And I shut my mouth.
And awaited my judgment.
“You, Giltie Conshens, are a petty, conniving, backstabbing little madam. And what concerns me more at this juncture,” Synphonia said, pointing at Lucky. “Is what she just said about the House of Ellegrandé.”
All of the drag mothers turned to look at DT.
Ellegrandé was hunched in her chair, looking down at her lap. “It’s true,” she said. “I been too proud to tell…”
Steezy covered Ellegrandé’s hand with her own. “Be strong, sister. Be strong and tell us.”
“We don’t got enough money coming in,” Ellegrandé shrugged. “Simple as that. The rent went up again. Other costs of business went up, keep going up. I had some savings, not a lot, but I used it all up to cover the shortfall between incomings and bills due. And I ran out of that money a couple months ago. Can’t get a loan, I went to the bank more times than I can count. And now…” she sighed, shrugging. “We lost our talent…” She shook her head. “I don’t see how we’re going to keep going.”
Silence fell.
I had no idea it was that bad. No wonder DT wouldn’t let me near the books, if he was putting his own money in to cover day-to-day operations. I had always worried about whether he had enough saved for retirement. And now that was that question answered.
Synphonia thought for a while, then spoke. “Do you consider Giltie Conshens essential to your cash flow? Is she popular? Does she bring in customers?”
“Well,” DT mumbled. “She was doing okay until last night…”
I could still see the lines of angry faces, spitting hatred at me and chanting.
Expel, expel, expel—
Silence fell again among the drag mothers. By now, everyone had seen what happened.
“Mother,” Harley Dullbent sat up in his chair. “Could I propose a suggestion?”
“By all means, my dear,” Synphonia’s features softened a little at the sight of her child.
“I know this is… unconventional,” he said.
“Unprecedented, even. But it’s obvious to me that I caused, some, ah, harm to this artist’s reputation with my behavior last night. And I’d like to make up for that. I will use my platform, of course, mobilize my fans. But more than that, I’d like—with the mothers’ permission and yours, Synphonia—to offer my services at House Ellegrandé for a limited comeback run of, let’s say, three months. My presence should ensure a good turn out and I hope that will be a long enough period of time to make an actual impact on the prospects of this historic drag house.”
He looked at Ellegrandé, and Steezy next to her.
“I hope we have learned lessons from the fall of House Steezy. May we never repeat such a dark day in New York drag, not so long as I live and breathe.”
Silence followed this little speech, followed by a low muttering and whispering, as the drag mothers started to talk amongst themselves.
I saw Luka turn to Harley with big eyes and murmur, “Oh, Harl,” and hug him tightly.
“Ladies,” Synphonia looked around. Everyone was nodding. “I think we’re in agreement. Harrie Debby, we accept and grant your extraordinary proposal, supporting its spirit and commending your selflessness. Giltie Conshens, you escape expulsion, on this occasion, as we believe it would cause greater harm to your house to lose you, than to continue to host you. However, be aware that you have been given a second chance. There will not be a third. And finally, sister, Ellegrandé. We stand by you and commit to supporting you so that, as Harrie Debby so wisely said, we never lose another of our number.”
Synphonia stood up. “That concludes our sojourn. We all have shows to prepare for tonight, I’m sure.”
Without further ado, everyone began to shuffle out of the meeting room and back into the fancy office.
“Luka,” I said quietly, beckoning him.
He looked at me warily, but came and stood with me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “For what I said about—” I huffed and looked at the ceiling. “I thought Bone China wouldn’t be there long enough to make a difference.”
He looked downcast again, just as he had when I made these comments to the drag mothers.
“But I was wrong,” I said. “I can see now that even if an artist is only there for a short time, they can make a big difference.”
He was still looking at the ground, his eyes downcast.
“I mean you,” I said. “I don’t care if you’re only here until your baby is born. I’m glad you’re here.”
Luka looked up, a tentative smile lighting up his face. “Really?”
I nodded.
“I’m so embarrassed about what happened,” he muttered. “My—my mom always says I’m a show-off.” He looked at the ground and mumbled. “I hate it when I show off.”
But then he looked up, smiled again, and gave me a hug, which I returned.
The others had already left when Luka and I got back down to the street. He and Harley took off in a cab and I started walking.
I got a slice of pizza and ate it as I walked, the lights coming on in the city around me as I went.
I walked over the thin striped shadows of fire escapes, over the flapping shadow of an American flag hung from a pole mounted on a building, the shadows of ivy climbing up a brick wall.
It had been tempting to shout it out and tell the drag mothers my secret. They didn’t know I had an ace up my sleeve, and what an ace.
It was one thing to tell your house, your drag mothers and sisters. It was quite another to tell outsiders, even the drag mothers. Who knew if they would disapprove.
In a weird way, I almost wanted them to have expelled me. That way, when my day came and I was announced as a Contessa, they would have egg on their faces and they would want me back.
Synphonia in particular. She wasn't going to pass up a Contessa in her own neck of the woods. She hired at least one Contessa from overseas after every season.
And after I went to Vivesse, I was going to have job offers from every corner of the world. I could go wherever I wanted.
New York drag would be begging me to come back.
Grovelling, even.
I’d like to see that.
Oh, I was looking forward to that part.
I had always tried to do what was best for me and House of Ellegrandé. That was what Damaris and I tried to do. Being Selfish didn’t have to mean taking away from your house.
At least, that was what I believed.
I had been wrong.
Obviously, I had been wrong. The evidence for that needed to be pounded into me good and hard before I accepted it, but now I did.
I would be putting myself first from now on.
Selfish all the way, that was me.
That was Giltie Conshens.
Sunday
“Giltie.”
I looked up from sweeping a long line of electric blue liquid eyeshadow across my eyelid. I raised my eyebrows. “Clarion Call.”
“Giltie Conshens,” Clarion Call looked at me in the mirror, smirking. “Is is true what they say about you?”
I didn’t roll my eyes. I just took out my opera glasses and held them up and peered through them, looking Miss Clarion Call up and down.
“Sure is,” I deadpanned. She had walked right into it. “I fucked your boyfriend last night.”
Well, it wasn’t finessed.
But it was quick and effective.
But Clarion didn’t go ahead and just carry on the read in character, dancing on the fine line between insult and joke in six-inch heels, which was in a nutshell, the art of the read.
Clarion glanced across the room at Anthony, who had looked around when he heard me speak.
And instead of jumping on Clarion’s reticence like a leaping tiger and delivering a stunning textual analysis, I clammed up like a mollusk and turned back to my make up.
I was so hot with embarrassment, I felt like I was suspended over a pit of glowing coals. I had never backed d
own during a read before.
What was wrong with me?
I wasn’t going to look at Anthony.
I looked at Anthony. He was just stepping into his heels, standing up and bending over the counter to fluff his long wig. He must have gotten there really early.
He saw me looking and glanced at me.
“See something you like, Giltie Conshens?” He said in his drag voice. He didn’t have a particularly deep normal voice, so he was able to increase the pitch quite high.
I always had a reply ready. Always. That was why I was known as the Queen of the Ballroom. I was a master of the two main arts of the Ball: the vogue, and reading.
But right now I had nothing.
Except it felt like the heat had been turned up on that bed of coals I was floating above.
“If you do,” Anthony raised one eyebrows delicately. “Don’t try it on. I can’t be having your fat ass tearing the seams on my couture gowns.”
Clarion Call chuckled. “She said it.”
I didn’t say anything. I just tried to go back to my make up.
“I’ll be on stage if anyone needs me,” Anthony declared, swishing into the green room in another new gown.
I knew what Anthony had done. I wasn’t stupid enough to not see that.
He had listened to what Damaris said, that she thought I was attracted to him, and he decided to see if he could play that to his advantage.
And I had fallen for it. His sexual comments last week. His gradual increase of friendliness. His asking for advice about sex. Kissing me at the club. It was all leading up to one very specific goal: to get me in a vulnerable place, and then plunge in the knife.
And that was exactly what he had done yesterday morning when we—when I—
When we had to use a condom.
If it didn’t hurt so damn much, I would be impressed.
I was impressed.
My heart was bleeding, hemorrhaging, it had been seeping through my insides and filing me up until I was a walking bag of blood. But I was impressed.
Not long after Anthony left the dressing room, Clarion Call, who was still only half dressed, followed him into the green room and closed the door behind him.
I felt a terrible stab of jealousy as I wondered if they were still an item.
The doorbell rang. It wasn’t the artists’ entrance. It was the door on the opposite side of the building, the apartment entrance.
I got up because I didn't want to sit in this room another minute. I opened the door and almost fell over in surprise.
“Damaris,” I said.
“Hey, Mach,” she said, hugging me.
“I haven’t heard from you since Monday,” I said. “What’s—How are you?”
“I’m good,” she said, smiling. “Come on, let’s go through,” she said, pointing to the dressing room.
I wanted to ask why she was here, but I suddenly felt out of my depth, like things had been changed and no-one had told me, and for some reason I was afraid to ask.
This was weird. Something weird was going on.
She started to go to her old station, which now belonged to Lucky Penny, then stopped, and just sat on the counter on the opposite side of the room.
“So…” she said. “I saw what happened on Friday.”
“I haven’t looked,” I said. I was just going to pretend everything was normal. “I can’t.”
“It was everywhere,” she said. “Like, my newsfeed exploded.”
“Damaris,” I said. “I would think my life was over. My career was over. But something happened yesterday—I didn't get a chance to tell you yet…”
Actually I hadn’t wanted to tell her. I didn’t want to tell things to people who were going behind my back and puppeteering others to say things to me.
“I know,” she whispered. “Vivesse, right?”
I frowned. “How—?”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Who told you?”
With her eyebrows still raised, she looked me up and down. “Who do you think?”
No. No, no, no.
He had just told her—just like that?
She wasn’t in House Ellegrandé any more.
There was a circle of trust. No matter what, there was a circle of trust. That kind of thing, Vivesse nomination, that stayed in the circle.
Well, that was what I would have thought. Now the scales were falling from my eyes and I realized I should not have ben surprised.
Of course I would have told her. I was planning to tell her, I had just been doing other things.
And now I didn’t get to tell her.
Anthony had taken that from me!
Four years of friendship and all those dreams and plans of this pageant, and now I didn’t get to tell Damaris.
Unbelievable.
My jaw tightened. “Did you sleep with him?” I hissed.
She looked at me disdainfully. “When?”
I crossed my arms. “Did you peg him?”
She leaned back with one hand on her hip, pursing her lips and looking me up and down some more. Finally she said, “I offered…”
“But…”
“But he turned me down,” she said.
“He did?” I grabbed this like a drowning man at a drifting piece of plastic waste. I didn’t know why.
“Machyl, I’m seeing someone now. So I don’t want to talk about that no more.”
“You’re seeing someone?” I repeated.
She nodded.
“Is it someone I know?”
She shook her head.
I gaped. I thought I knew everyone Damaris knew. And for her own reasons, Damaris didn't really date.
“Damaris— what the hell happened? It’s been like four days?”
She shrugged. “A lot can happen in two weeks. I left two weeks ago tomorrow.”
“If you won’t tell me who he is, then what about your new roommate? Does that mean you don’t have to go to a shelter?”
She nodded. But then she said, “I don’t want to tell you now.”
Okay. So that was it. Something was happening that no-one was telling me about.
I knew how this would go. They would deny it if confronted. In the past I would have gone on the warpath about this.
But now I didn’t care any more. It didn’t matter. And I wasn’t going to do anything.
Anthony came back through the green room door with Clarion behind him. His face lit up when he saw Damaris and they hugged warmly and Damaris fussed over his gown.
“Isn’t she just the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen?” She asked Clarion, tsjuzing Anthony’s wig.
Anthony looked all embarrassed and waved her away.
“So what did you change your drag name to?” Damaris asked. “Did you decide on a name?”
“Anthony Alcantara,” Anthony said, smiling. “Just my name.”
I didn’t know he was changing his name. That must be why it didn’t say La Tata on the running order on Friday night.
There was a commotion, then, and I thought I heard a banging sound, like someone was hammering on a door. They all looked around.
I took it upon myself to go out and sure enough, it was the artists’ entrance. Someone was banging on it like a pack of wolves was on their heels. It was so loud, it couldn’t just be one person.
“Okay, okay,” I called, hurrying over.
The damn buzzer must have stopped working.
I opened it to see Harley and Luka, breathing hard, their faces red, panting and talking over each other as they pushed inside.
“It’s a camera crew—”
“Quick, they’re coming—”
I looked, and as they spoke, indeed, a camera crew came around the corner, a guy with a camera over his shoulder, a guy with a boom mic, and walking briskly in front, a slight woman in her forties with hair highlighted blonde, wearing a smart bouclé wool suit in royal purple, big sunglasses and a mic in her hand.
Oh, Lord above.
It was happening.
It was happening now.
And here I was with no eyebrows, a face of contouring and one strip of blue eyeliner, bare-chested and barefoot in old saggy sweatpants.
Luka and Harley, who I had told after the meeting last night, grabbed hold of me, one on each side, and started jumping up and down, shouting and yelling.
Anthony Alcantara came out of the dressing room, catwalking and giving face like he was on the runway at the Big Heavy Ball. Clarion and Damaris were behind him, looking nervous and flustered. Finally Duane Tyrone appeared behind him, limping slightly.
The hallway was so narrow, we were all squeezed in like a pack of sardines, jostling.
The blonde woman was so close now, I could see the glint of her lipgloss. My stomach swooped and, despite my lack of shoes, I stepped outside toward her, ready to work this.
They did say they would come at any time.
They had also said they would give me fifteen minutes’ notice, which would at least give me the chance to put on a goddamn pair of shoes.
“Jelly Sinclair,” I opened my arms. “Welcome to the House of Ellegrandé, honey.”
She looked right past me. Luka and Harley had come out with me and we had to shuffle aside as the camera crew hustled after her.
Anthony Alcantara stepped out through the artists’ entrance in full, stunning, photoshoot-worthy splendor and she and Jelly Sinclair air-kissed.
Everyone else started piling out of the door and Luka and Harley went and stood in the throng around her as the camera rolled and Jelly Sinclair conducted an impromptu interview.
I took my phone out of my pocket and opened up the Vivesse app.
Anthony Alcantara, first Contessa announced for next season!
And there was the live feed of what they were filming right at this moment, and there was me in the background, half-dressed, disheveled, hunched over and looking at my phone while the happy, smiling faces of Anthony, Damaris, Clarion, Duane Tyrone, Luka and Harley filled the frame.
It didn’t last long.
Pretty soon Jelly Sinclair had wrapped up and the camera crew was packing up.
Everyone stood around talking and laughing. DT and Damaris disappeared inside and came back out shortly afterward with a tray of glasses and the remaining bottle of cava I had bought for the welcome last Tuesday.
Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2) Page 41