to get my surgery. I’m tired of being a woman trapped in a man’s body.”

  “And I’m not?” Kevin asks.

  “I don’t know if you are or not. I’m talkin’ ‘bout me. You seem to be okay with whatever you had done already! But I’m not fuckin’ wit’ that silicone injection bullshit you be doin’.”

  “You got to go to the right people. That’s all.”

  “Everybody I know do that shit in their basement! So how can they possibly be the right people? Think about how many friends we had die from that shit. All because some queen makin’ money without knowin’ what she doin’.” He says shaking his head. “Naw…that ain’t workin’ for me.”

  “Well what about the house of Stars Legendary ball in a couple of months? If our house wins the grand prize we’ll make twenty five thousand dollars!”

  “That will help but I still gotta divide it with ya’ll.”

  “It’s better than nothin’.”

  “You stay cheerin’ for a couple of dollars,” he says picking up a clipped out magazine article of Janet Jackson from his desk. “But I need real money if I’m gonna go to a doctor to look like her.”

  Kevin looks at the picture that he’d seen twenty times and keeps his comments to himself. He wanted to tell Paul that it was impossible for him to look like Janet Jackson. Number one, he was six feet tall and she barely made it over five foot three. Secondly his body frame was very muscular and hers was small and lean. But more importantly he remembered the last time he told him how he felt about the matter. Paul threw him out on his ass with the quickness. It took two months of begging and Kevin giving him the black Kim Kardashian wig he wore when he won a ball a while back, for Paul to let him back in the house.

  “You could’ve been had it if you start trickin’ wit’ us. Everything cost, even Bussy,” he says slapping his ass.

  “I’m not a whore, Kevin. Besides, that’s why I got you. But I can tell you what will help. Shit will be all right if you start payin’ your rent ‘round here. On time!”

  Kevin was shut down with all the shit he was bringing.

  “I’m on your side,” he responds in the soft feminine voice he trained since he was a little boy. He knew he was into Paul for five hundred dollars of late rent and didn’t have much to say. “But what do we do now to get them out your house?”

  “Well I tried it the right way. I went through the courts and they said I’d have to wait on a fuckin’ eviction approval and that can take anotha 30 days. If we go another route, I can have ‘em out sooner. But before I give you the details, why is Wayne back in town?”

  “Redbone Wayne? From the House of Dreams?” Kevin asks giving him a quizzical stare.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not sure…but I hope it’s not for the ball.”

  “Why? You don’t think we can win if the House of Dreams participates?”

  “Uh…yeah. He ain’t got nothin’ on your house.” He lies. “But I did hear his LA chapter is like that. But we can still beat them wretched queens hands down.”

  Paul’s house, which he called the House of Dolls, had five members. Paul was the leader and his members were Toni, Kevin, Shawn and Michael. In their eyes they were built to perfection, hence the name, House of Dolls. But behind their backs they were known as the House of Moos. The only thing they did to look like women was alter their bodies, not including their faces. But the House of Dolls was ruthless. They did whatever they could to maintain their house, buy drugs and win balls. Including robbery and murder.

  “Can he be a problem for us? Wayne?” Paul questions.

  “It depends on the issue you have with him.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well…you know back in the day he use to slice mothafuckas faces up if they got him wrong. But when he moved to LA, it seemed like he fell off the scene and off the face of the earth. Why?”

  Paul wouldn’t dare tell him that just days earlier, he’d gotten his ass kicked in the house his mother raised him in. Wayne beat him so badly that he had bruises in places he hadn’t thought he touched.

  Instead of the truth Paul says, “I’m hearin’ a lot about him lately. And he was in my house when I went over there.”

  “Oh no!” Kevin says grabbing his t-shirt. “Is he the one who beat you?”

  “Why in the fuck would you ask me some bullshit like that?”

  “Cause you came in here beat down harder than Ms. Rhianna in Chris Brown’s car, baby. That’s why.”

  “I told you I tripped over Ma-Ma’s foot and hit my face on her cement elephant when I was at her house!” he responds in defense. “So stop makin’ shit out to be more than it is.”

  Kevin not believing his bullshit drops his head and says, “Oh…so…now what?”

  “Later on I want you to call Big Boody Brandy. Tell her I got a job for her and I want to see bodies dropped.”

  What’s Cookin’

  Miss Wayne

  “Is he sleep?” Miss Tyrone asks me as I take a seat at the green table in their yellow kitchen. Us gay men love colors and Miss Tyrone and Miss Dayshawn are no exception.

  “Now he is. I kept asking him what’s wrong but he doesn’t want to talk to me. Somethin’ else is goin’ on.”

  “Wayne, you know you always look more into things than you should. I mean, I wouldn’t worry about Aid’s problems if I were you. If he wants to stay with Chris, he’s gettin’ exactly what he deserves.”

  “Well, at least he finally dosed off. But I think he drank a half of bottle of vodka and took two Tylenol PM to do it.” I say watching Tyrone cook on the stove, his yellow curly wig bouncing with his every move. I swear he doesn’t realize that although black is beautiful, some colors just don’t mesh on darker skin. And a yellow wig is one of them.

  “I got some dick comin’ over lata on.” He says out of the blue. “So you gonna have to keep yourself company.”

  I look at him and say, “I sure hope a dick ain’t really comin’ through that door. Please say a head will be attached to it.”

  He laughs and says, “You know what I mean, Wayne. And speakin’ of dick, when was the last time you’ve been fucked? Seriously?”

  As mad as I was by the question, I didn’t know. I hadn’t had dick since dick had me.

  “It’s been a minute but I’m not thinkin’ ‘bout that right now.”

  “Oooo girl! I don’t see how you do it. A gay man not havin’ sex is just unnatural!”

  “When the right person comes I’ll know it.”

  “Fuck the right person! What about Mr. Right now?!”

  “My focus is on my friends and my business. And your mind should be too. You lettin’ the DC Chapter for the House of Dreams go to shit! I heard ya’ll don’t do balls no more or nothin’. Just smoke and get high! People also sayin’ that whenever ya’ll hit the scene, somebody fightin’.”

  “They just jealous ‘cause we do us and we do us well. Trust me, Wayne, I got this.”

  “Oh really? Well do you got the money for your rent? ‘Cause you know come Monday, Paul’s throwin’ ya’ll the fuck out.”

  “I’ll get his little itty-bitty change.”

  “How much you into him for?”

  “Four thousand dollars!”

  “Girl! Have you ever paid shit around here?”

  “Hell yeah! I’m the only one! But shit got backed up. Why? You wanna move in to help out?”

  “Naw…but
I am thinkin’ about rentin’ a little cottage in DC somewhere if I stay.” I say crossing my legs.

  Miss Tyrone laughs and says, “Good luck findin’ a cottage in DC anywhere!”

  “You right about that shit.” Just when we were enjoying each other’s conversation, the house phone rings on the kitchen wall and he hesitates on answering it. I wonder why.

  “You not gonna get the phone?”

  He hesitantly walks over and picks up the handset. “Hello.”

  Silence.

  “Look! Stop callin’ my fuckin’ house and leave me the fuck alone!” Tyrone screams into the phone before hanging up.

  “Who was that?”

  “N…nobody.” He says obviously shaken up.

  When the phone rings again he grabs it and yells, “Look…whateva you gonna do just do it!”

  He was being extra but what I notice right away is the change of his facial expression.

  “What? When did this happen?” he says on the phone.

  Silence.

  “Wayne…turn on channel 7 news!” he says anxiously hanging up.

  My heart races as I wait to see what got him so riled up. When I turn on the TV, I’m thankful channel 7 is already on. A male newscaster is holding a microphone in front of a lady who’s crying her eyes out.

  “Marlo, ain’t did nothin’ to nobody! He was a good person! Took his grandmother to church and everything every Sunday! What kind of person would kill him and cut his head off? How we ‘spose to give him a proper funeral?”

  When Marlo who likes to be called Marlene, picture appears across the television, my mouth drops. The newscaster takes the microphone from Marlo’s mother and commentates.

  “The LGBT community has been rocked by this crime spree and it seems as if there’s no relief in sight. Police say they’re doing all they can to find the man known as, The Drag Queen Slayer. But are they? What leads are they following? And will the LGBT community ever recuperate? Those are the questions we all want answers to. Back to you, Joan.”

  “I can’t believe that shit!” Tyrone cries. “What the fuck is goin’ on in DC?”

  “This is ridiculous! Not Marlene!” I say in disbelief.

  We spend the next fifteen minutes going over the hows and the whys. And in the end all we know is that the murders have finally hit home. We’ve lost someone we have known personally. I’m so sick of death I feel like dying just to get away from it sometimes.

  I decide that we shouldn’t tell Adrian right now, since he has enough on his mind as is. But I did go downstairs in the basement to check on him to make sure he’s okay.

  “You left the bedroom door unlocked right? Where Adrian is sleeping?” Miss Tyrone asks.

  “I made sure it was unlocked when I came upstairs but who knows if he’ll get up and lock it back.” I pause. “He’s livin’ here now?”

  “Yeah…he lost his apartment and ain’t got nowhere to go. When you really think about it, had it not been for me, he wouldn’t have a place to live or friends. His family left him a long time ago because he’s gay.”

  “Mother Theresa, any other time I’d tell you where to go, but this thing with Marlene has got me fucked up.” I say rubbing my throbbing temples.”

  “Me too…but as far as Aid is concerned, I just hope he doesn’t cut himself again.”

  I look at him in horror. “He’s doin’ that shit again? I thought he stopped.”

  “It’s not as bad as it use to be, but yes, he still does. Look at his thighs if you get a chance. They’re a mess… ripped to shreds. His stomach too. Dayshawn took him to the hospital a couple of months back because one time he cut himself so deep, he punctured his small intestine.” I cover my mouth. “He gotta learn, Wayne. This is the life. But Adrian’s so stupid that he thinks everyone he meet loves him.”

  “Stop callin’ that chile stupid!”

  “I’m serious. It’s sad.”

  As I think about Miss Tyrone’s words, my cell phone rings.

  “I guess your lesbian lover is callin’ again.” He says.

  “Jealous, bitch,” I say answerin’ the phone.

  “Miss Wayne, can you bring me some water?!” I hear Adrian yell from downstairs.

  “I got it,” Miss Tyrone says quickly taking a cool bottle of water from the refrigerator. “You take your call.”

  That was nice of Tyrone. I thought.

  “What’s up, Parade?”

  She’s on the phone for five minutes and already she’s worked herself into a frenzy and my nerves right along with it. With the news of Marlene, I really wasn’t up for the foolishness.

  Miss Tyrone returns from downstairs and I watch him put too much salt on the box macaroni and cheese he claims is worthy of awards. I don’t see one bag of real cheese in sight.

  Sitting at the table, with my legs crossed, I hold the phone to my ear and listen to Miss Parade’s rants and raves.

  “You know I just had the baby, Miss Wayne. You said you would be here for me.”

  I sigh before sayin’ anything else. And although I take into consideration that she’s probably sufferin’ from post partum depression, I also realize that lately she’s been like this a lot. Something’s really going on with her and she won’t tell me what it is. And suddenly for some reason I don’t care. What about me? What about my feelin’s? So…I lose it.

  “You know what…I’m sick and fuckin’ tired of you and your whinin’! I’m not your mother nor do I choose to be. I have my own damn life to worry about! And if you can’t understand it, fuck off!”

  Afterwards I slam my phone shut and look up at Miss Tyrone who’s starin’ at me like he’s lost his mind, his yellow wig on the floor in the kitchen next to his high heel shoes.

  “It’s about time you handled that, Wayne.” He says. “Don’t make no sense how you let her talk to you sometimes.”

  “Stay out of it, Miss Tyrone. She’s family.”

  “Yeah, but you not helpin’ her none by babyin’ her either.” He kicks off his shoes and when I notice he’s doing a weird dance, I wonder why. “You got to cut the cord and let her go.”

  The more he says the worse I feel. Miss Parade is family. My family. As I prepare myself to call her back, I smell something else cookin’ over Miss Tyrone’s fake ass meal.

  “Somebody’s tryin’ to out cook you, girl,” I tell him.

  “Yeah. Don’t smell like nothin’ to me,” he says as he opens the oven and looks inside. “My corn muffins are almost done.”

  “They need to be, I’m ready to eat, even if it is a hot ass mess.” Then I observe him dancing harder. “Go pee, Tyrone! I’m tired of watchin’ you hop around lookin’ all uncomfortable and shit.”

  I hear a banging in the house and I wonder where it’s coming from.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Girl you know these DC row houses are made of paper! We can hear anything Tabitha and them be doin’ next door. From fuckin’ to beatin’ the shit out of her eight kids.”

  I shake my head and say, “Only in Southeast.”

  Then I take my shoes off, and feel that the floor is hot. “Why is the floor so hot?”

  “It’s ‘cause the oven is on. When I cut it off, it’ll cool off.”

  As my toes remain planted on the floor, I notice the heat is greater and the banging noise it louder. It’s impossible for the floor to be this hot just because the oven is on. Something’s up!

  Suddenly I look around and see smoke comin’ from a vent near the bottom of the floor. “Miss Tyrone, where does that vent lead to?” I point.

  “Downstairs…why?” he says slowly seein’ the smoke rise.

  We rush toward the basement door where Adrian is and turn the knob. The moment we do, a ball of heat blows us backward. A cloud of smoke so thick appears from the door that we can barely see in front of us. Flames are everywhere. We cough profusely as we back away from the fire. I run into the kitchen and dial 911. The smell of the smoke is suffocatin’ and is already inhibitin’ my breathi
n’.

  “911 what’s your emergency?”

  “We need help! Hurry the fuck up!” I say hangin’ up.

  “Adrian,” I yell, hacking crazily. “Adrian can you hear me down there?!”

  “We have to go, Wayne! Now!” Miss Tyrone yells as he pulls me out the front door and into the yard. He’s stronger than normal and for some reason, I see a flash in my mind of him on top of me…but I can’t recall the event.

  “We can’t leave him! We have to go back!” I wrestle with him to go back inside.

  “Wayne, look at the house!” he says as my feet nestle in the damp green grass in the front lawn. “It’s goin’ up in flames. He’s gone! Adrian’s gone.”

  I cry.

  I cry harder.

  The fire trucks approach the house and park out front. As they grab their hoses and began spraying the house with water, I pray God takes mercy on Adrian.

  The next door neighbor comes running outside with her eight kids. She’s but ass naked with a big hobo style Gucci purse in her hand. This bitch had time to grab her purse but not a shirt? Shake my head.

  “Is anyone inside?” a tall light-skin fireman with a ponytail asks me.

  “Yes! Yes! My friend Adrian. He’s inside. He needs your help.”

  There’s somethin’ about the way he looks at me that makes me uncomfortable.

  “I’ll see what I can do, but he’s probably gone. You people should be more careful when you use your hot combs and curling irons around the house.”

  “Fuck you just say to me?!” I ask walking closer to him.

  He smirks and runs into the house.

  I run behind him and Tyrone grabs me back. “Just let him go, Miss Wayne. And let’s hope for the best.”

  “I’m ‘bout to push all ten of my knuckles into his eye sockets! He got me fucked up!”

  “I know…but let it go.”

  The fireman is inside for only three minutes before he runs back out.

  “I can’t get inside,” he tells us. “There’s too much smoke.”

  “Well go back in! It’s your fuckin’ job!” I say grippin’ him by his uniform forcefully.