Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2)

by Malachite Splinters

  His frown deepened, but he seemed to be listening.

  “Shanghai Li’l,” I continued. “An elegant and put-together queen whose look is always on point.” I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “But—don’t tell anyone else I said this, okay?—”

  He gazed back at me, frowning so deeply he was almost scowling. But he nodded.

  “She’s shy,” I said in a stage whisper. “Performance-wise, she’s competent to provide back-up on stage, but…” I shrugged hopelessly. “Not much more.”

  I crossed my arms and looked out across the studio as if looking for answers.

  “Brooklyn is an incredible tailor,” Anthony said in a slightly defensive tone.

  I turned back to him. “Thank you,” I said earnestly. “This is what I’ve been saying.”

  “His costume design and sewing skills are amazing,” Anthony said. “The old gowns from before he came, the ones stuffed into those plastic crates in the storage closet? They’re ugly as fuck. You should be grateful you have him.”

  I bit down hard on something I very much wanted to say in response to that and just nodded enthusiastically. “Of course you can see it. You’re the most stylish of any of us. I’ve been telling DT, Brooklyn’s work has transformed all of our wardrobes and given House Ellegrandé a real edge in the style stakes.”

  “I agree,” he said, looking mollified.

  Yes. Now we were getting somewhere.

  “Then, of course,” I said. “There’s me.”

  Yes. Yours truly, Giltie Conshens. The Calypso Queen of the Ballroom. Five-time Miss Vogue at Lady Steezy’s twice-annual Vogue-Offs. Fierce queen with everything it took to dress, undress, strip the competition down to their bare skin, then flay them and send them running off down the street bare and bloody for good measure.

  Anthony looked back at me in silence, his eyebrows slightly raised and his lips pursed, like he thought he wasn’t going to like what I said next.

  I didn’t say anything.

  “So what are you saying,” Anthony shook his braids. “You need me?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Of course.”

  “Yeah,” Anthony said. “But you had two more. Now you’ve lost them. And suddenly I’m so important?” He rolled his eyes. “Please.”

  Oh…kay, then. He wanted to go there, huh? He wanted to take this conversation there?

  Fine.

  That was just fine.

  I took a deep breath, turned away from him and hid my face in my hands. I forced all the air out of my lungs, scrunched up my face and said into my palms, “I just don’t understand why…”

  It sounded good. Sounded like I was really on the verge of tears.

  Anthony gave a big, exasperated sigh. “I’m not going to sit here and explain it to you,” he said. “You might want to take some kind of course in how to be sensitive to the needs of trans folk.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry for real. This from the boy she had just described to me as inconsiderate and thoughtless?

  “I tried to so hard,” I gasped. I really was running out of air. “I tried everything to make her stay.”

  “That’s where you went wrong,” Anthony said. “You need to let her go.”

  Ha! I needed to let her go? He was the one who was infatuated with her!

  I made some more trying-not-to-cry noises and then wiped my face and slowly turned back around. “You’re right,” I said looking at him hesitantly. “I need to work on that.”

  He looked satisfied.

  This was going well.

  I had him right where I wanted him. I could pour on the fake apologies until the cows came home.

  “Now give me your phone,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “What?”

  He stuck his small hand out further. “Now.”

  “No!”

  He crossed his arms. “Then I’ll go to DT and tell him you lied to me about the rehearsal times to make me look bad.”

  My hand was already sweating in my back pocket around my phone.

  “You really think I’m scared of you?” Anthony said. “You think a few crocodile tears will sucker me in?” He set his jaw. “I don’t think so. Now give me the phone.”

  I stood up. My mind was racing, trying to find a way out of this. “Why would you want my phone?”

  “To make sure the video of Damaris isn’t on there any more.”

  Ugh. He thought he was such a smooth operator, but he gave away his real reason just like that? Such an amateur.

  “I deleted it,” I said. I held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  He uncrossed his legs, letting them dangle down the pile mats, and put his hands just above his knees in the same place where I had pressed on them, and huffed. “Why would I believe you?” He scowled up at me. “You’re a liar.”

  I let a little smile form on my lips. “What evidence is there for that?”

  “You know,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “And you lie with your actions, too, like just now, trying to convince me you’re all sad and worried.” He flipped his hair contemptuously. “As if the current problems aren’t completely your own fault.”

  “My fault?” I echoed.

  “And you owe me an apology,” he declared, sitting straighter and regarding me imperiously. “For breaking me up with my boyfriend.”

  “You want to talk about Marcus Fong?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, getting off the mats and standing up to face me. This only served to put him at a significant height disadvantage, though, so I didn’t know why he did it.

  “Fine,” I said, crossing my arms. “Bone China was a world-class queen, hard working and professional. Exquisite look, legs for days and talent to the rafters.”

  Anthony stuck his nose in the air. “Exactly,” he said snootily.

  And sooner or later, come hell or high water, Marcus Fong was going to go back to London and then what were we going to do? I was trying to plan for the next thirty years of House Ellegrandé, and I couldn’t do that without a stable talent base.

  Besides, I couldn’t stand tourists. Queens that lacked loyalty to their house and went to bat for another team would never get very high in my book.

  Just because the London system was based on open competition between houses, rather than collaboration like the New York system, didn’t mean I was going to relax my standards.

  “Shame that she couldn’t abide by Ellegrandé’s house rules on fraternization,” I said pointedly, looking at Anthony.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’re such a manipulative—” he broke off, then tried again. “You set all this up,” he said. “You lied to Marcus, blatantly lied that I liked him. You knew you could use DT’s rules for your own ends.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Didn’t you just say Marcus was your boyfriend?”

  He stuck his chin out. “He’s my ex, thanks to you.”

  “Then what do you mean I lied that you liked him?” I squinted. “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, don’t play dumb,” he snapped. “You knew exactly what you were doing. It was a lie because I never said that, not to you or anyone else. How I really felt was my own business.”

  “So you’re saying you did like Marcus,” I said. “But you hadn’t told anyone.”

  “That’s correct,” he said calmly.

  “Well, I didn’t need you to tell anyone,” I said. “I could tell from your body language. The way you acted around him.”

  “You said the same thing about Damaris!” He snapped, his calm evaporating. “What, you’re saying I liked two people at the same time?”

  I shrugged. I knew what to say, right now, to set him off in a rage that would last for a week.

  But I couldn’t say it.

  I had to keep my original purpose in mind.

  I tried to take a deep breath. This conversation was getting out of hand. He wanted to fight, and I was playing into his hands. I needed to find a way to steer things back in the right direc
tion.

  How could I use his anger to benefit myself…?

  “I think,” I said. “That you were confused. You liked Damaris, but she didn’t feel the same way. And Marcus was into you, and you found that hard to resist.” I paused and then said carefully, “Not that I blame you…”

  He didn’t say anything.

  Yes, I had thrown him off balance.

  “I thought you didn’t like feminine men,” Anthony challenged.

  “I don’t,” I said firmly. “But I can see it from your point of view.” I kept going, thinking fast. “Marcus is, what, twenty-four? He’s older. He’s a man of the world. He’s travelled. He’s an accomplished professional in his field. He’s confident. He’s good-looking. Sexy.”

  Anthony had gone silent and was looking at the floor with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “I think he could be seductive when he wanted to,” I tossed it out there.

  Anthony glanced at me.

  “The way I see it,” I said slowly. “Once he set his sights on you…”

  He was tugging on his lip again.

  I couldn’t help but smile inwardly. Not for the first time, I had him right where I wanted him. “It must have been a real strong attraction,” I said. “For you to take such a big risk.”

  His eyes darted to mine again, then away.

  “After all,” I said. “You were well aware of the position you were putting yourself in… you knew what would happen if Duane Tyrone found out.” I licked my lips, savoring the next words. “For you to use the storage closet, the urge must have been… irresistible.”

  No-one could accuse me of orchestrating that closet incident. It was more than I had ever hoped for. No, I couldn’t take any credit for that. Marcus and Anthony had done that on their own.

  Anthony’s eyes were on me again. “I guess you have no idea what sexual frustration is like,” he put his hands on his hips.

  “Were you sexually frustrated, Anthony?” I asked in a fake sympathetic voice.

  He flipped his braids over his shoulder and stuck his nose in the air again. “It’s none of your business,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked. “Do you not have a phone like everyone else?”

  He glared at me with his golden eyes. “I don’t use hook up apps.”

  Why was I not surprised? As usual, Prince Anthony thought he was so much better than the rest of us. “Maybe you’ll be changing that habit if you don’t want to be stuck watching re-runs,” I said.

  He took my meaning about Clarion Call, because his eyes flashed and he spat, “My sex life is nothing to do with you.”

  “Except it is,” I said. “Because you were caught fraternizing once, and I need that to be the last time. I need you at the club. I can’t lay it out any plainer. We lost Damaris, we lost Marcus, and you’ve seen the new girls for yourself.”

  He gave me a furious look.

  “They’re wonderful,” I said quickly. “But they don’t know how things are done around here. They’re still learning.”

  He lapsed into silence.

  “You’ve been with us almost eighteen months,” I said. “You know the club like the back of your hand.”

  I let that sink in for a little while.

  “I think Luka is new to this,” he said.

  I nodded in agreement. “Me too.”

  “Clarion is great, though,” he said, looking more serious now. “I think he could be the next Marcus.”

  I didn’t say anything, but I managed not to burst out laughing. Marcus Fong was seasoned, slick and polished, hailing from one of the biggest houses in London. Clarion Call was a hipdipper from Larry’s Last Drag. We were not going there.

  “But still,” he said, putting his hand on his hip. “You have to admit that you had a hand in Damaris and Marcus leaving. Don’t try to get out of it. Just admit it, and apologize. Because if you can’t do that…”

  I looked back at him, considering.

  “You didn’t need to tell him I slept with Damaris,” he pressed on insistently. “That was between me and Damaris. It was a friend thing, that was all.”

  Well, Anthony had underestimated me if he thought I would let cheaters get away with their low down ghetto tricks for a single second.

  Never, but never.

  I had performed a public service, and I was damn proud of it.

  “Fucking is a ‘friend thing’?” I asked skeptically.

  “It was between me and Damaris and Marcus,” he said stubbornly. “For your information, you ruined a new relationship with what you did.”

  “You and Marcus had a really nice relationship, is that what you’re saying?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he had his hands on his hips again. “He is sexy, as a matter of fact.” He swallowed. Then he looked at me, and his eyes got bigger. “He’s fucking hot.” He took a deep breath.

  I swallowed, too.

  Had the heaters turned themselves on or something?

  “Really,” I said, and then realized I had said the wrong thing. I should have kept my fat mouth shut.

  He licked his lips. “Him fucking me was hot, too.”

  A bolt of lightning crackled down through the center of my body and I had to close my eyes to block it all out. I bit down on the inside of my mouth until the worst had passed and it felt like an eternity, but it was only a second.

  “I’m so glad you told me that,” I said in as bland a voice as I could muster.

  “He knew how to get my prostate at just the right angle,” Anthony said thoughtfully. “You know he really had me begging on my knees for him to pound me with his big, fat dick.”

  I let out a long, slow breath.

  I could see exactly what he was doing.

  He thought the conversation had gone too far toward me.

  And he was trying to take it back.

  Based on his erroneous belief, provided by Damaris, that I was interested in him. When in fact, I wasn’t attracted to Anthony, I never had been, and I never would be.

  “On top of which,” Anthony said. “He was really sweet, and kind, and caring, and loving. Those are the kind of traits I really admire in a man.”

  “Well,” I said with a big sigh, taking my phone out of my pocket. “I thought that’s how you felt about him. That’s why I didn’t want to give you this before…”

  He looked at the phone in my hand. “What?”

  “I don’t want you to see it,” I said. “I don’t think you should see it.”

  He took a step toward me. I backed away.

  “I really don’t think you should see this,” I said.

  “Give it,” he came toward me again. “Let me see.”

  I sighed heavily. “I’m serious, Anthony.”

  He lunged at me and tried to wrestle it out of my hands. I resisted for a few seconds, then gave in. I could have overpowered him easily, but I didn’t.

  He fiddled with it, then handed it back to me. “Unlock it.”

  I took it back and started unlocking it.

  But then I stopped.

  I didn’t want to give it back. I didn’t want to show it to him.

  He looked furious. “Give it to me!”

  I felt a strange sensation in my chest as I handed it over. A heaviness whose origin I couldn’t guess.

  “You can check if the video is there as well,” I said. A sinking feeling was going through me.

  He swiped and tapped for a little while, then looked up. “I can’t see the video,” he said. “W-what else is there?” He looked nervous suddenly. His eyes were big again.

  “Look in the pictures,” I said. My voice came out a lot quieter than I expected.

  He scrolled, then flipped. And flipped. And stopped.

  He had found it.

  “When did he send this to you?” His voice was trembling. “I’m deleting it now. It’s gone.”

  “Sunday night.”

  “I want proof!” He looked at me, his eyes shining with tears. “Let me see the chat.”
>
  I shook my head. “That’s private.”

  “And this isn’t?” He shook the phone at me, his face twisted in anger as the tears spilled over his cheeks, then went back to the phone.

  “Don’t look at my messages—” I lurched toward him and tried to get the phone back. He fought back. I got him against the wall and he had raised his arms above his head, so I pinned them against the wall. He wasn’t fighting that hard. I got the phone back.

  He slumped down the wall and curled up in a ball, crying.

  What did I tell you?

  “Here,” I said. “You can look at the time signature on the picture in the chat. That’s it. Here.”

  I bent down and held it out to him. He took a look, and I assumed he saw through his tears that I wasn’t lying about when it was sent. And then he covered his face with his hands and dissolved into tears once more.

  I could have left. In the past, I would have.

  But now, Lord help me, I had to care about Anthony Alcantara’s mental state.

  I sat down on the floor next to him, and waited for him to stop. I got his water bottle from the mat and handed it to him.

  He looked up at me from the tissue he was using to dab his red-rimmed eyes, uncapped it and took a sip. “Thanks.”

  I looked at him and made a decision.

  “Have you eaten?”

  By the time we had eaten in more or less complete silence, the lights were low in the restaurant and the DJ had just showed up to start his set for the night. Most of the tables had either finished their meals or were just finishing up now.

  A couple of women in high heels and tight short dresses, curves on display, had just made their way out onto the floor and started working their waists to a big new hit.

  I watched as two young men, Afro-Trinidadians like yours truly, left the table where they had been sitting.

  I watched their advance, the way the women were sizing them up as they made their way toward the dance floor. They were both fit and well-built, dressed sharp, and grooming on point.

  I looked back to see that one of the men, wearing a crisp white collared shirt with his hair, coming up behind a woman in a tight bandage dress in deep fuchsia and slowly starting to fall into rhythm with her. She noticed him and cast a glance behind, appraising him.