Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2)

by Malachite Splinters

  “She’s a drum majorette,” Clarion Call said, like he finally got it.

  So she was.

  A pleated white skirt with matching pantalets, a long-sleeved military-style jacket covered in rows of gold braid and buttons, thankfully cut and fitted to a feminine figure, white gloves and that absurd hat, and in her hand, a twirling baton. The look was completed with white boots that hit the mid-calf.

  Lucky Penny was very prettily made up in a vintage style, red lipstick, minimal obvious eye shadow, a very subtle eye overall, and thin painted-on brows. I could see how skilled the contouring was all over her face, minimizing the masculine aspects of Lucky’s features and giving a much stronger impression of femininity.

  “No,” Anthony said. “Toy soldier. Forties toy soldier. I recognize the style and cut of the uniform.”

  “Bang,” Lucky cried in what I assumed was her drag voice, aiming the baton at Anthony like a gun. “You got it!”

  Lucky started twirling the baton and going through a routine.

  “I wish there was more space!” She grinned excitedly. “I could do my whole routine.”

  Obviously Harrie Debby knew what she was doing. The make up was impeccable, the styling professional, and the body looked good, too, with a small waist and proportional and well-shaped breasts, hips and butt.

  But… a nineteen-forties toy soldier slash drum majorette? Was I the only one not getting it?

  “This is from our Christmas party last year,” Lucky Penny looked at Harley. “I used to just be a toy soldier. A boy toy soldier. But then I wanted to try what Harley does and… it was so fun!” She looked at us, beaming.

  I looked at Ellegrandé again, still waiting for her to react, to say something. Anything.

  Was she actually going to have Salazar take pictures of this chick dressed like this? This was a nightclub, not a football game. Or a Christmas party.

  “This is a sisterhood,” Ellegrandé smiled graciously, folding her hands in front of her stomach. “And I’m so honored to have you with us.”

  I couldn’t believe it.

  I just couldn’t believe it.

  The buzzer went. It must be Salazar.

  “Giltie Conshens, could you—” Ellegrandé looked around for me as if I hadn’t been standing right there five feet away from her the whole time.

  She saw me, noticed that my dress was unzipped, waved me over, zipped me up and I obediently went to let him in, but I was seething inside.

  Once I led Salazar in, the girls all followed him to the green room excitedly as he started setting up. Just Ellegrandé and La Tata were still in the dressing room. It looked like they were ignoring each other.

  “Giltie Conshens,” La Tata said, meeting my eyes in the mirror, gesturing toward where her gown was gaping open in the back.

  I approached her.

  I tried to ignore the nervousness growing in me as I carefully gripped the base of the zipper with two fingers and pulled up the zipper gently, allowing her to adjust her arms and the fit as I went.

  The zip went smoothly over the fabric of her shape wear, the fabric snugly fitted to her body and hugging in all the right places. It was the orange ombré lace which Brooklyn had made for her, which also had a fishtail, like Clarion Call’s.

  “Okay?” I asked, my voice lower than I meant it to be.

  Anthony met my eyes in the mirror over his shoulder. “Uh-huh,” he replied, his tone a little breathy. As he disappeared inside I heard Clarion Call.

  “Oh my god gorgeous! Stone-cold stunner!”

  I stepped away fast and he did too, stepping into his heels, turning around and heading straight for the green room. I tried to shake it off, get it out of my head, find something to hold on to that was normal, something that would get me back in control.

  “Duane,” I hissed, latching onto the anger. “Can I speak to you please?”

  Ellegrandé gave me a very unimpressed look. It really wasn’t etiquette to refer to a queen by her street name while she was in drag, but I was too pissed to care.

  “In private,” I whispered, pointing at the door.

  She still didn’t look impressed, but she acquiesced and we went through into the corridor where the artists’ entrance was.

  “You’re not going to photograph them like that,” I said.

  Ellegrandé drew herself up to her full height of five foot eleven. “No.”

  Thank the Lord she was seeing sense.

  All Clarion Call needed was some spirit gum remover on her top lip and we would be good to go.

  As far as Lucky was concerned… I thought through the costumes we had available. Lucky Penny was a bit taller than Anthony and quite a big bigger. She wouldn’t fit into anything of La Tata’s. Lucky was definitely too short for Damaris’ clothes, and though Lucky wasn’t exactly fat, Damaris was very slim.

  Though taller, I was the closest match in terms of size. But the thought of letting her try on any of my costumes was horrifying. Brooklyn charged far below market rate, but each gown took hours of work, plus the cost of materials.

  I gritted my teeth. Okay. It would be a sacrifice. But I was willing to do it. For House Ellegrandé.

  “Salazar is going to photograph them like that.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  Ellegrandé held out her hand in the direction of the dressing room. “Salazar is going to photograph them. I told you all yesterday.”

  Had I swallowed stupid pills without knowing?

  I shook my head. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m willing to let Lucky Penny wear some of my gowns. One or two. Okay, one. That old pale lavender sateen prom dress type thing.” I scratched my head. “Now… for shoes… I don’t know if she would fit into any of ours. Tata guards her shoes with her life, you know how that is…”

  “She has her own outfit.”

  I laughed. “Mama, you are so funny sometimes. Just crack me up. Now…”

  But Ellegrandé was just looking at me hard.

  “What?” I said.

  “Let her be.”

  “M-Mama,” I stuttered. “She—she’s a toy soldier.”

  “And?” Ellegrandé lifted one eyebrow smoothly.

  I was so taken aback, I forgot to be angry. “She’s going to look like a lost Womanway cast member next to us,” I gestured at the long, elegant lines of my gown.

  “You seem surprised,” Ellegrandé said. “May I say shocked?”

  “I—can you blame me?”

  “You didn’t look these girls up on Tuesday?”

  My heart sank.

  Did Lucky even have a profile? She might still be up on Cosmosis, I guessed. I seriously doubted she had her own social media accounts or website, not if she couldn't even arrange her own tuck.

  I still felt like a fool. I looked like a fool for getting worked up about this six days after the fact. I would look like an ever bigger fool if I admitted that I had on purpose decided not to look them up.

  I had just felt that I had plenty to worry about without that.

  And I had had faith. Faith in Ellegrandé. Faith in the drag mothers.

  I looked up at her. “She can’t do the ensemble routine dressed like that. She can’t. It’s going to look bug wild and it hurts my brain even thinking about it.”

  Ellegrandé put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You’ll find a way,” she said.

  “She’s the best dancer we have,” I said despairingly. I raised my hand to my face, then remembered I had on a full face and I couldn't go mashing my hand into it willy-nilly. “And please tell me you’re going to make Clarion Call take off that lip warmer. Please, mama.”

  Ellegrandé was silent.

  “You’re not going to let this go ahead, are you?” I said in disbelief. “The girl with the mustache in there? You’re going to put her picture under the Ellegrandé name?”

  Ellegrandé was looking into the distance contemplatively. “It’s the character,” she said finally.

  “Mama,” I said. “House Ellegran
dé is home to the fishiest queens in New York. Right?” I clenched my fists and again couldn’t do it properly because of the acrylic nails. “We’re known for beautiful, feminine queens with a traditional look. How does this reflect on our brand name?”

  Ellegrandé nodded slightly, still staring off into the distance. “I can’t change character,” she said.

  “A mustache isn’t character,” I insisted. “It’s a cheap gimmick typical of her type—exactly what I would expect, if I had thought this through—”

  “What type?”

  “Clarion Blackwood is a hipdipper from Booklyn who jumps on the nearest passing bandwagon so he and his bandwagon-jumping friends can all mutually kudos each other on how edge. they are. It’s a circle jerk and it sickens me.”

  “I have no knowledge of what you speak,” Ellegrandé said in lofty tones. “Nor any further desire to listen to this gutter talk.”

  I wanted to bit my lip, but I had several layers of very carefully applied shaded, highlighted color on my lips and I couldn’t risk damaging it.

  “I saw what you saw,” Ellegrandé said. “I saw a professional, which is what we want here.”

  I couldn’t believe her attitude.

  I couldn't believe it.

  “I’m done here,” I threw up my hands. “I’m having Salazar do the group shots first. Then I’m gone. You can do the tour yourself. And good luck getting them to stay after that. No matter how much slack you cut these losers, it may not be enough. The comparisons are not favorable.”

  It was about seven pm when I went back in through the artists’ entrance, letting myself in as quietly as possible.

  I had had Salazar do all the group shots first. And then I had left the green room, where the couches had been pushed back and a lot of lighting equipment set up and a mini photography studio created across half the room. And I had changed and left without a word to anyone.

  I had gone to work, but the guilt of what I had said to DT kept eating away at me.

  Duane had said he was going to try to be done with the photo shoot by six, so I figured that everyone would be gone by now and I could talk to him alone.

  I had never talked back to Duane Tyrone the way I had this afternoon, not the whole time I had been at the club. You didn’t talk back to your drag mother.

  In DT’s eyes, this would be far worse than what I had done to Anthony on Sunday. Magnitudes worse.

  I felt a lot worse about Anthony, though.

  I took a deep breath as I approached the dressing room door. I did have a key for the other door, the one for the apartment, but I was too chickenshit to use it.

  I had even snuck through the artists’ entrance like I was trying to go unnoticed. Going the long way round bought me a little extra time before I had to face DT.

  I stopped, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It must be the thousandth deep breath I had taken that day.

  What I had said to DT was justified. I might have been mad. But it was justified. I was still mad at DT. I was so mad, I wanted to grab his meaty arms and shake him until he saw sense.

  I cast my eyes to the heavens and prayed for strength. If I didn’t go and apologize to him now, I was going to be in the dog house and he might start to doubt whether he should let the auditions go ahead.

  I was sure he didn’t need much persuading over these auditions. But I wasn’t making it easier for myself if he was pissed because I had given him lip.

  I let out my breath slowly, tip-toed to the dressing room door and saw that it was slightly open. I pushed it some more, then stopped, frozen solid, as something caught my eye on the other side.

  Something stopped me from opening the door all the way and going inside. I didn’t know why I didn’t just push the door open all the way and go inside.

  The door was about a third open and I held it like that. I was looking at a reflection in the mirror. There was no-one in my direct line of sight. But reflected in the mirror on the opposite side, I could see Clarion Call half-sitting on the counter, leaning back on his hands.

  A snake slithered down my insides from my chest down into my stomach.

  Kneeling between Clarion’s slightly spread legs and bent down over his crotch was Anthony Alcantara. His knees in pristine white denim were aligned on the scuffed linoleum floor with the scuffed white canvas of Clarion's hi-tops.

  His left arm lay on Clarion’s thigh and his right was pushing the material of Clarion’s open fly away from his pink, erect dick as Anthony’s tongue reached out and tasted the shiny head.

  Clarion went uh and his legs opened wider as if to invite Anthony in. Anthony’s right hand took hold of the base of Clarion’s erection as he sank his mouth down on the shaft.

  I watched his cheeks grow hollow as he came back up. I watched him work the head as his hand started to move in tandem with his mouth. All the while, his eyes were open and he was looking up at Clarion.

  I saw Clarion open his eyes and look down at him. He sat up and brought one hand to cup Anthony’s face and I could see that they were looking at each other.

  Clarion pulled Anthony up to a standing position and wrapped one arm around his lower back, his other hand still touching his face, then running his fingers along the rows of braids on the top of his head.

  I couldn’t see Anthony’s face and I wanted to more than anything else.

  Clarion closed his eyes and kissed Anthony gently, then kissed him again. Anthony’s hands left Clarion’s thighs and joined behind his neck. I could see his profile, his eyes closed, as he leaned in to the deepening kiss.

  Clarion shifted forward so he was leaning rather than sitting. He was running his hands up and down Anthony’s shoulders and back.

  Then he shifted forward again and locked Anthony between his hips and hooked one leg behind Anthony’s knee so they were flush together, Anthony’s small butt in white denim pinned between Clarion’s spread legs as the kiss became frantic.

  Clarion’s hands were in between them now, and I heard the sound of a zip and Anthony gasped and, then, let out a little moan that sent the snake in my stomach shooting downward.

  Now Clarion’s hand was on the back of Anthony’s neck and their foreheads were leaning together. One of Clarion’s hands was underneath Anthony’s t-shirt, on his mid-back. The other was between them, Clarion’s arm tensed and working.

  Anthony gasped and moaned again and I saw his white denim thrust as he leaned his head into Clarion’s shoulder.

  “Ah,” Anthony’s hand grasped Clarion’s upper arm tightly. “Ah—Clarion, yes—oh—”

  I stepped back into the hallway and started to walk away very fast. I was in the alleyway before I realized I was shaking and the taste of blood in my mouth was from biting the inside of my cheek.

  The wind felt freezing cold on my burning cheeks and I just walked faster until I was almost running.

  I still had my gym bag with me, the kind on a shoulder strap, and I was grateful to have it to put in front of me, because my cock felt like an iron bar and it kept throbbing and sending shivers through me.

  I walked and I kept walking, not seeing, fearful of what would happen if I stopped, if I thought, if I felt.

  So I kept walking into the warm fall afternoon, my breath burning in my chest and the green leaves around me from the trees planted in the sidewalk just starting to turn yellow.

  I would never walk far enough to get away.

  But for now I walked, and tried not to do anything else.

  I was pouring with sweat and dog tired when I rounded the corner of my block and approached the steps of my building to find Anthony Alcantara sitting in the shadows of the security lights on the top step.

  My heart leaped into my throat so fast and hard, I almost choked.

  I had a strong urge to turn and run back where I had come from.

  I stopped at the bottom step and he stood up and walked down a few steps. He was wearing a different outfit, a pale denim off-the-shoulder playsuit and white leather sneaker
s. The fit was very flattering, and again I wondered how he got these women’s clothes to look so good on his frame.

  “You were running?” He asked.

  I nodded. I could pretend I was still getting my breath back. In actual fact, chills were running down my body so strong that I could barely concentrate.

  “I didn’t know you went running.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t, really.

  “Are you training for a race?”

  No.

  Just trying to get what I saw out of my head.

  Except that isn’t happening. Ever.

  “What happened?” He asked.

  I rolled the hem of my running shorts between my fingers. “Nothing.”

  A slight frown appeared on his forehead. He was standing a couple of steps above me, so he was looking down at me. He was wearing tasteful silver jewelry dotted around. On his wrist, a white opal set in a flat silver bangle. His eyes were blue today.

  “I thought we were supposed to work together,” he said.

  My heart had started pounding so hard in my chest, a hollow, knocking sound like something was trying to get out. Couldn’t he hear that?

  All the same, it made me feel strangely pleased, that he had said that.

  “I…” I couldn’t speak. All I could think of was his cheeks going hollow as he sucked on Clarion’s dick. The way he kept looking up at him, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

  “You agreed this morning. Are you already going back on that?”

  “I—” rolled the hem of the shorts into a fat cigar almost to the top of my thigh, then let it out and did it again. Then I realized what I was doing and stopped. “I’ll tell you.” I wiped my hand across my forehead and it came away dripping with sweat. “I just need to take a shower.”

  He smiled faintly. “I’ll wait for you in there.”

  He pointed at the café next door, which was open til nine pm.

  I didn’t masturbate in the shower. It wasn’t that hard. No pun intended. I just turned the water on cold.

  It was actually quite refreshing.

  That was what I told myself sternly as I went back down to the café where Anthony would be waiting. I was still shivering and my brain kept trying to retrieve information about the conditions needed to induce hypothermia.