Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2)

by Malachite Splinters

  “What did you say?” Ellegrandé frowned at me.

  “I said what I said,” I said. “She told us all last night. She wasn’t really at Cosmosis. She was just on the reserve list. And she was put on that reserve list last month.”

  Ellegrandé looked bewildered. “She come from somewhere else?”

  “That’s what I asked,” I said. “Not as far as I can tell.”

  “I don’t know,” Ellegrandé muttered. “That can’t be it. There must be an explanation.”

  I had more to say. A lot more. But now was probably not a good time. I was only going to get angry and worked up and it would probably lead to a fight because DT would get defensive.

  No, I would button my lip for now.

  “How did last night go?” Ellegrandé asked, sounding like she was grasping for a new topic. She hadn't been too happy when I texted her with my plan—after we left for the restaurant.“It was great,” I lied easily. “ It was a great team bonding night. There was a lot of bonding of the team.”

  A little too much bonding in some parts if you asked me.

  “Tonight?”

  “No disasters,” I said. “Lucky has some kind of gymnastics training and she can control her body. She’ll be fine. The other one is passable. No red flags.” I paused. “And I have news,” I said. “About Tata.”

  “Really.”

  “She showed up last night.”

  “Did she now.”

  “She came—you remember I told you she said on the phone she was “busy” until Saturday?”

  Ellegrandé nodded.

  “Well, she showed up tonight, too. She rehearsed real well. She made a lot of effort. She’s not what you’d call a dancer but she was trying. I’m… impressed.”

  Ellegrandé nodded slowly. “Impressed.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You ain’t never been impressed by Tata before.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m surprised.”

  I wasn’t just lying to DT. I was actually telling the truth on this. Anthony had worked really hard tonight.

  And no-one was more surprised than me to see that.

  “And does she know I’m not putting on those auditions she wants?” Ellegrandé asked.

  “Well,” I said. “That’s a sticking point,” I admitted. “She says that’s part of the deal.”

  “We ain’t done no deal,” Ellegrandé said, as stubborn as an old bear.

  “I know,” I shook my head. “I know…”

  Ellegrandé sighed. “She can keep saying that all she wants, but in two weeks we are debuting our new show. Not holding auditions for something that is never going to pan out.”

  I hoped I’d be able to push him a little further, but he was clearly not going to play ball tonight.

  I still had two weeks, though.

  I had two weeks to convince Harrie Debby to come out of retirement. Two weeks to win over Lucky Penny and Clarion Call and earn their loyalty. Two weeks to work La Tata so hard in that studio, she got tired and gave up.

  And although the time frame wasn’t strictly applicable, two weeks seemed like a good chunk of time to get my best friend and my boyfriend back.

  All in a day’s work. And, often, a night’s work as well.

  I said my good-byes to Ellegrandé and Phil and made the journey home. It seemed unbearably long, the walk to the subway, the subway ride, the change of trains, the second subway ride, and then the walk to my building.

  I got in the door and all I had the energy to do was bolt the inner locks and stumble to the bathroom, brush my teeth and splash some water on my face, then to the bedroom where I peeled off my clothes and crawled under the crumpled sheets.

  When I closed my eyes, it seemed to be waiting for me.

  I felt a scrunching under my feet and when I looked down, saw that I was standing in my-nude pumps that were half-buried in holographic silver glitter, sparkling in the desert sun.

  The regiment was all lined up in a row to my left in their heels, some tottering gently on the spot, each one standing to attention. Even the commander.

  Up in the sky, there was something.

  I raised my hand to shield my eyes and found that it was covered in an elbow-length glove of white satin with a lipstick-kiss bracelet on the wrist, and my eyes were shaded in a pair of big sunglasses.

  Against the eye-watering blue and above the searing silver sea of glitter sand in the midday sun it came.

  It was—it was a kite. Or was it a woman with huge wings spread out to her sides, which she floated on as she descended?

  The color became clearer the clearer she got. It was fuchsia, and that color was hard for my eyes to take it against the azure blue sky.

  It was a woman, riding a kite. She was holding onto the cross bar like Jesus on the crucifix.

  No, it was La Tata.

  She was so close now, we could see the long white elbow gloves gripping the wooden structure of the kite, we could see the white satin evening gown whose skirts were fluttering around her, we could see the diamond bracelet around her delicate ankle.

  The kite was on a string. That string was caught on the gun of a tank, and two soldiers in six-inch-heeled 9-hole boots with big thick treads were taking turns to heave-ho! heave-ho! her down from the sky.

  Had the string caught as the kite passed, or had it always been tied onto the end of that tank’s gun?

  The kite was getting lower, but I could see how strong the wind was, now buffeting the huge fuchsia-silk contraption so that La Tata was being jarred and shaken from side to side.

  She needed help to get down.

  I took off at a little run, kicking up clouds of glitter as I did which when the sun hit them sent rainbows glancing through the air.

  I held up my hands, in their gloves, and she took first one, then the other. She was still too high, though, so I reached up and held my arms out.

  “Jump,” I called. The wind was so loud, I could hardly hear myself.

  She did, and I caught her by the waist, and let her down, and set her down in the glitter, and when I caught my own reflection in her big white cat-eye shades, I was wearing the same dress that she was, and the same shades, too.

  She was still touching my shoulders and when she turned to look at the army company, she trailed her hand down my arm and took my hand in her gloved one.

  I turned as well.

  They were all saluting, hands raised stiff at their brows and then firing off in unison to make the journey back to their sides. I looked at her, wondering what it was all about.

  She smiled up at me, and her smile grew bigger and bigger, and it was so white, it was like the glare of the sun, unbearably bright, and I couldn’t look at it any more.

  Her Day

  So on Thursday evening, when Anthony was the first to walk through the door of the back studio at Persimmon Dance Studios, I still had the bizarre imagery of the dream stuck in my head.

  “Hey,” he said, not smiling but not frowning at me either.

  He was wearing another pair of pricy-looking leggings, blue and turquoise marbled patterned fabric alongside black and a lot of mesh inserts, and on top of that a tight short sleeved matching crop top with with a big zip down the front.

  He had a gym bag slung over his shoulder which he dumped to one side of the room, took out a water bottle and drank from it.

  “Good work yesterday,” I said.

  He glanced at me, instantly suspicious.

  “I mean it,” I said. “I’ve never seen you work so hard before.”

  I was on the other side of the studio, with my laptop on the floor getting things set up. I wished there was a projector in here. I wanted to show a video. Studio B had a projector.

  The windows must have been open ever since we left last night, because the smell was no longer noticeable, as Marcy had promised.

  The temperature in here was pleasant as well, I had to say. Marcy seemed to have been concerned about us being too cold. It was a little
chilly, but everyone was going to be sweating soon enough, anyway.

  Anthony didn’t respond, he just fiddled with his gym bag. That irked me a little, I had to admit. Here I was, giving him compliments, and he just ignored it?

  “If you keep working that hard every night,” I said. “You’re going to improve a lot.”

  Anthony still didn’t respond. He was starting the stretches I had told them all to do before we started. I had said they could do whatever of their own stretches they wanted, but they also had to do mine, so I would know they were properly stretched out.

  I glanced at him again, ignoring me completely, and bit down on my annoyance.

  I had been replaying that dream in my mind all day, to the point that when he walked in the door, I felt a weird jolt inside me. The dream didn’t make any sense and the feeling didn’t make any sense.

  And I wasn’t making any sense, being so irritated that Anthony wasn’t responding to my compliments. Last night was a good start, with the whole Little-Star-That-Could spiel, but it was just a start. He was going to need a lot more work.

  Ah. I thought I had it. Last night, I had been basically just passing on a supposed message from Duane Tyrone and/or pointing out so-called objective facts. The only thing I had said that came directly from me was that I had admitted we needed La Tata.

  And that was fine. It wasn’t going to be believable if I started laying it on so thick out of nowhere. It needed to be convincing that I was really having a change of heart about Anthony.

  It was irrational for me to be annoyed that Anthony was treating me the way he always had, when I hadn’t actually rolled out my full plan for him yet.

  I glanced at him again. He had moved on to the second stretch, the butterfly. He wasn’t very flexible. His knees were high.

  Anthony had always had this very haughty and arrogant attitude toward me, and made it clear just how much better he thought he was. I wasn’t expecting that to change, of course.

  I was sure that wasn’t going to change. I just needed to not have him poisoning the well for me with the new girls, or trying to pull any more power moves. And, ideally, I needed him to be more willing to do what I wanted him to do.

  I went and sat down a short distance away from him and started doing the stretches too. He still didn’t look at me.

  I needed to find an in.

  “You’re early today,” I remarked. I had expected him to be late, or not show up at all. But he’d been early last night, when I took the opportunity to speak to him, and he was early again today.

  “Aren’t you angry?” Anthony asked.

  “Do you want me to hold your knees down?” I asked. “It will give you a better stretch.”

  He shrugged and leaned back on his hands. “Okay.”

  I got up and knelt in front of him and, putting one palm on his inner thigh just above each of his knees, pressed firmly and slowly downward. He winced a little.

  “Okay?” I said.

  “More,” he said, still wincing.

  “Can you hold that?” I asked, raising my eyes to his. I had pressed his knees almost to the floor.

  He nodded, his face still showing discomfort.

  “Angry about what?” I asked.

  “That DT wants me to go first,” he said, looking at my hands on his legs.

  I could feel the warmth of his body coming through the thin fabric of the leggings, just like I had in the cab on the way to House Cosmosis. I tried to ignore it.

  “That he wants to put you in first position?” I said. “I understand why he’s doing it,” I said.

  “But aren’t you upset at me for that?” Anthony pressed.

  I looked up at him, looked into his golden eyes. “You’re beautiful,” I said.

  He dropped his gaze.

  A strange wriggling fish slipped down my throat into my stomach and started squirming around in there.

  That wasn’t—

  I meant it as a professional evaluation.

  Why he or the fish would think otherwise was beyond me. And I wished it would get out of my stomach, thank you very much.

  “You’re one of the fishiest queens I’ve ever seen,” I said quickly.

  “I thought it wasn’t just about looks,” Anthony said. His cheeks were glowing a little. I thought he might be blushing. “Isn’t one of the biggest criticisms of House Ellegrandé that they hire people based on appearance?”

  I frowned at him. “Do you—I had no idea you were online…” I trailed off.

  He couldn’t possibly be, with the gaps in his knowledge and his lack of understanding about so many aspects of New York drag…

  “Online?” He echoed.

  He had relaxed now, his face no longer tight, and the tension in his legs reduced. I felt less upward pressure against my hands than I had done when I started.

  “In online drag groups,” I said. “Fan groups. Forums.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I’m not. I just heard that, um. Okay, my friend Sue Ellen told me that.”

  “The white girl?”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “So, you must be pretty angry at me about this. I mean, I know how much you hate me.”

  He looked up at me then, with the big eyes, and the little pout, and my hands were still on his knees and I was kneeling in front of him.

  “You got her to tell you stuff about me, didn’t you?” He said in the same quiet tone of voice, and I couldn’t tell if it was submissive quiet, or dangerous quiet. “When she was drunk. She told you where I live. She told you I was bi. And she told you I was a virgin.”

  I watched his lips form the V of the word virgin, how his front teeth scraped over his plump lower lip and how it sprang free as it was released.

  He looked up at me and met my eyes insolently. “I’m not a virgin any more,” he said. “Are you angry about that, too?”

  I only realized how fast I was breathing when the door opened and I sat up quickly, releasing Anthony’s knees.

  Clarion Call walked in, and stopped for a second, looking at us. He must have seen me kneeling over Anthony, Anthony leaning back and his splayed legs as he looked up at me.

  I stood up, my heart suddenly hammering in my chest.

  “Clarion Call,” I said, trying to regain my composure. “How nice to—uh, see you.”

  Clarion was looking at Anthony, who was sitting up, his legs now drawn up to his chest. I could see that Anthony was looking back at him.

  I went back to the laptop, and as I queued the music, I felt a trickle of sweat run down my brow. I was flustered. And I had the distinct feeling that Anthony had stymied my plans to compliment him.

  It was almost like he knew what I was trying to do.

  I almost felt impressed.

  If it had been anyone except Anthony, I would have been.

  I expected him to rush off when the rehearsal ended.

  But he didn’t.

  I thought he would want to avoid more confrontation, but he was unmistakably lingering. He stayed, after Clarion Call left, after Lucky Penny left.

  “Bye,” he waved to them. “I might take a shower,” he called as they went. “Yeah, I bought a towel and everything. See you tomorrow. Bye.”

  And then the door closed and we were alone again.

  And now I felt like I was in his agenda, and I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t know how to feel about that.

  He was sitting cross-legged on a pile of mats in the far corner of the studio as I packed up my laptop and hauled my bag over my shoulder.

  I actually was going to go and take a shower. I didn’t understand how the other two could leave in nasty sweaty clothes and go sit on the subway.

  “So I didn’t get an answer to my questions,” Anthony said.

  “Is that why you’re still here?” I asked. Might as well call a spade a spade.

  “Of course,” he said.

  I walked toward him. He turned to me, sitting up straight and looking at me boldly, his eyes holding a challenge w
hich he wasn’t even trying to hide.

  He thought he had gotten the better of me.

  He thought he had the upper hand.

  He thought he was playing the game, and winning.

  It was almost cute.

  I could see exactly what he had been trying to do earlier during the stretch. So innocent little Anthony wasn’t so innocent anymore. He thought he could be a real little provocateur now.

  Lucky that his kind of provocation wasn’t going work on me.

  What he didn’t know was that I was letting him do this. If I wanted to shut him down, I could do it in a heartbeat. Because history had shown what happened when anyone challenged Anthony.

  He crumpled, and cried, and was the biggest victim in the world.

  And if I wanted to, I could put him into that state as quick and easy as snapping my fingers.

  But I wasn’t going to do that now. Because I was doing something different right now. But I was in control. Have no doubt about that.

  “Anthony,” I said. “I need your help.”

  He looked away, then back at me.

  Yes, I had him again.

  Putting on my best meek look—probably not very good, but I wasn’t a bad actor—I sidled over to the mats. “Can I sit down?”

  He nodded.

  I sat down, bowed my head slightly and let my hands hang limply between my knees.

  I might have gone too heavy last night and raised his suspicions.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to have the faith in his fellow man to believe that I might just be being kind out of the goodness of my heart. No, he needed to know that I had an ulterior motive for being nice to him.

  And now I was going to give it to him.

  “It’s not just Duane Tyrone who’s worried about the club,” I said, turning to face him. “I am, too.”

  There was a slight frown creasing his forehead. “Why?”

  I took a deep breath and spread my hands. “Ellegrandé,” I said. “Is a fabulous and legendary queen, but she’s heading for sixty years old. She can occasionally come onstage for legacy numbers and nostalgia tunes. But she isn’t a working act who I can schedule five days a week. She’s happy behind the bar and that’s where she should be.”