Clarion’s mouth tightened. “Well. I introduced it at Larry’s and it was really good for everyone. So, I’m going to do it from now on.” He stood up. “Anthony?”
Anthony smiled winningly at him. I could see the smile in the mirror across the room, see the way Anthony looked up at him. “I’ll try,” he said in what I considered to be a very coy way.
Luka, who had gone out to the restroom, came back in just as Anthony and Clarion finished a round of squats while I watched.
No. I didn’t watch.
I didn’t watch Anthony’s butt as he went up and down. I didn’t notice the muscles in it stretching and contracting and clenching.
Nope. Didn’t notice that at all.
My skin felt like it was going to melt off, it was burning so much. So of course I didn’t notice anything like that.
“Oh,” Luka said, his face falling and his lashes batting in confusion as Clarion starting doing push-ups and Anthony gamely followed suit. “Are we doing those?”
He watched for a moment. Anthony made it through three before giving up and lying down on the floor. Luka looked at me in concern, pointed at them and mouthed, “Do I have to—?”
I shook my head.
“Oh, I know!” Luka clapped his hands delightedly. Clarion was still executing good form push-ups. “I can do my routine for you!” He beamed.
“The floor—” I said quickly, then stopped.
I couldn’t tell them they were rehearsing in sub-par studio without a performance floor. There was no possible excuse I could give them that would sound even halfway reasonable.
“We need to get on and start the rehearsal,” I said, making an effort to look as if this was all very urgent suddenly. “We have the first two numbers down, but we have three more for next week that we haven’t even started. And that reminds me,” I said even louder, all businesslike. “We will have the dress rehearsal on Wednesday.”
Luka’s face had fallen. “So I can’t do my routine?” He said in a small voice.
I went over to him. I didn’t want him going home and complaining to hubby that he wasn’t allowed to perform his special routine that he kept talking about all day and night.
“Honey,” I said, putting my arm around his shoulder. He really didn’t look too happy. “Our stage is not sprung, alright? So we can’t have you doing acrobatics on it. It’s not safe for you.”
Clarion stood up, panting a little from his exertions. “The stage isn't sprung?” He asked, sounding highly skeptical.
“No,” I said.
The stage at the club was literally just plain old wooden boards. The lighting rig dated from the 70s and was as basic as they came.
No, it wasn’t fancy. It was what we had.
And we didn’t have a professional dance troupe thumping around on it week after week. We had a few drag artists in very high heels who were not trained in dance.
“We had a semi-sprung stage at Larry’s,” Clarion said, glancing at Anthony and Lucky as he said it. “You could do ballet, tap, anything on it.”
“House of Cosmosis wanted me as part of their team because of my gymnastics skills,” Lucky said, stepping away from me rather pointedly.
I clasped my hands together. “That’s wonderful, Lucky—”
“My name is Luka.”
Okay, wow. He really wasn’t a drag queen, was he?
“Luka,” I said. “At House Ellegrandé, that's really not our thing. And you are a—” I was about to say fabulous queen, but maybe he wouldn’t take that as a compliment. “A very, very talented performer, and—”
“You haven’t even seen me perform,” he said rather pugnaciously. His mouth was set in a pout and his eyebrows had drawn down over his eyes, giving him a little bit of a bulldog look.
This was a different Luka than the bubbly one I had seen earlier this week, for whom nothing was any kind of problem ever.
I looked from him to Clarion, who was standing there with his weight on his hip, his gangly limbs at awkward angles, giving me a look of pure skepticism, and tried to figure out what had changed.
Was it because for the past few days, everything had been new and everyone had been on their best behavior, trying to play nice and get along?
Bullshit. It was because DT had publicly dressed me down in front of them and completely undermined my authority. And now they had seen DT go at me, they figured this was their chance. Time to try me out and see if I would dent when poked. Or break when kicked.
Alternatively, they were siding with Anthony, which they had done ever since they walked into the dressing room on Tuesday night. He was parlaying his classic victim tactics to consolidate his newfound queen bee status.
Whatever the explanation, it seemed clear that the honeymoon was over. I felt nauseous and the burning feeling crept over me again. I tried to push through it.
I turned to Luka. I wasn’t going to BS him. “I saw you all last week,” I said. “You are a good performer. But tumbling is not part of what we do.”
“Neither are push-ups,” he said stubbornly, pointing at Clarion and Anthony. “Unless that was part of today’s rehearsal.”
I could go hard now. I could put my foot down. But that might result in him sulking and bitching behind my back, and the last thing I needed was to fan the flames of any possible discontent. All I would do was give Anthony kindling for his fire.
“Okay,” I said, walking over to the corner of the studio. “Clarion, Anthony, can you help me set up these mats?”
“Is that really necessary?” Luka asked. “I’m sure it will be—”
“Honey, please,” I said, passing mats to the other two and showing them where to stick them together with the velcro. “We are debuting this fabulous new show on Friday! I need you up and at ’em. Just let me have this peace of mind, okay?”
It took almost fifteen minutes to set up a long double row of mats across the studio and by then Luka had his music queued. We all lined up on the side to watch.
He took his shoes and socks off and when the music started, he looked genuinely over the moon.
He started with some introductory moves which quickly turned into a full-blown gymnastic dance routine. He looked like he needed some of those long ribbons on a stick to twirl. The whole thing culminated in an impressive series of handstands, aerials, front flips and a perfect dismount.
He stood there, frozen, panting, smiling just as if we had all been a judging panel about to hold up a series of number scores.
Everyone applauded and Clarion and Anthony were quickly to label the performance amazing and incredible and a series of other adjectives.
“I couldn’t do any of the real jumps and air stuff without a springboard,” he said, wiping sweat off his flushed face.
We started to dismantle the mats again and he helped.
“I really enjoyed that,” I said sincerely. “How long did you gymnastics?”
He tugged on the mat next to the one I was pulling up and with a tug, the velcro came apart.
“I was pretty serious up until nineteen, twenty,” he said. “I placed in the nationals two years running, but…” he hauled the mat off the floor and carried it with both hands. “I just wasn’t, you know. The best.”
I knew how he felt. I hadn’t been the best, either. The coach didn’t think that much of my potential. And my parents felt that all the practices and meets were interfering with my academics. So that had been it for gymnastics.
“Besides,” Luka said. “I didn’t want to do all that bar work and the rings. I didn’t want to get really big. You know?”
We shared a smirk. I knew what he meant.
“I liked my rhythmic gymnastics, floor work,” he pulled the mat onto the growing pile and shrugged happily. “That’s what I like.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty-three,” he smiled.
I smiled back. He wasn’t so bad.
I felt like my mood was on the up. I had actually managed to resolv
e that situation in a way that made Luka happy. This was good. Really good.
I was definitely laying some groundwork to try to get Harrie Debby involved at a later date.
As we worked together to rearrange the mats, I tried to reassure myself and fight down the burning sensations with logic.
I was in control.
I was the boss.
I had this.
I looked up and saw Clarion and Anthony play-fighting with two of the mats.
Clarion was chasing him with a mat and Anthony it back with his own mat, trying to use it as a weapon to counter Clarion’s mat. But since Clarion was bigger and more powerful, he was gaining ground and narrowing the gap between Anthony and the mirror. Finally Anthony was trapped between the mirror and not just his own, but Clarion’s mat, too.
The mats were big, bulky and heavy, covered in waterproof canvas, and they came to half way up his chest. Anthony put his arms up in surrender, but I could see there was no distress in his face. He was flirting heavily.
And because of the mirror, I could see Clarion’s face too, reflected. I watched it go from playful to serious, as he leaned on the mats, pinning Anthony against the mirror and leaning his forearm against it.
Anthony was looking up at him, and then he looked directly at me.
I got such a shock from this that I felt like Luka couldn’t help seeing my reaction, if he was watching.
Anthony looked away from me, back to Clarion, he reached up and tugged on Clarion’s light auburn curtains of hair on either side of his face, smiling, and then he pushed Clarion, and the mats, away.
He didn’t encounter any resistance and Clarion followed his lead and within a few seconds they were both carrying the mats back to the pile in the corner.
I didn’t feel in control.
I didn’t feel like the boss.
Did I have this?
At six, Anthony left with Clarion.
Lucky Penny approached me cautiously where I was sitting on the floor against the mirror, reached out and gingerly patted my arm as if I was a feral dog.
“You, uh, you must be having a rough day, huh?” He said, and then smiled hesitantly at me with his round blue eyes.
He had become increasingly obnoxious as the day wore on, challenging my choices, protesting my direction and questioning my decisions.
Normally it would take me a minute to shut down a little miss who was getting too big for his britches. But I was concerned that if I so much as raised my voice, they would all rebel.
And the entire time, the burning kept coming back whenever I had to interact with Anthony.
“Maybe just go home and take a nice hot bath,” Luka whispered kindly, and then got his bag and left.
A hot bath was not what I was looking for.
Once I was alone, I took out my phone and called Angel.
“Machyl,” he answered.
“Hey,” I said, my voice quiet.
Maybe he wanted to have sex on the webcam. I had only just put away my laptop.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
“I miss you,” I said, biting my lip and sliding my hand between my thighs. I was so horny.
“You miss me, huh?”
I closed my eyes and squeezed my package through my dance leggings. A little sound escaped. “Yeah.”
“I’m with César now,” Angel said sternly.
“So?” I squeezed harder and gasped in arousal. He knew that sound. He knew it well.
“So I don’t cheat,” Angel said harshly. He sounded pissed now. “You call me up just to touch yourself?”
I sat up, anger rushing through me. “Oh, so you can do both those things? But when I do them, I’m a slut?”
“You said it, not me,” Angel rasped. “It’s different with César.”
“Why is it different?” I stood up. I was practically shouting. “Explain that to me. I’m your boyfriend, we were together for two years!”
“Because I love him!” Angel roared, then stopped, panting. “And we’re engaged.”
“No you’re not.”
“Yes. We are. We’re getting fucking married, Machyl, and then we’re leaving the US.”
“You—you’re doing what?”
“We’re getting out,” he said. “I don’t want to live in the city no more.”
“Where are you going to live?”
“Wherever. We’ll travel. César’s business is location independent. Haven’t you ever heard of location independence?”
“Didn’t you love me?” I asked. I had turned around and was looking at myself in the mirror while I said it. Even though I sort of didn’t want that one watching this.
Angel sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know, okay?”
“Well, I love you!” I retorted angrily.
“Are you so sure about that?”
“Yes,” I scowled.
“We had some fun together,” he said. “The sex was good. Right? I don’t want to be mad at you. I want you to just… be happy. Live your life. Don’t worry about me.”
“The sex was not that good,” I said.
“You know,” he said. “I kinda prefer bottoming. That’s probably why.”
“What?” My mirror self and I looked at each other in outrage.
“Yeah,” he said. He sounded a little sheepish. “Sorry if I didn’t make enough effort. I was sort of… mad at myself…”
“And why don’t you give blowjobs?” I asked.
“You didn’t complain that much.”
“Because I didn’t want to have a fight where you would go and fuck some other man to get revenge!” I cried.
“César was the only man I, uh. Ever did that to. So I kind of made it a point of principle.”
“I knew it,” I jabbed my finger in the air. “I knew you were going behind my back.”
“No, no,” he said. He sounded strangely calm. Like this conversation wasn’t bothering him at all. “We were just friends. You saw the whole thing go down. You know the story. But…” he sighed. “I wasn’t comfortable with my sexuality before I joined the army,” he said. “I had girlfriends all through high school and college. Behind their backs I was having anonymous sex with men. Low-downs and public places. Parks, restrooms. Then in the army, gay men were my brothers, fellow soldiers. And it felt better. And César changed everything. He never did the fake girlfriend thing. He was proud. And he was angry about the problems we still faced. Prejudice. Injustice. And we were brothers. One night, we got a little tipsy and… I kissed him. And I got on my knees in front of him. Which I had sworn never to do. And I loved it. Sucking his dick was like… I can’t describe it in words, I almost cry even now when I remember it. But the next day, we both pretended nothing happened. I didn’t want it to stop us being friends and now I know he didn’t either.” Angel let out a long, slow breath. “I think that did more damage than the explosions and the bullets and all the other ugly shit.”
“What did?” I asked.
While he had been telling his story I had been staring at myself in the mirror. The longer I stared, the less I felt like myself, and the more I felt like the other me, the one in the mirror, the mirror self.
“Acting like nothing happened. Denying. Denying love.”
Oh.
“We both lied to ourselves because of fear. Instead of facing that fear. That takes courage.” The tone of his voice changed. “Here he is now,” Angel said, and I could hear the smacking sound of a kiss, then Angel laughing and calling César Papi.
That was what I was supposed to call Angel.
“Hey, Machyl, you doing okay?” It was César now.
“Yeah, I’m good, thanks, César,” I said in a flat and lifeless voice.
“Did Angel tell you the good news?”
“Congratulations,” I said. “Have you set a date?”
I heard chuckling from Angel. “Don’t tell no-one, okay, Mach, we’re eloping.” More chuckling.
“We’ll send you a post card from somewhere,” C
ésar said. “Now we have to make dinner. Keep it real, Machyl.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “You too, César. Bye, Angel.”
They hung up.
“Handsome.”
I looked up to see 80s smirking at me as I approached the reception.
“80s,” I said, pausing at the counter. “Where are the showers?”
He blinked. He knew I knew where they were, because I had used them every day this week so far.
Not only that, the door to the locker rooms was ten feet to my left.
He raised his hand and indicated. “Just there, sir.”
I held his gaze just a little too long, until I felt electricity start to coil below my belly button, and then I licked my lips. I could feel my own face growing hot as I continued to hold his eyes. They were plain brown, lighter than some.
“I need you,” I said, enunciating carefully. “To show me.”
His Adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed, hard. He cleared his throat, looked left and right around the reception area, and then gave me a bright smile. “I’ll be with you in a second, sir. Let me just lock up first.”
He took a set of keys out of a drawer and as I walked toward the locker rooms, I heard him coming out from behind the desk. I glanced behind. He was turning the Open sign around to read Closed.
The locker rooms were, in fact, empty, as I thought they would be. It was only when I had noticed the Maintenance sign on the door to the swimming pool that I realized why the place was so quiet.
Even so, I knew there wasn’t much time.
Someone could come in from Persimmon at any time to use the showers.
I stripped off lightning fast and hung the clothes over the shower curtain rail, then soaped myself in record time.
I heard the door open and bare feet padding down the tiles of the row of showers. Then the shower next to mine turned on and I heard the whispery sound of clothes being removed.
And then 80s slipped behind the shower curtain, stark naked and boasting a fat, pink boner.
I couldn’t help licking my lips as I looked at his body, which was just as nice as I had thought it would be. His muscles were toned and well-defined, strong but not bulky. He had visible tan lines and I noted the hair on his legs, because I liked the friction that provided at certain times.
Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2) Page 18