Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2)

by Malachite Splinters

  “You didn’t say anything,” he said when I slid onto the bench across from him.

  “Sorry?” I shivered, rubbing my hands together and trying to warm up.

  “Do you not want to coach me?” He asked. “If you don’t, just say it now. Don’t do this passive-aggressive thing.”

  “What passive-aggressive thing?” I said, feeling my defenses going up. “When was I passive-aggressive?”

  His jaw tightened and he shook his head. “I don’t want to start going around in circles. Or more accurately, have you lead me into the middle of a labyrinth and then disappear.”

  “Labyrinth?” I echoed, completely lost now, as if he had just done that to me.

  I thought everything was okay. He didn’t seem mad when I saw him in front of the building ten minutes ago. Or, not that mad. I had come out of it thinking the conversation was a success.

  But I had run out on him without saying a word, after agreeing this morning. Maybe he was madder than he was letting on.

  “I needed to get out of there,” I said desperately. “I went to work for a couple of hours.” I swallowed nervously. “Then I came home and, as you saw, went running.”

  The moment the lie was out of my mouth, it came back. I recognized it instantly. It was my old friend, the burning pit of shame.

  I hadn’t been able to do it.

  At the office, I had tried over and over again to pick up the phone and send him a message, just to say that I would meet him back at my place at about six in the evening.

  But I couldn’t do it.

  I finally picked up the phone and started writing a message, but kept deleting it. Then I realized that on his side, he would see the little icon that showed I was typing on the keyboard, and had shown me as typing for the last ten minutes.

  That made me so embarrassed I left the app and decided to compose the message as a separate note first, then copy-paste it into the chat. Forty minutes later, I was so frustrated I was on the verge of throwing my phone out the window of the forty-first floor.

  I kept remembering that tonight would be the first night Anthony was sleeping at my apartment. That was what he had said a couple of days ago and he hadn’t said anything since to contradict it.

  And he wouldn’t just be sleeping over tonight. He was going to be there from now on.

  I was never going to be able to orgasm again.

  My balls were going to turn black and fall off. My penis was going to go black like a banana that had fallen behind the microwave three weeks ago.

  Oh, Lord, preserve me.

  I just laid my head down on my desk in utter despair and rolled my forehead back and forth on the hard desk surface. There was no-one else there on a Sunday afternoon, so I thought I was fine until I remembered the security cameras.

  So the security company was going to see a black man behaving erratically, a possible sign of mental illness and might I pose a threat to the safety of those around me? Perfect. Just perfect.

  And I still couldn’t make myself text Anthony.

  I packed up quickly and left the building, deciding to swing back to the club before I went home.

  And that was the state I was in before I saw what I had seen at the club.

  I didn’t procrastinate. I had never procrastinated. Procrastination was for losers. It looked like I had traded masturbation for procrastination.

  I gripped the wooden bench I was sitting on hard and forced myself to speak. “I should have texted you.”

  He looked at me, then looked away, his fingers tightly interlinked on top of the rustic-effect wooden table. “Okay,” he said. He sounded defensive now, whereas before his tone had been just mad.

  “Why, though?” He glanced at me. He was playing with the sugar dispenser, rolling the fluted glass back and forth the table top at an angle just like I had rolled my head on my desk.

  It was impossible to ignore the tight feeling in my chest, the heat in my face, the tingling in my fingertips and toes.

  The tension within me was so strong, it felt like the air had turned solid, like every movement of my body was being dragged through a thick and viscous invisible substance.

  It even seemed to be affecting my vision, I couldn’t see anything properly, my eyes kept darting around, self-consciously looking for a safe place to rest, anything that wasn’t him, only to be drawn inexorably back to him like he was north on a compass.

  And every time I looked at him the heat increased and the tension tightened.

  I couldn't be having this conversation. I couldn’t even think, let alone say words. I suddenly became terrified that I was going to say something incredibly stupid.

  “Why what?” I blurted out.

  His eyes flashed. “Why do you want to coach me?”

  I opened my mouth to repeat the reason I had given him before, the logical reason, the official reason, only to find it wasn’t true any more.

  I didn’t want to do it for the benefit of House Ellegrandé.

  “I want to,” I said.

  “Why?” He pressed, leaning forward and looking boldly into my eyes.

  I almost got up and ran away for the second time that night, that was how terrified I was of Anthony coming close to me and looking at me.

  “I just do,” I said.

  “You didn’t before,” he said.

  But I did.

  I did, I did, I did.

  “If you don’t believe me, then why are you here?” I almost snapped. My defenses were rising like the fall of a brick wall in reverse. “I thought we talked about this this morning.”

  “But this morning you hadn’t run away and forced me to wait—” he held his hand out indicating my building next door, “—for two hours for you to show up.”

  I was starting to panic now.

  “How’s it going?”

  We both turned, but I was the one who was surprised to see Damaris walking toward us. She sat down on the opposite side of the table from me, on the bench next to Anthony.

  He smiled at her warmly. “Okay,” he said. “I’m just trying to find out why Machyl is willing to coach me.” He turned back to me and leaned his chin on his hand and looked at me very directly again.

  I just couldn’t stand to look into his face so directly, into his eyes. When I did, I saw myself in Clarion’s place, holding Anthony’s face tenderly, pulling him up to my level and meeting his gaze

  “Hmm,” Damaris said, smirking back at him, and then widening it until it turned into a grin. “I wonder.”

  They just sat there grinning at each other for a minute and I wondered what had happened to that whole thing Damaris had said on Tuesday, specifically, that he was thoughtless and inconsiderate and she didn’t want to be friends with him any more.

  Then Damaris looked at me and winked.

  Her words from later the same day echoed in my ears. You’ve always been jealous of my relationship with Anthony.

  The burning fire pit within me crumbled and crackled, white hot coals in the center of me, red and orange piled on top, the walls of the pit constantly threatening to collapse.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “So what has this whole week been? Sock puppetry?”

  Her grin faded and she set her mouth and sat back, leaning against the wall and looking at me down her nose.

  I glanced at Anthony, who was, as usual, gazing at her with puppy eyes. I had a comment brewing in me about how puppets had someone’s hand up their ass but I was biting down on it.

  Just a few days ago, I would not have bitten down.

  And as I sat there, the comment slipped down my throat and into the fire pit and was consumed, gone in a brief flicker and glow.

  “How long did it take him to memorize that script?”

  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t figured it out before. There were certain turns of phrase he had used that were pure Damaris.

  Oh, I liked the sassy little fiery one I had in my apartment this morning. Seeing him assertive, seeing him take no shit.
It was—

  Sexy.

  It was sexy.

  Finding out he had been reading off the back of his hand?

  Not so sexy.

  She laughed and waved me off. “Queen. Please. He improvised most of it in his own words.” She looked at him again, reached out and tugged on one of his braids affectionately.

  Of course. He had changed his hair for her, hadn’t he? Damaris wore her hair natural.

  I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t have this crush. I had to make it stop.

  It was not a crush.

  That was a middle-school word, a stupid word for drawing hearts on a piece of paper you passed during class.

  I did not have a crush.

  Admit it. You’re obsessed with him.

  Obsessed. Was I obsessed?

  “Could someone please explain to me what is going on?” I asked, giving up all attempts at being clever.

  “Look,” she said, leaning toward me. “This isn’t about you and me. Just leave that to the side for now. I’m not saying we’re friends. I’m saying we don’t have time for you to be my enemy right now.”

  So it had all been her work.

  It shouldn’t really surprise me that Anthony couldn’t turn around and suddenly have the confidence to stand up for himself overnight like that.

  She must have put him up to the— to the. To the thing he had done on Thursday.

  I’m not a virgin any more. Are you angry about that, too?

  I bit the inside of my mouth. I hadn’t thought he was being serious. I knew at the time that he was doing it on purpose to try to provoke me because of what Damaris had told him.

  It was just, at the time I thought it had come from him, not her. That was the only difference. And what did it matter? It didn’t matter.

  Just the memory of how he had looked up at me that day, when I was holding his knees down to the floor, and what he had said. It made me want to change the memory so I pulled his knees apart and crawled in between them, pinned him to the non-performance sub-floor of the back studio…

  I shook myself, hard, like a dog after a bath, and tried to think about the issues at hand.

  I could confront Damaris over what she had done to me this week or I could do what she suggested and put it aside.

  She had proved her point, they had both had a good laugh at me, no doubt about that. But I could leave that to one side for now, for our higher purpose and everything.

  Anyway… I felt alone enough as it was. I could use an actual friend.

  I uncrossed my arms and folded them in my lap. “I’m listening,” I said.

  “I want him to go to Vivesse,” she said, putting her hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “When are the auditions? Duane still hadn’t told me when he booked Salazar. The deadline is midnight next Monday.”

  “There aren’t any auditions,” I said.

  “Sweetie…” Damaris trailed off doubtfully, like she didn’t think I was trying hard enough.

  “I’ve been working damn hard on DT trying everything I can think of. He—you know he—”

  I breathed out hard in frustration. I had been about to say, He doesn’t listen to me like he listened to you.

  But that was kind of a Selfish thing to say. That was for Damaris’ ears only.

  “Machyl,” Damaris put her hand on the table, as if she was about to reach out toward me. “I think we should have included Anthony a long time ago.” She looked at him. “Okay?”

  He nodded at her adoringly. He was still in love with her. And he probably always would be.

  Damaris looked at me, and he did too.

  What did I have to lose?

  If Damaris hadn’t left, we could both work on Duane. But she had left. And nothing was the same any more. And Duane didn’t listen to me. He had never listened to me.

  “Auditions are the least of our problems,” I said. “Has Ta—has Anthony told you about that already?”

  I wasn’t surprised in the least when she nodded. Of course. Of course Anthony had probably been giving her a minute-by-minute update of every single thing that happened for the past five days.

  She sat up straighter and leaned further forward, resting her elbows on the table and tapping her nails on the hard surface. Anthony quickly adjusted his position to mirror hers, probably unconsciously.

  “Vivesse is the only thing that matters right now. Who cares about those new queens.”

  “Unfortunately,” I said. “We do have to care about them. Neither of you have seen the club this week. I was there on Wednesday. It was dead. Without live performances, there’s nothing to keep people there.”

  “But aren’t they…?” She looked between us, her eyebrows raised. “Anthony told me the new girls are…” She waggled her hand from side to side.

  I looked at him in surprise.

  Anthony looked at me and shrugged. “He’s probably going to be mad at me for saying this, but they’re not our type.”

  Damaris looked at me. “Are you mad?”

  I shook my head quickly.

  She pointed at him, still looking at me. “Are you going to start screaming at him?”

  I shook my head even harder. The coals glowed white-hot, making me want to wince. Of course he had told her. I felt so ashamed of myself once again, I wanted to hide under the table.

  But despite myself, I was also looking at Anthony, waiting to see what he would say next.

  “I was very impressed by Clarion Call,” he began.

  I actually felt my heart sink in disappointment. For a moment there I had gotten my hopes up. No. Anthony was incapable of recognizing what made a drag artist. Which left little hope for him being able to raise his own game.

  “She learned the dance moves quickly,” he said. “And her online profiles are very well-curated and she’s very active on social media.”

  I frowned slightly. He had been looking?

  “But she’s not at the level of Bone China. I think her character is lacking and overall the package just isn’t as well-rounded.”

  Huh.

  “From everything you’ve told me,” Damaris said, leaning back against the exposed brick wall, “I totally agree.”

  “And then there’s the small matter of her, ahem,” Anthony continued, folding his hands on the tabletop. “I just wanted to go over there and rip that thing off her lip. She could be so fishy without it.”

  “That shit is whack,” Damaris agreed.

  I looked at the two of them. I had never heard Anthony talk about another drag artist in that way, as if evaluating a professional. Was he parroting Damaris’ words, or had he actually learned something?

  “Luka Pennworth,” Anthony said. “Lucky Penny…” He smiled at me across the table and it shocked me so much I almost fell off my chair. “I told Damaris how her husband has to do her makeup,” he said, and then giggled. “How long did it take you to teach me how to do mine?” He asked Damaris.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she smiled at him affectionately. “You were such a fast learner.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “A girl with a mustache and a Christmas decoration. It’s not very House Ellegrandé.” He glanced at me. “What do you think?”

  He had understood. He had understood this entire time…

  I sat up straighter and smoothed my hand down the side of my head, then adjusted an imaginary curl at my temple with my pinkie finger. The other two recognized the impression and started cracking up. I said in my best Ellegrandé voice, “If we’re lucky, child, it’s actually a nutcracker.”

  We all laughed and I felt the tension which had been in me the entire conversation fall away, and for the first time this week, and probably a lot longer, I felt a little more at ease.

  Not easy. Not comfortable. Not at ease.

  But a little bit more as if I could be.

  It had been so long since I had found peace in anything other than that one moment, so brief, too brief, orgasm.

  “It’s a disaster,” I said to Damaris
. “Before I saw them in drag, I thought it could be okay. But Duane won’t do a thing about it. And we only have a week. It’s going to be a joke. I have no idea how I’m going to turn this around.”

  “This is what I’m saying, I don't think there’s any point in focusing on them.” Damaris said quietly. She looked down at the table and I saw her lick her lips. Then she glanced between the two of us and lowered her voice. “I’m the only one Duane told,” she said. “But House of Ellegrandé is in trouble. Big trouble.”

  I exchanged a glance with Anthony which made my heart jump like someone had just put an EKG to my chest.

  “He won’t let me do the books,” I said. “He’s never let me go near them—”

  “All I know is it’s been bad for a while,” she said. “It was bad before I got sick,” she clarified. She cleared her throat. “And of course it got worse after.”

  “Don’t,” Anthony said suddenly, and then enfolded her in his arms as she reached out for a hug. Her voluminous curls got in his face and he gently pushed them back.

  I felt like I was going to explode.

  “It’s not your fault,” Anthony said.

  “It’s not,” I said coldly. I couldn’t find any warm emotion to put in my voice when I was looking at that. “No healthy business depends on just one factor for survival.”

  She sat back up, pushing her hair behind her shoulder. “I know,” she said. “But it doesn’t stop me from feeling bad.” She sniffed, but I couldn’t see any tears in her eyes.

  “What did he tell you?” I asked urgently. “Did he give you any details?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “He won’t say what it is. He’s just really scared and it’s obviously bad.”

  I breathed out hard though my nostrils. “I can’t do anything if I don’t have any more information—”

  She held up her hand. “Listen to me. I’m saying, worrying about the new queens and putting together a new show is a waste of energy. If the club was in trouble when you, me and Bone China were there—sorry, Anthony—then the problem isn’t talent.”

  I nodded. “You’re right.”

  We looked at each other in understanding.

  “I have kind of a idea,” she said, then looked at both of us. “Have you heard this rumor?”