So, I would have kindly told Anthony, in the interests of themselves and everyone, they should both be looking elsewhere.
Clarion Call in particular, I could direct to the reception of Persimmon Dance Studios. I was currently avoiding 80s but that didn’t mean Clarion had to.
Anyway, that was all stuff I would have done before—before— I didn't really know how to explain what had happened that made there a before and an after. But there was.
And then he did the last thing I expected him to do. He leaned forward on his elbows on the bed and smirked at me. “Do you really only like hairy, muscly, butch men?”
He held out a finger and playfully poked my calf, which was within reach. I withdrew it in shock.
“I—” I drew my legs up and pulled the bedclothes up to my shoulders. “I like athletic guys,” I protested. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, nothing.” He licked his lips, his eyes dark. “But so many boys who do drag are so hot.”
I swallowed. Hard.
“I guess you don’t like that.” He licked his lips again. “When they’re all lean and their muscles are flat, and they have these long, smooth legs.” He swallowed and I saw his Adam’s apple rise and fall. “And they look pretty, and they act it too.”
Like an animal backed into a corner by a hunter with an electrified pitchfork, I cowered before Anthony Alcantara.
The animal looked wildly for an escape, and if it had found the smallest possible hole in the wall, it would have turned and forced itself through, claws scrabbling on the tunnel walls, to get away.
“DT served cocktails,” Anthony continued. “Luka and Harley left after one.” He looked down, then up at me again. “Ellegrandé did too. She said she was leaving right away for a meeting.”
The hair on my arms and the back of my neck rose slowly. Each and every hair.
“Clarion and I stayed,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “He was a bartender, you know. He made another drink. It was really nice. And then he—he kissed me.”
I couldn’t move. I was aware of how ridiculous my position was, curled up with the covers pulled up my chest like I really was an animal trying to burrow away.
Anthony swallowed again, sitting up straighter and meeting my eyes, which I didn’t want to do, but I couldn’t look away. I had to look at him, I had to drink him in, everything about him, how he looked, what he wore, how he smelled, the sound of his voice. I had to have all of it, crashing in on me, through my fear.
“And then we,” Anthony said. “We had sex in the dressing room.”
He held my gaze and then a smile of triumph spread across his face and he tipped his head to the side and just grinned at me gleefully, and he laughed. He tipped his head back and laughed.
My limbs felt petrified as if they were wood that had turned to stone, but I unbent my legs and crossed them under the sheets.
I cleared my throat. “Um,” I said. “DT told me tonight that he’s dropping that rule.”
I didn’t know why I had told him.
Why didn't I just let him keep thinking it was against the rules?
It seemed to make him so happy.
“You just have to go and ruin everything, don’t you?” He shook his braids, then cracked a grin.
I took one look at him and laughed, and he laughed too.
“Wait,” he said. “That was a joke, right?”
I shook my head right back at him. “This is for reals,” I said. “Duane officially doesn’t care any more.”
“What!” Anthony smacked the comforter. “After I created this whole big act of rebellion??”
“Rebel?” I deadpanned. “Did you ever even fuck your drag mother?”
He clapped his hands over his mouth and stared at me over them with wide eyes. My lips were trembling with the effort of repressing the smile as the full impact of the joke sunk in.
He screamed and hit the mattress with both hands, pounded on it, and I screamed with laughter. And we both laughed ourselves silly.
And not long afterward, when he had left to go to bed and I had turned off the light and was lying there in the dark, my legs throbbing and aching, and exhaustion rapidly pulling me down into the arms of sleep, I felt like the bubble had survived intact.
And I felt warm and I felt good and I felt a tenderness inside me, behind my ribcage, that was sensitive to his proximity, it sensed when he was near.
And it wanted him.
It wanted him.
I would do it. I would do it soon.
But when he knew, he would hate me again.
And maybe. No, probably.
No. Definitely.
He would definitely never want to see me again. He would never want anything to do with me, ever again.
He wouldn't forgive, that was for sure.
He wasn't going to forgive once he knew everything.
I would tell him. Soon.
Just not yet.
Not yet.
My gown flowed and fluttered around me in the strong wind. I was glad I had my dark shades, because it was even brighter up here.
There was nothing but the big blue sky, huge, wide, stretching on forever everywhere I looked, pure dazzling azure blue, but when I looked up, and kept looking up, I could see up through it and see it darkening to such a deep blue that must be the edge of space.
“Sister,” the voice made me turn.
She was clinging to the cross bar, and I was holding on to the spine with one above her head while my other arm was around her waist, securing her to the kite where my hand gripped the spine behind her back.
There was a white chiffon scarf around her head and neck like an old Hollywood starlet, and she was holding onto it with one gloved hand to try to stop it blowing away, as her long, flowing black hair spilled out from underneath it and whipped around in the wind.
“Don’t look down,” she said. “It’s too far.”
But I did anyway, I looked down and the silver desert sea of glitter was there beneath us, so, so far beneath that it took my breath away. But I wasn’t afraid of falling, I didn’t cling on any tighter to the kite frame.
“I think it’s blowing us that way,” I said. “Can you see?”
She turned. “Yes.” She looked back at me. “I think that’s a place for us.”
She had been looking at the place where the silver desert ended and another land began. I could see a castle rising out of the landscape, forested hills and rolling green pastures.
“Do you think so?” I asked, and tears slipped out from under my sunglasses.
She raised her hand to my face. “Sister, look.”
When I looked, I saw a diamond, a pearl and a crystal in the palm of her gloved hand.
“Beautiful,” she said, and blew them on a kiss out onto the wind. Then she raised her hand to my face again and looked at me. “Beautiful,” she said, and pulled me toward her and kissed my lips.
When we looked up again, the castle was so much closer and we could see details of the landscape approaching. A unicorn running through a forest glade. Maidens throwing a golden ball back and forth with strange creature with wings and horns.
“So long, silver desert,” she said as we left it behind. “Dear, your pearls are falling again.”
“It’s alright,” I said, holding her tighter. “I’m not sad.”
We turned and faced the new land together.
Beauty drifted past beneath us. Music filled the air and gorgeous scents threaded through the wind, sweet, smoky, spicy, wild and unbridled and free, and I kissed her again and again as pearls and diamonds and crystals fell in our wake.
Done Day
I woke up on my stomach in broad daylight. I groped for my phone, suspecting I had overslept again.
Yes. It was after eleven.
I rolled onto my side and curled up, a smile spreading over my face. I stretched luxuriously, tensing my arms and legs and taking in a huge, yawning breath.
My legs still ached, but the
pain seemed duller now. Probably as soon as I got out of bed and tried to walk, they would scream in protest. But for now they felt okay.
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the softness of the sheets and the pillow and let my thoughts drift.
On the run yesterday I had been thinking about what would have happened if it had been different from the beginning. If we had included Anthony as a full member of the team. If we had included him as a friend.
So many things would have gone differently, as a result.
So many things.
I could remember it very clearly. It had been a pretty routine weeknight, at the end of the night after the late show, which started at one am.
Damaris had taken to her room not long before, and Brooklyn only did the late show on Friday and Saturday nights. Miss Tata was already backstage and back in civilian attire by the time we finished, and she stayed for ten minutes to help with undressing and then slipped out the back.
So it had been just me and Miss Fine Bone China untucking and scraping the gunk from our faces.
“Giltie Conshens,” Bone China said, glancing at me in the mirror.
“Miss Fine Bone China,” I said, using a cotton bud along my eyelashes to make sure everything was gone.
“Do you know anything about Miss Tata’s relationship status?”
I remembered stopping, turning around slowly to look at the real-life China, raising my opera glasses and peering at her through them.
She saw me doing it. “Oh, Miss Giltie Conshens,” she smirked. “I merely ask out of idle curiosity. I get—” she gave a little fake yawn, “so damn bored these long nights. One can’t help but start to wonder about one’s compatriots’ doings.”
“One thing I know,” I looked her up and down. “You don’t need to be doing your cum-patriots. Looking for a way to spice up your long nights, can I suggest heat rub.” I screwed up my face and panted as if my member was burning. I switched to an infomercial smile. “Just gives a girl’s tinkle that extra tingle.”
Bone China snorted, then fluttered his eyelashes and held his hand to his heart. “Imagine my surprise to learn, as a wide-eyed innocent Ukrainian-Chinese girl straight from the lush green pastures of London, England, that the drag queens of New York all use deep heat as a lubricant gel.”
I crossed my arms and sat back, trying to keep a straight face. Bone China was good.
“Of course I was nervous at first,” Bone China’s eyes opened wide. “Concerned about my tender parts burning inflamed for hours to come. But soon I learned why they call it deep heat,” she winked. “Oh yes,” she moaned. “Get it deeper, I want to feel the buuurrrrn,” she rocked back and forth on her chair, then stopped abruptly.
“Turns out in New York, the men come off an assembly line, every one perfect, square-jawed, bulging, chiseled, with those nice big nipples that are always erect, along with something else. It’s every girl’s dream. Except…” she sighed, “all that perfection gets a little tiresome after a while. Boring, even. All those faceless beefcakes become a little…interchangeable. The heat, once so exciting, fades away. And that’s why we’re so grateful for those little tubes of fire.” She grabbed a tube of hand cream from her station and held it aloft. “To give us back the excitement we crave.”
She tossed the hand cream over her shoulder and it clattered on the floor, skidded and ended up under the counter on the opposite side of the room. She went back to removing her make up.
I did a slow clap.
“Seriously,” Bone China said. “This rule is naff. It’s fucking stupid.”
I remember how I wriggled on my seat as if to plant myself more firmly, then looked at her in the mirror. “You want to know about La Tata?”
Bone China looked at me, then went skeptical. “Machyl, seriously, I’m just asking if you’ve heard anything. Is he single? He never talks about it.”
I picked up the moisturizer, squeezed some into my palm, and started applying it to my face. The make up remover was harsh on my skin.
“I’ve heard things,” I said. “Many things.”
He rolled his eyes, losing patience, stood up and started pulling on a pair of jeans.
“You do realize he’s a virgin?” I said, massaging in the moisturizer in small circles.
He scoffed and did another eye roll, pulling on a tank top over his jeans. This conversation took place in the summer, June, I thought.
“Alright, just forget I asked,” he muttered, dragging his leather satchel out from under the counter and slinging it over his shoulder.
“I’m serious,” I remembered saying, smiling inside while keeping a straight face. “Ask him, why don’t you?”
He rolled his eyes again, even bigger this time. “I will,” he snapped. “Anything to shut you up.”
“Mmmmmmm girl,” I pursed my lips and shook my head very slowly. “That’s what I heard. That little pink rosebud ain’t never been—”
“Shut it,” Marcus snapped. “You can’t stop, can you? You have to keep it up, twenty four hours a day.”
I turned back around and continued applying my moisturizer.
“Can’t you just leave him alone for one second?” He ran his fingers through his hair until it stood on end. “It drives me mad, it honestly does!”
I smirked at him. “Miss Fine Bone China has got it bad…”
“Fuck off,” he took off out the door, letting it slam behind him, and when I heard the artists’ entrance door close, that slammed, too.
I remembered sighing and then smiling at myself in the mirror.
But as I lay there in bed, not ready to wake up yet, I thought of what it would have been like if we had done it differently from the start.
The scene would be the same, except Marcus, Anthony and I would all be taking off our make up. Then Marcus would be finished and leave, saying good-bye to us both.
We took our time, not rushing. Duane had gone to bed early that night, leaving the bar staff to serve. Yes, in my alternate history, DT was willing to hire actual bar staff, as opposed to just one bottle boy to do the heavy lifting and wash the glasses.
When Anthony was finished, he got up and sat on the counter next to me, watching me. I finished and wiped my hands on a towel, stood up, my chair scraping against the floor.
He smiled coyly and leaned back on his hands, watching me as I approached him, gently took hold of his knees and pushed them apart so I could lean against the counter in between them.
I made eye contact with my mirror self over his shoulder and we gave each other a look of understanding.
His hands reached around my hips and as I bent down, he whispered in my ear, “Careful.”
I drew back to look at him. “Why?”
His hands moved around and over my butt. “Cause you’re making me need you.”
“Should I be worried?”
He locked his legs behind my thighs, reached up and pulled my neck down, his lips brushing my ear. “Very worried.”
Okay, and that was going to stop right there.
I grabbed a pillow and pulled it over my head, pressed down hard. I wasn’t allowed to fantasize about him. I knew that. I should be able to think about the past without it dissolving into a wanton mental fuckfest.
I sat up in bed and pushed the bedclothes back. The dressing room fantasy had only increased my morning boner.
I wasn’t going to think about it.
I wasn’t going to think about fucking him over the make up counter in the dressing room instead of it being Clarion.
I wasn’t going to think about fucking him in the storage closet instead of it being Marcus.
I wasn’t going to think about him sucking my dick in Calleen Jones’ old bedroom instead of it being Damaris.
Just because I had started being nice to him didn’t mean that he was going to be attracted to me. It didn’t mean he was going to like me. It didn’t mean we would have become a couple.
I was thinking about everything all wrong.
I
had to be nice to him because it was the right thing to do. Not because it would make him like me.
Because he wouldn’t, in either sense of the word. Either as a friend or as anything else.
That was just the way it was, it was all I deserved, and I should start getting used to it pretty soon.
I wasn’t going to mope and pine and be unhappy. I was going to get over it. There, I had decided. As of right now, I was over it.
Done.
Just like that.
That was how I had done everything, through sheer willpower and determination and sometimes just good old-fashioned endurance. I sat down and just did it.
That was how I maintained perfect grades in high school and college. That was how I performed at the club until two am several nights a week and still worked twelve hour days at the office.
Once I decided to do something, that was it.
The fact that I had overslept again was proof that this—this—I didn’t want to use the word obsession. That was the word Damaris had used, and I didn’t want her to be right.
It was proof that this interest in Anthony was not healthy. I had also procrastinated with texting him, and I did not procrastinate.
It was—it was all just wrong.
I knew what I needed to do. I knew exactly what I needed to do. I needed to have sex with 80s.
For real this time.
I was going to ask 80s out on a date tonight.
We were going to House of Cosmosis.
And we were going to drink and slow grind and then I was going to take him back here, to this very bed, and he was going to fuck me.
“Morning.”
I looked up. Anthony was on my couch in Angel’s robe again.
“Do you ever get dressed before one pm?” I asked, passing him on the way to the kitchen.
“Do you ever wake up before one pm?” He retorted.
“Yes,” I replied indignantly. “I just overslept, that’s all.”
You’re the one who made me oversleep, I didn’t say.
I opened the fridge and surveyed the contents, then wrinkled my nose.
Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2) Page 28