Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2)

by Malachite Splinters

  Since it was night, it was all lit up with dramatic spotlights in colors that created a rainbow which spread across the entire facade.

  Party-goers were streaming up the wide flight of steps that led to the doors, some dressed up in full glam like Anthony, some casual.

  “We can go in there,” Anthony was pointing to a red carpet lined by red velvet ropes on the left hand side of the building which led to a smaller door, lit by pretty crystal-cut lamps, attended by a pair of bouncers in bright red livery.

  There was no line there, whereas the big doors which formed the main entrance had a long line of people snaking out.

  “I’ve never been in the VIP entrance!” Clarion squealed, squeezing Anthony’s arm. They linked arms and started climbing the stairs together.

  Lucky Penny turned to me with a smile and held out his arm. I successfully repressed a scowl and instead offered a sunny smile back at him, and accepted his arm, which he linked through mine, and we followed the other two up to the VIP entrance of House Cosmosis.

  Looking around at the three of them all buzzed and excited and happy, I felt overwhelmed.

  As far as I was concerned, the night couldn’t get any worse.

  I had never had the VIP treatment at Cosmosis, either. An attendant in the same red livery, with shiny brass buttons and a bell-hop’s round cap, led us up a private staircase.

  “The second floor is supposed to have a better view of the stage,” Anthony explained as we ascended.

  The private tables, which took up prime position on two levels, the ground floor overlooking the main dance floor and the stage, and the gallery above, seemed to be designed to be both public and private at the same time.

  Each one consisted of a moulded round shell in slick, reflective, shiny black which wrapped around a couch in a variety of cute shapes. There were several lipsticks in different shades—red, pink, purple and green. There were lips. There were glamorous eyes. There was a dildo and a cigarette.

  The shapes were clearly visible to club goers, and they looked very attractive, and made you wish you were sitting up there with a champagne bucket, looking down on the dancers below.

  “This will be your table for the evening,” the bell-hop said, showing us to a purple bon-bon.

  I had always liked the bon-bons.

  There was a low table in front of the couch and in front of that, some low plush poofs. Lucky and Clarion offered Anthony the couch, but he made them take it while I sidled onto a poof.

  Now that I was up here, I could see how the design worked. The shell which the couch was set in came up high and surrounded it on all sides, shielding you from the gaze of nearby tables. It felt cozy and private here, almost like we had our own little room.

  But the open front and attractive couch designs were to display the exclusivity of the private tables to the entire club. That must be why the tables and seats in front were low—so the view of the couches wasn’t totally blocked.

  I had to admit, I had spent a lot of time at Cosmosis looking at the way they did things and trying to figure out how I could take some of that magic back with me to Ellegrandé.

  Of course, custom designer private booths were out of our reach, but I thought there were other things we could learn from. The way the customer experience was designed. That kind of thing. It wasn’t all about money.

  Anthony had taken the poof next to me and was leaning over the table to look at the menu with the other two.

  I wondered if he ever thought about the business side of things. Or maybe he had just booked this table for the petty political reasons I had assumed.

  I shook my head.

  What was I thinking?

  Of course that was why he had done it.

  He didn’t have a thought in his head about looking at this as a career, or planning for the long term, or the fact that the drag houses were businesses that had to make money to survive.

  He didn’t have any ambition.

  And he might have stood up to me tonight, but that wouldn’t last. The minute I applied a little pressure, he would buckle like a cheap belt, and burst into tears, as always.

  I actually had no idea why he had come back.

  Maybe he was hoping Damaris would come back.

  As I watched him poring over the menu with the new girls, the vertebrae of his spine standing out since the jumpsuit was cut low in the back, I remembered what I had been thinking after I woke up today.

  I had been thinking that there was no way Anthony was going to last long.

  These girls might think he was the shit, but what did they know?

  They were judging his drag from his personal sense of style, which were two completely different things, and if they had been seasoned professionals, they would have known that.

  Little did they know that their assumed headliner had only stepped foot on the Ellegrandé stage but once, and that was such an unmitigated disaster, we hadn’t been able to let him back on since.

  Anthony just didn’t have the motivation to work hard and improve. He wasn’t going to become some kind of threat that I needed to worry about.

  I looked up to see Miss Clarion Call smiling at La Tata, who was kneeling on the floor over the table to better see the menu.

  At this point it was clear why Anthony was here at all. Drag, for him, meant getting dressed up and looking pretty, and conveniently the dressing room was there for scoring dick.

  I half turned around and looked out at the club.

  Our table was right at the far edge of the gallery and I below I could look down and see the VIP section on the ground floor, see couples and groups sitting on the couches, and beyond it the big dance floor which was about half full, since it was early, only just gone eleven.

  And in front of that, taking up the entire back of the room, was the enormous stage.

  Cosmosis had an entire crew and the technical capabilities for some incredible performances to rival a Womanway production. The scale and the quality were mind-boggling.

  It being a Tuesday night, the show Anthony had mentioned was not on tonight.

  The big show ran Thursday through Sunday. It was typical of Anthony’s ignorance of New York drag that he wasn’t aware of that.

  We had missed the ten o’clock and the next show wouldn’t be until one in the morning. Personally that was fine with me. Watching a spectacularly produced Cosmosis show would probably just depress me at the moment.

  I let my eyes run over the dance floor, which was white, except that it was also lit from beneath with multicolored lights which responded to touch. I wondered if there was someone down there I could dance with tonight.

  It was a mixed crowd, with more or less equal numbers of men and women. House of Cosmosis might be a drag club, but it was also one of the biggest and most popular clubs in New York. It wasn’t just for gay men, not by any means.

  I looked at the twin bars on either side of the dance floor, framing the stage, which fit attractively into the Edwardian features which still defined the interior of the space.

  Then I moved on to looking at the VIP section downstairs, the liveried waiters moving in and out of the rows of shiny black shells, carrying trays of drinks.

  There was a couple, two women, sharing a couch in the shape of a pair of red lips, who looked as if they were totally absorbed in each other.

  The couch at the next table over looked like a blue feather, and was hosting a hen party of eight young women in matching sashes, except for the bride, who was wearing a huge tiara.

  When I came to the next table, I saw that it was another couple, two men, sitting on a red lipstick couch. I took in their athletic builds and similar outfits—crisp button-down shirts and jeans—before realized what I was looking at.

  It was Angel.

  Angel and César.

  I turned around so fast I almost gave myself whiplash, my heart suddenly hammering so hard against the inside of my chest that I thought everyone else must be able to hear it.

&nb
sp; Then I turned around again, and sat side-on to them, so I could see them out of the corner of my eye and easily if I turned my head to the left.

  I tried not to move my head, not wanting it to be obvious what I was doing. César was sitting on the left and Angel on the right. César was angled a bit toward Angel, and they were both looking out across the dance floor at the closed red curtains of the stage. Angel was sipping from a bottle of beer.

  “Giltie Conshens, did you see these sharing cocktails?” Clarion Call cut in on my observations, pushing a menu toward me across the low table.

  “I love these names,” Lucky Penny giggled, pointing at the menu he was sharing with Clarion Call. “Look at that one! It’s so bad.”

  Miss Clarion Call looked at where Lucky was pointing, then at Lucky, and they burst into gales of laughter together.

  I looked away, annoyed, and gave in to the temptation to look directly at César and Angel.

  César had raised his arm and was resting his elbow on the back of the chair, on the bottom part of the lipstick, and leaning his head on his fist, while still looking out at the performance. I couldn’t help but notice the way that his pose inclined his head toward Angel’s.

  I just kept looking, taking in the little details, like the light reflecting off César’s shaved head, and how the button-down shirt he was wearing was buttoned all the way up his thick neck. And how Angel didn’t look at him, not even when he was leaning kind of close to him. Angel was actually leaning forward in his chair and was scooted forward so he wasn’t touching the backrest. He held the beer bottle in his hand and sipped from it constantly. He took a drink, lowered the bottle, and then a heartbeat later, raised it to his lips once more. He was nervous. I could see that instantly.

  An unexpected movement of his head startled me and my heart erupted like a horse breaking into a gallop. Had he felt my eyes on him, looked up and seen me watching him?

  I turned back toward the table, making myself turn it far enough that I couldn’t see them out of the corner of my eye any more.

  Unfortunately this resulted in me looking directly into the eyes of Anthony Alcantara.

  “Tata!” I put my hand on my heart. “Give me a heart attack.”

  Anthony didn’t say anything in reply, just gave me an eye roll and directed his attention at the other two girls. “I like the sound of Good to the Last Drop,” he said.

  “Aw,” Lucky Penny pouted a little. “I want the Bum Hole Punch. Just for the name!”

  “If we’re going by names,” Clarion Call interrupted, “I vote for—” he pointed, grinning. “Look at this. Sweet and Salty Milk of Adonis. It has salted caramel!”

  I couldn’t focus on their inane concerns. I turned in my seat so it would be easier to glance at their table, and then let my gaze drift casually back to the two men below.

  César had his forearm resting on the back of the lipstick seat now, halfway between the bottom black part of the lipstick and the silver metal tube which held the pigment. He wasn’t looking at the performance any more. He was looking at Angel, who was still sitting forward in the seat.

  Angel seemed to have finished his beer and he was sitting still and staring out at the stage. As I watched, I saw César’s lips move and Angel turned and glanced at him. I couldn’t see if Angel’s lips were moving in reply, because all I could see was the back of his head.

  Then Angel slowly—slowly—scooted backward on the seat. Then I saw how close they had been sitting together, which hadn’t been clear when Angel was leaning forward like that.

  He leaned his back against the back of the seat, and that meant César’s arm was resting right behind his shoulders. And César’s body was turned and leaning toward him. And César was still looking at him.

  And now Angel was looking back at César.

  “Machyl,” Anthony saying my name snapped me back to the table. His eyes shifted to where I had been looking and my face started getting hot at the thought that he might be able to see the two of them from where he was sitting.

  No, there was no way he could see what I was seeing. He was sitting farther away and at a different angle, and there was a rail around our seating area which obscured the view.

  “Is the Enormous Golden Cock’s Tale okay with you?” Anthony asked.

  I blinked. “What?”

  Anthony rolled his eyes again and glanced at a server who had appeared by our table without me noticing. “We’ll take that one,” he said. Then, he stood up. “Oh, thank you,” he said, as another member of staff took away the poof he had been sitting on and lifted in a much higher stool, which he climbed up and perched on.

  “What do you need that for?” I asked, only aware of how harsh my tone was after I said it.

  He regarded me for a moment, his golden contact lenses complementing strikingly the golden hardware in his braids and the golden highlighting on his cheek and brow bones.

  “I’m short,” he said shortly. “I can’t see the stage.”

  “The next show isn’t until one am,” I muttered, turning away from him and sneaking another glance at the lipstick-shaped private table.

  Angel had been sitting very stiff and upright before. But now Angel was leaning back into the red velvet upholstery. And César had been posed awkwardly before, like he didn’t know how to hold his limbs. But now he looked comfortable, like he was lounging on the couch at home. They were looking at each other, and I could see that they were talking to each other, quietly.

  I felt a strange sensation, as if the edges of my eyelids, where my eyelashes grew, had started to burn.

  I could see how César and Angel kept searching each other’s faces. César’s arm, still on the seat behind Angel, slipped down onto Angel’s shoulders. Angel reached up his hand and held César’s hand resting on his shoulder.

  And then César raised his free hand, which had been under the table, presumably resting on his knee, and touched Angel’s cheek.

  I couldn’t believe I was seeing this. The burning sensation had migrated to my throat now, and it turned to a painful tightening feeling, as if my throat was ratcheting itself shut.

  César’s touch went from Angel’s cheek to his jaw, and his chin. And then I saw Angel’s head fall back against César’s big arm, and César closed the distance between them and kissed Angel.

  It was a brief kiss. César drew back and they looked at each other. I watched Angel’s hand leave César’s hand on his shoulder, travel to César’s cheek and his thumb swipe beneath his eye.

  Two tears spilled out of my eyes unexpectedly and I grabbed the menu and held it in front of my face and quickly wiped the wetness away.

  When I put the menu down, I caught Anthony’s eye.

  He was looking at me and I thought there was a strange look in his eye.

  Then his glance darted behind me, behind and below, and I wanted to cry out, No! And tackle him to the ground, or find a time machine and get in it, or something.

  Anything.

  Anything so Anthony Alcantara would unsee my boyfriend kissing César from Iraq, César from Phoenix, César from Mexico.

  I looked again, I couldn’t not, and I saw César was alone at the lipstick table.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” I said, getting up hastily and scraping the velvet poof against the floor and pushing past Anthony, who folded himself elegantly to make way, his strappy stilettos lifting from the footrest of the high stool as he pressed himself against the rail.

  As I made my way toward the bathrooms, I stuck my index finger into the inner corner of my eye and pressed hard, like I could plug the tear ducts and stop anything else from coming out that way.

  There was a trail of lights on the floor, like in an aircraft, showing a path which divided the private tables from the dance floor, and leading to the bathrooms and the second floor cloakroom.

  I was so focused on not crying any more that I almost crashed into Clarion Call, who was coming out of the shiny black bathroom door.

  “
Sorry!” He grinned at me as he went by.

  I didn’t say anything, just pushed past him into the reflective black interior of the bathroom. You had to walk past a long row of stalls to get to a long row of basins which led to a long row of urinals.

  It was strangely silent in here, and my feet seemed to echo on the floor. I knew Angel would be here, and he looked up from where he was washing his hands as I entered the more open area where the sinks were.

  Opposite the sinks was a huge full-length mirror which reflected the mirror above the sinks.

  Angel and his reflection looked up and saw my reflection, and I met his reflection’s eyes as his face darkened and he spun around to face me.

  “What are you doing here?” He hissed, raising his finger and pointing it at me accusingly.

  I was about to answer when his eyes fell on something behind me and the next moment, his face fell, too.

  César strode into the middle of the sink area, all six foot five of him, and his reflection joined the group, and I could see that all of their attention was focused on Angel.

  I raised my hand and dug my index finger into the corner of my eye again.

  César must have caught the movement in the mirror because he turned and saw me, standing just inside the wall made by the toilet stalls, in front of the hand dryers. He saw me, and looked at me.

  “I didn’t know he was here!” Angel jabbed his finger toward me, going a few steps toward César. “I had no idea he was going to be here!”

  César ignored me and turned to Angel again.

  “Alright,” I said. I could hear my voice shaking. “It’s not like you took my man or anything. It’s alright, shit. Just another day in the desert, huh, César?”

  César stopped ignoring me. He and his reflection turned fully toward me, and I had to be the stupidest sumbitch with the biggest mouth in New York City.

  “Is that what you do?” I barked. “You just take what you want? He’s my boyfriend—” I lost control of my voice and it got so loud I thought it would shatter the mirrors and the shiny walls.

  “I’m not your boyfriend,” Angel growled, coming toward me, or toward César, it was the same thing. “I broke up with you, Machyl. It’s over!”