My head drooped with the shame of his words and that was when I realized that there was another set of reflections underneath us, mimicking everything we did, because the shiny floors were like a black mirror, echoing back everything that happened.
“You were two-timing me with him,” I pointed at César. “How long was that going on for?” I glanced bitterly at César. “I thought you lived in Phoenix,” I muttered.
César didn’t say a thing, he just watched everything Angel did with his arms folded across his chest.
“I wasn’t,” Angel said to me, across the wide black gulf of the floor. His body was turned toward César and he kept throwing his words at me sideways, like I was a dog getting table scraps. “I ended it—I ended it for another reason,” he said, raising his eyes to César’s.
I let my head fall back and looked up to see the same scene repeated in the smooth, slick black ceiling. Twins, or quadruplets now, or even quints? Mine was staring down at me with black heavy eyes.
“I couldn’t be with you any more, Machyl,” Angel said.
I looked at him when I heard my own name.
“I—” Angel licked his lips, looking at César as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away. “I fell in love with someone else.”
He made a small movement, and César made a similar small, fidgety movement, and then they were moving toward each other and before my eyes, were in each other’s arms.
César was speaking Spanish now, urgently.
And I suddenly realized that there were two people I hated more than any others in the world. Señorita Guzman and Señor Fitzgeraldo. Four years of high school Spanish and four years in college.
If I knew the exact steps to take to perform an unanesthetized extraction of the precise language center of my brain which held all that Spanish using only the big metal button of the hand dryer behind me, I would have done so without thinking.
But I didn’t, so I didn’t, and I had to listen.
And my feet seemed to have been glued to the spot by my floor-mirror-self. Or it might have been a curse cast by my ceiling-mirror-self from his nether dimension of evil.
“I—I’m sorry that I kissed you,” César said. “Just now.”
“Why? Why are you sorry?” Angel breathed.
“You got up and left. I thought you were angry. That’s why I followed you.”
“I wasn’t angry.” Angel’s strong fingers slid down César’s bicep. “I was scared.”
“I was scared too,” César said. “I thought I’d done something stupid. Stupid enough to lose you.”
“You won’t lose me,” Angel replied. “I promise.”
“I need you,” César said.
“I thought I could be happy with just friendship… I tried to let my feelings die. I was scared of what would happen if I told you.” Angel’s forehead dropped onto César’s shoulder.
César’s arms wrapped around Angel, pulling him close. “I made a mistake. I should never have kept my feelings hidden. I thought you didn’t— I thought it was only me…”
“I fell in love with you in Iraq, in the desert,” Angel said, raising his face to look into César’s, hands wrapped around his powerful shoulders. “And I’m still in love with you. I’m in love with you, César.”
“Ángel,” César said softly, and once again he raised his big hand to gently touch Angel’s face.
Angel reached up and wiped his thumb under César’s eye again. And now I saw that he was wiping away tears. His hand cupped César’s cheek, and he pulled César down and their lips met.
Angel’s hands reached around César’s neck and César’s hands wrapped around Angel’s lower back as the kiss deepened, growing in power, as each one used his strength not to compete but to comfort.
César gasped into Angel’s kiss, “I love you, Ángel. I love you.”
And they were gone. Lost in each other. Any fool could see what was going to happen next.
I slunk away from my mirror selves like a kicked dog. Others had stopped to watch the show. Reflections, and the real people who went with them.
Who didn’t want to watch two big, ripped Latino hunks go at each other?
I rounded the corner of the toilet stalls to walk back toward the door when who should I see, standing leaning with his arms crossed, showing long no-polish nails, and legs crossed, with little feet neat in strappy stilettos, and those toes polished fo sho, but little native-Spanish-speaking Anthony Alcantara, giving me a long look.
When he saw me he turned away and started swishing down the line of toilet stall doors like the black mirror strip of floor was a catwalk and he was on parade in that silk jumpsuit.
I didn’t duck into a toilet stall to cry and try to forget. They were still back there giving everyone a good show.
I just followed Anthony’s swishing shiny black braids out into the club and when I got there, I grabbed his wrist and held it tight, and dragged him into a dark corner next to the cloakroom.
“If you tell anyone,” I hissed. “Anyone what you just saw. I will—I will—”
He looked back at me with big Egyptian eyes with the long eyeliner flick, and shook his head so his hair hardware jangled. “I would never—”
“Don’t think you can do this,” I hissed. I could go Egyptian like the snake that bit Cleopatra. “Don’t think you can go up against me. Don't think you can take me on. You will live to regret it, Anthony Alcantara.”
“I was actually feeling sorry for you,” Anthony said. “I know what it feels like to have your heart broken. But I guess I made the mistake of thinking you have a heart in the first place. That big guy seems really sweet, a really nice guy. I’m not surprised Angel would fall in love with him. After all, who wants to date a cold, heartless snake like you?”
And with that he turned around and swished away, his hips working like a pendulum gone haywire.
I sat down on a black velvet couch, one of a few near the cloakroom where couples sat in the small hours of the night and made out.
I knew where I had seen Angel’s tenderness before. The tenderness that took big muscles and made their strength protective and nurturing. It was that night on top of the comforter, when he had made love to me with a power so controlled, it almost broke me into pieces.
In the non-reflective darkness I brushed wetness from either side of my nose in mourning for my gentle Angel, who I had only seen once. Just that one time.
That was the Angel I fell in love with. And every time since then, I had been trying to get that Angel back. And it had seemed like the harder I tried, the harder he pushed back and the harder he became, until he was nothing but an iron bar, and who wanted to date an iron bar?
Well. I guessed I did.
And César had my gentle Angel now. And apparently he had all along.
Apparently it was never real, and our entire relationship was just a dark and distorted reflection of Angel’s heart’s desire.
So what did that make me?
Just a reflection, as well?
“Machyl.”
I looked up to see Angel standing there hand in hand with César.
“No hard feelings. Ok?”
I ran my fingers across the thick nap of the black velvet couch. “Two years,” I took a breath and looked up at the two of them. “I remember when I heard about your wedding,” I said to César, meeting his eyes even though it made me feel sick. “You mentioned it on our second date,” I said to Angel.
Well. Date was one way of putting it. It would be more accurate to say, the second time we had sex.
Angel nodded stiffly, glancing up at César. “When you got married,” he switched into Spanish. “I was heartbroken. I think I was crazy at that time…”
César’s arm wrapped around his shoulders protectively and he leaned down and kissed him as if I wasn’t even there. “I was crazy, too,” he murmured. “I swore I would forget you with Christopher. I was such a fool…”
I stared at the carpet, which was also bla
ck shot with iridescent silver, and only sparsely lit by low lighting. I shook my head. “So I caught you on the rebound. That’s all it was to you?”
“Hey,” Angel said, his voice hardened. His arm was wrapped firmly around César’s waist. “You keep acting as if this is all my fault. But you know that’s not true.”
“Excuse me?” I regarded him incredulously. “Am I leaving our relationship for another man?”
“I don’t know,” Angel retorted. “Are you?”
I stared back at him. “I gave you two years. And this is how it ends?”
“Don’t tell me you were happy,” Angel said, looking back at me steadily, which he hadn’t been doing lately. “Don’t tell me you were happy with the way things were.”
“Happy?” I snapped, crossing my legs and sitting up straighter. “Why would I be happy when you were angry all the time? Look at the way you’ve been.”
“You weren’t angry?” Angel replied, his voice hiking up into familiar territory. César’s large hand came to rest calmingly on the back of his neck.
“Me angry?” I sniffed.
“You were, you just won’t admit it.”
“I guess I was supposed to be happy with a man who cheats,” I said, and cast a glance at César. “Watch out for that. It’s well known he can’t keep it in his pants.”
“You said you forgave me,” Angel said, his eyes dark and unforgiving. “But this isn’t forgiveness. You throw it back in my face any time you want something from me. And this is how you want your relationship to be?”
“Obviously it’s not how I wanted it to be,” I replied. “As would be clear from what you just said.”
“So why did you want to be with me?” Angel said slowly, as if asking a question of a dimwitted child. “You didn’t want the real me. That’s your problem. I told you my PTSD still gave me issues sometimes.” His chest was heaving now, and César was looking at him solicitously. “But you didn’t want to see that. You didn’t want to see me weak.” He broke off and muttered something in César’s ear and took his hand. “You could be weak,” he said. “But not me. That was too much to ask.”
“Where the Charlice Dickens do you get off calling me weak?” I wanted to get up and go at them, both of them, my blood was heating up and trying to launch me off the couch. But I forced my limbs to lie back and drape languidly against the couch.
“We met in a drag bar where I was a performer. You could see I was a prissy, mincing, voguing, bottoming sissy and that’s what you signed up for. So don’t come at me with weak and expect me not to call you on your internalized homophobia. You’ll never know the strength it takes to walk out on the street as I am.”
Angel looked at me as if considering my words. “You say you’re so proud. I haven't seen the evidence.”
I rolled my eyes and resisted the temptation to scoff loudly.
“I don’t want to talk a lot more about this,” Angel said. “I want to remember the good times and part on a good note. Can we do that?”
I raised my eyebrows at César, indicating Angel. “He serious?”
“Machyl, you’re not even interested in me any more,” Angel said loudly.
I was done with this conversation. I waved the two of them away.
“You’re in denial, Machyl,” Angel said huffily, taking César’s hand and starting to walk away. “Take some time to yourself and get some clarity. You need it. Before you end up doing something you regret. This is it now. Good bye.”
“Giltie Conshens!”
An unfamiliar voice called me as I rounded the shell of the bon-bon couch. It was at that point I realized the voice was not so unfamiliar after all.
Praise be to the Lord that this night wasn’t over, cause how could I live without hearing another inane trill from the mouth of Clarion Call?
“What, did you get lost in there?” Clarion Call laughed, his face creased into an undeniably attractive smile. “Does one of the stall doors lead to a magical land full of sexy satyrs and faun fags?”
Then he doubled up laughing at his own joke, falling all over Anthony, with whom he was now sharing the velvet poof. They were squeezed together good and tight on it. It definitely was just made for one person.
I tapped my acrylic nails on the hard shell and looked away in impatience.
Lucky Penny was still sitting on the bon-bon couch, but she was not alone. Someone else had joined the party.
Well, she moved fast alright.
“Machyl,” Lucky Penny piped up, leaning around to look at me. “I’d like to introduce you to my husband.”
I moved forward politely to face the bon-bon and found myself looking down into the faces of Lucky Penny and a thin, soberly dressed white man in his early forties, with graying temples, a definitely case of the gay face and, moreover, a strangely familiar look about him.
“Harley Dullbent, pleasure,” he grinned confidently and stuck out his hand, which I shook.
I blinked. “I thought I recognized you,” I said, a sense of wonder dawning within me like the first light over the horizon. “You’re Harrie Debby.”
“Harrie Debby!” Clarion Call gasped from the other side of the table and leaned forward. “Are you Harrie Debby?”
“Yes, he is,” Lucky Penny smiled around at us, then at Harrie Debby as he reached for his hand. “Aren’t you, Pumpkin?”
Harrie Debby waved us away modestly while twining his fingers with Lucky’s and casting an affectionate smile at him.
I had never met a drag artist as famous as Harrie Debby before face to face. I felt my cheeks getting warm and my tongue seemed to be twisted into knots.
“I love you, you have no idea!” Clarion Call had gotten onto his knees in front of the table to lean closer. “Is this your off night? Are you still with Cosmosis? I haven’t seen you around recently.”
I shuddered in second-hand embarrassment.
Harrie Debby had retired two years ago. She had never been a pageant queen, just a very successful and well-loved New York queen and part of Cosmosis’ Constellation for almost ten years, if I recalled the dates correctly.
“Harley is focusing on other things now,” Lucky Penny continued squeezing his hand while smiling and nodding at us with those enormous blue eyes.
This chick had a strangely bland expression, like her face was cake frosting that someone had over-smoothed with a spatula.
“He was made a partner at his firm last year.” She turned to smile at him.
“Aw, shucks, honey,” Harley smiled back. “My husband, ladies,” he said, turning back to us.
“Congratulations, Harley,” Clarion Call gushed. “What is it that you do?”
Harley picked up a rainbow martini from the table and raised it delicately to his lips. “Litigation.” He cackled. “Get it? Litigation?”
I laughed along with everyone else. Harrie Debby was sorely missed on the scene.
Lucky Penny started talking again. “I thought this would be fun to do on weekends. I mean, a hobby that actually pays you? Whoever heard of that!” She laughed.
Her expression was feckless but I couldn’t help but shudder at her tactless mention of pay. Cosmosis was known to pay at least double what all the other houses did, apart from House of Revêtte.
“Well, they just added me to their reserve list last month. And everyone has been so nice.” She stroked Harrie Debby’s shoulder with one finger. “And I have to thank Harley for talking to them and everything…”
I had a sinking feeling like an earring dropped into a tub of warm wax.
“What house were you at before?” I asked before I could stop myself. Harrie Debby’s eyes darted toward me, and I felt them like hot pokers.
Did he think I was trying to throw shade on Lucky Penny? He might interpret it as sass or worse, a read.
But I wasn’t asking it rhetorically in order to take a dig or try to mock her. I was asking it because I was really hoping and praying that what she had just said didn’t mean what I thought it mean
t.
Maybe Lucky Penny had just moved to New York recently. Maybe she had done drag in California or the Midwest or—anywhere, absolutely anywhere other than New York.
I didn’t care if she waited tables at Tranniez, I just needed to know that she knew her way around an eyeshadow palette and a pair of sling backs.
“My Luka’s a native New Yorker,” Harrie Debby said, as if reading my thoughts. “Bright lights, the big city,” he smiled at Lucky Penny. “And one adorable boy…”
Lucky simpered and melted into Harley’s kiss.
I climbed onto the high stool Anthony had been sitting on and turned myself tactfully away from the spectacle.
Anthony and Clarion also looked away and exchanged meaningful smirks. Anthony reached up and cupped his hand around Clarion’s ear and whispered something into it.
I clenched my fists and stuck my acrylic nails into the soft skin of my palms. Every fiber of my being wanted to leave the club, right now, and go work out my frustrations at Persimmon the way I had the other night, the last time I saw Angel.
Or I wanted to go downstairs onto that dance floor and find a fine upstanding buck with a firm hand and a quick thrust.
Kiss good-bye to these losers and get out into the cool night, take him home and he could slide his hands down the back of my jeans to push them down, turn me around and bend me over the bed, with me gasping and panting as I felt a cool trickle of lube landing on my asshole.
“Omg!” Lucky Penny’s voice interrupted my fantasy. “Here it is!”
Two waiters were pushing a cart overflowing with smoke out of which rose a gold urn, a smaller version of the ones flanking the outside of the building.
Each taking one side, they lifted it off the cart on a large tray and set it down the table. I could tell by the way they moved, slowly and carefully, that it was heavy.
There was ivy crawling up the side of the urn, too, and a separate thing of glasses and a ladle. It sat there glittering, with the smoke flowing off the table and pooling around our feet.
There were lights installed somewhere underneath the smoke, making it glow brightly, and lighting up the faces around the table: Anthony’s porcelain doll face, Clarion Call’s sharper features, the creases and lines of Harrie Debby and the wide eyes of Lucky Penny.
Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2) Page 10