Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2)

by Malachite Splinters

  “What shit?” I asked.

  “That ballad-y crap,” Clarion replied. “I know we’re post-irony, but—” Clarion stuck his finger in his mouth and mimed gagging. “Clarion Call is post-post-irony.”

  I gazed at him. “Girl,” I said. “Your dinner parties must turn into Donner parties if that’s how lost you leave folk when you talk. We’re trying to follow you up Avenue X, but you’re losing us in the wilderness here.”

  Clarion Call quirked an eyebrow at me. “Well, any excuse to eat a sister…”

  She glanced at Tata, who immediately started blushing all over her face. I didn’t think Anthony quite appreciated how rosy his face got when he was embarrassed.

  “Sorry, what are you talking about?” Luka asked obliviously. “I don’t understand drag slang.”

  I repressed a huge sigh.

  Why, Lord. Why?

  “I was telling Clarion that he lost me,” I said. “I couldn’t follow what he was saying about irony.”

  “Ohhhhh,” Luka said. “Okay, I didn’t get it either.”

  Anthony shrugged. “Me either.”

  Now it was Clarion who sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing that ballad. It’s not me.”

  “Omg I love that song,” Lucky enthused. “I’ll do it.”

  I tried not to massage my temples and scream.

  “This isn’t up for negotiation,” I said firmly.

  I had gone too easy on Clarion Call on Saturday, worried about asserting myself about what happened with Anthony just before. But now he was getting ideas above his station, and I needed to squish it before it went any further, like a bug under my shoe.

  Clarion knitted his eyebrows and looked at me skeptically. “Oh, I think it is,” he said, and curved his lips into an obnoxious smirk.

  Then he stood up and addressed Anthony. “Can I talk to you outside?”

  Outrageous. I should never have let him question me on Saturday. This had already gone much too far.

  I stood up and squared off to him. He was taller than me, but I wasn’t about to let that intimidate me.

  “I said what I said,” I said. “And it stands. And you can’t be having private meetings right now. This is a rehearsal.”

  He stared back at me, his pale green eyes filled with amusement and his lips tight as if he was about to burst out laughing.

  The other two stood up slowly, both looking rather nervous.

  “Come on, Anthony,” Clarion stuck out his hand to him and waved him over as he started walking away.

  Anthony looked at Clarion, then his eyes darted back as if he was going to look at me, but decided against it at the last moment, and then he walked away and followed Clarion out the door of the studio.

  I stood there and felt my face getting hot. I couldn’t believe I had actually started thinking—

  I didn’t. I didn’t think.

  I didn't think anything.

  I was just going to shut down that idiotic little thought right there. Not even shut it down. I was going to put a dome on top of it and annihilate it in a controlled explosion.

  I couldn’t believe how stupid I was.

  I had even walked straight past 80s without a word when I came into the building with Anthony fifteen minutes ago. Well, it was time to rectify that little mistake.

  So Miss Clarion Call thought she could walk right in and start running the place? She probably had her beady little green eyes set on headliner, too. I didn’t think so.

  I turned to Lucky Penny, who was standing there awkwardly. “Luka,” I said, taking care not to address her by her drag name, since she apparently took issue with that. “Do you think Harley would like to join us for the debut of our new show?”

  “Oh my god,” Luka’s eyes twinkled and he clasped his hands over his chest. “He would love that. He still loves going to drag shows.”

  “I don’t think…” I said carefully. I didn’t know Luka that well, not well enough to know how to approach him on this, so this was a gamble—but one I had to take.

  Damaris thought we had to have a Contessa for the club to survive. But as Anthony had pointed out, that was impossible to make happen and pretty unlikely.

  There had to be something else we could do and I wasn’t about to just lie down and let the club die a slow painful death—especially with Duane Tyrone’s strange new attitude.

  He seemed to think he was doing the right thing, when in fact he was leading us to destruction. For the good of the club, I had to stop him.

  “I don’t think Harley would want to dress up in the matching outfit to your outfit, would he. I mean, that would be a really bad idea.”

  “Matching outfit?” Lucky echoed. “You mean, the matching Madame Clause outfit from last Christmas?”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “It wouldn’t look good at all to have the two of you onstage together.”

  “You mean, like, the two of us onstage together?” Luka repeated as if he had just thought of it himself.

  He was cute, but he wasn't the brightest, Luka Pennworth.

  “Oh, no,” I said in a concerned voice. “A married couple would have to have a very close and strong relationship to be able to go up on stage together in drag. I mean, really, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that working before…”

  Luka stuck his chin out, the pugnacious look coming back into his eye. “Then we’ll be the first,” he declared, stamping his little first. “Harley and I can do anything, as long as we do it together. We have a very strong marriage.”

  He looked me in the eye and poked his index finger into my pec.

  “You’ll see,” he said. “You won’t believe how well we’ll perform together.” He looked around, then started patting his pockets. “I’m going to call him right now,” he muttered.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” I said. “I’ll be back.”

  I smiled to myself, took a deep breath, and went out the door. It was still a few minutes before seven and I was going to take care of some unfinished business before DT arrived.

  “80s,” I pulled up to the reception where he was, as usual, cracking his gum. His blue and pink hair had been retouched and was super bright today, glowing neon under the big industrial white lights hanging on chains from the ceiling.

  He raised his eyes and looked at me like he had a sour ball in his mouth instead of the cherry-flavored gum I could smell from here. “Can I help you, sir?”

  I bit my lip. I didn’t feel guilty for ignoring him when I came in here with Anthony today. I wasn't going to lead him on by smiling and flirting when I wasn't interested.

  But now I was interested again.

  I let my eyes linger over 80s’ nicely shaped shoulders and arms in his tank top.

  He saw me looking and leaned back on the high stool he was perched on, and he uncrossed his legs and spread them. He was wearing yet another pair of those goddamned pastel almost-see-through leggings and I could see the outlines of the zebra-print briefs underneath and the rather distinct outlines of what was underneath those.

  I didn’t bother to hide the fact that I was looking. He wasn’t bothering to hide the fact that he was showing.

  “Cosmosis tonight?” I asked.

  He sat up, but didn't close his legs. It was actually really distracting now. The longer I stared at the curvature of his balls, the more I wanted to just get him into the locker room again.

  “Yeah,” he said, meeting my eyes. “But why wait?”

  We both glanced at the locker room entrance a few feet away. I looked at the clock mounted on the wall above the reception area. It was a couple minutes after seven.

  “I don’t have much time,” I muttered.

  “You won’t need long,” 80s leaned across the desk, propping his arms on the counter, whispered into my ear. “Not with your big boy in my mouth again.”

  My eyes closed and the breath whooshed out of my lungs. I glanced at the locker room again.

  “I’ll check if the coast is clear,” he breathe
d, his hot, moist breath making me shiver deep inside and then I felt his tongue and the warm grasp of his lips as he sucked my earlobe into his mouth.

  A sound came out of my throat and heat rushed to my groin. I had just imagined it was Anthony doing that. I could almost smell his sweet fragrance in place of 80s’ cherry-flavored breath.

  “I’ll do it,” I said, pulling away. “My drag mother is about to arrive any minute.”

  I walked briskly toward the locker room, thinking that I should never have become de-interested in 80s in the first place.

  I had decided to stop liking Anthony this morning, and look where that had gone. In the complete opposite direction.

  While we ate brunch and then walked around, I had had butterflies in my stomach the entire time. The colors had all been brighter and where I lived looked new, like I was seeing it for the first time, like I was seeing it through Anthony’s eyes.

  No, I wasn’t a puppy love sixth grader who just sent their first love note. It was time to get back with the program again.

  I had decided to fuck 80s this morning, and I was going to go through with it, dammit.

  I walked around the corner of the locker room entrance, expecting it to be empty as it had been every time I had come in here all week.

  It wasn’t empty.

  I hadn’t seen any sign of Anthony and Clarion when I left the studio. They hadn’t been just talking in the hallway, which was kind of what I had expected.

  Nope.

  They were on a bench in the locker room, barely blocked by a tall row of lockers, Clarion seated and Anthony half-kneeling on the bench, half-on top of him, his legs splayed across Clarion’s lap, their mouths melded together in urgent passion, Clarion’s hand pulling down the back of Anthony’s work out leggings, exposing his ass, one cheek of which he squeezed, and then, in a flash, pushing him back on the bench as Clarion climbed on top and I saw Anthony reach up and start to fumble frantically with the drawstring of Clarion’s gym shorts and they kept kissing.

  I turned around and walked right out. I swore I hadn’t watched more than three seconds. They had been moving fast. A lot had happened in a short space of time, within a couple of heartbeats.

  My face felt like a furnace and my heart was racing furiously as I walked back into the reception area to find DT at the reception, chatting with 80s.

  He caught sight of me and I made a slashing motion with my hand across my throat, then went up and put my hand on DT’s shoulder.

  “Hey, mama,” I said, hoping I sounded normal and not as if I was trying to list the prime numbers in my head to suppress the arousal that was beating at my insides like a battering ram trying to break down the castle doors.

  Which was what I was doing.

  “Machyl,” DT said, in a voice that suggested he was not in the mood for drag talk.

  I looked at 80s, then at DT.

  Oh.

  “What’s your number?” 80s asked me obliviously, his phone at the ready. I gave it to him and he winked at me, which was not going to help.

  I put my arm around DT’s shoulder, giving 80s a nod as I led DT away swiftly. Well. As swiftly as was possible. DT’s back was clearly still giving him pain because he was going pretty slow and limping slightly.

  “Angel and I broke up,” I said once we were out of earshot.

  “When?” DT asked. He didn’t sound concerned, but I knew he was annoyed at me for interrupting his attempts to flirt with 80s.

  I didn’t really want to say. “That’s a matter of debate,” I said, which was true. Angel had been saying it for a while before I believed it.

  DT didn’t say anything, but he did scoff ever so softly, and I could instantly tell he was judging. Duane Tyrone Johnson probably thought a man should lock up his johnson for half a year or more after a break up.

  “Miss Ellegrandé,” Clarion Call called in what I now recognized as her drag voice, and came up to DT from behind and hugged him.

  Well.

  That was fast.

  I was aware of Anthony coming up behind and I turned away, unable to even risk looking at him. My entire body was tense and on edge and I felt like I could sense his proximity without even looking at him and if he came too close, I was going to burst into flames.

  Flames of what, I didn’t know—

  Wait.

  No.

  I knew.

  I had had this feeling before. I’d had it yesterday when I saw him and Clarion in the dressing room. I’d had it when I walked in through the artists’ entrance a week ago and come face to face with Anthony in Marcus’ arms.

  I’d had it last Sunday when I heard Damaris’ cries coming from upstairs while we were all setting the table for dinner and I knew it had to be Anthony, and it was. I’d had the same feeling then.

  I’d had it when Marcus texted me that he and Anthony had done on a date and eaten gelato in Gay Town and some strange force I didn’t understand had made me go straight over to where I knew Anthony lived and ambush him there.

  And now I knew what it was.

  Jealousy.

  The mental image of his bare bum flashed through me and I remembered this morning, with the apron, and it came crashing in on me, the difference between now and then.

  One week and the difference was…

  The distance was like I was looking over the Grand Canyon and somewhere on the other side was a small speck and if I squinted, it was waving at me. That was myself a week ago, waving at me, trying to get my attention and ask why I was so far away.

  I had been lying to myself.

  Just like Damaris said.

  I had been obsessed with Anthony Alcantara, I had been attracted to him, I had—I had liked him. And I had been willing to hurt him in order to keep up that lie to myself.

  Because how could I like someone I hated?

  I hadn’t just been willing to hurt him. I had made it my mission. I had reveled in it. I had been triumphant.

  And now I couldn’t deny it any more.

  This had been going on for a long, long time, and no matter what I did to crush, strangle, poison, drown or mutilate it, it had just gotten stronger and stronger.

  I had been holding a torch for Anthony Alcantara ever since Damaris brought him into the dressing room that first night, almost eighteen months ago.

  I wasn’t going to win this one.

  I just had to accept it.

  I was—I was infatuated with him.

  And he was never going to feel the same way, not if he lived to be a thousand years old.

  There was nothing I could do.

  I was stuck with this.

  Duane Tyrone sat there in a folding chair in front of the mirror, watching us go through the three numbers I had choreographed.

  I prayed he was picturing it with all of us in drag and visualizing how absurd it would look to have a motherfucking Christmas tin soldier dancing in the front row. I had to put Lucky Penny there because she was the next-best dancer to me.

  Add in Clarion Call’s mustache and you had a motley crew that, when paired with the sophisticated choreography (thank you) and especially the more serious ballad numbers, added up to a comedy number.

  Surely DT could see that the audience were going to end up laughing as hard as Anthony and I had last night, imagining an overweight queen in her fifties thinking she had a shot at High Queen?

  The last number came to an end and everyone stopped, waiting for DT’s judgement. He clapped politely.

  “You’ve been working hard, I can see that,” he nodded and smiled at the new girls, but I noticed he didn’t bother with Anthony. He ignored him, as he usually did.

  And today, that bothered me.

  “Does anyone else want to add something?” He asked, looking at the two girls still. “You’re both talented queens and you have your own routines and numbers.”

  I could see all of us reflected in the big mirror, except for DT, who was facing us. I knew everyone else would see any expression that cross
ed my face, so I didn’t react outwardly when DT said this.

  Inwardly, my jaw was on the floor.

  The reactions of the other two also came as no surprise.

  “I have several signature numbers,” Clarion Call volunteered. “I can do them now if you want.”

  “Thank you, Miss Clarion Call,” Ellegrandé said graciously. “Miss Giltie Conshens, cue the music. Ladies, join me in watching,” she waved at Lucky Penny and La Tata.

  I turned to look at DT in disbelief.

  Had he just ordered me to go and operate the laptop so the new girls could perform their old routines?

  We had tonight and tomorrow to rehearse and then Wednesday was the dress! Thursday was for my notes after the dress and fine-tuning and Friday we were on!

  And he was coming in here and derailing the rehearsal?

  Did he not know we still had two numbers to learn? That was learn, learn from scratch?

  This was the exact reason why I had made sure we could rehearse away from the club, away from his interference.

  But I couldn’t disobey him in front of the new recruits. It would look terrible and undermine his authority. I wouldn’t dream of doing it.

  So I went and Clarion Call came and looked over my shoulder to make sure I got the right versions.

  “Duane,” Lucky Penny piped up. “You haven’t seen my routine!”

  “Luka,” I called. I couldn’t deny him now that I had gotten him to agree to bring in Harrie Debby. He seemed to get pissed “We have to do it at the end, honey. The mats take too long to set up and take apart.”

  “Oh…” he looked disappointed.

  “We’ll stop at ten-thirty to make sure we have time, ’kay?”

  He didn't look too happy, but he didn’t say anything more.

  After ten minutes of watching Miss Clarion Call doing her thing in gym shorts and a pair of heels she had pulled out of her gym bag, I got up and left for the bathroom.

  I didn’t really need to go, but I was so annoyed by what DT had done, I just needed to get out of there.

  I kept thinking about what DT had said last night.

  Maybe the problem is you.

  I washed my hands and stared into the mirror above the sink in the men’s down the hall from the back studio.