Killer Queen: A Painted Faces Novel

by L.H. Cosway

  Okay. So perhaps my excitement was a little premature. I didn’t even consider the fact Fred would think I was into blokes. It was silly of me, because clearly that’s the most obvious conclusion she would make. I was about to enlighten her, but first I needed another drink. Do not frown at me. I wasn’t falling back into my old ways. I just needed a little Dutch courage. The barman poured me a whiskey while I replied to her, “You think I'm gay? Even after what I said to you last night?”

  “Well, I was thinking maybe you were pulling my leg or something. Besides, apart from Eddie Izzard, I don't think I've ever heard of a straight drag queen.”

  I smiled at her then, because it suddenly occurred to me that she was hedging for information. She didn’t want me to be gay, that was pretty evident. “Yeah, well, you're looking at one.”

  “You're joking, right? You have to be at least bi.”

  All of a sudden, her response pissed me off. I’d spent my entire life dealing with people’s assumptions and judgements, and I really didn’t want to have to deal with them from Fred.

  “Nope. I only have eyes for the ladies.”

  She frowned and swallowed. “Sorry, sometimes I don't think before I open my mouth. That was rude of me.”

  Immediately, I’d forgiven her. After all, I was prone to speaking before thinking myself. I guessed it was further evidence of just how kindred we were.

  “It's okay, no offence taken. I'd offer to buy you a drink, but you seem all set. What is that, anyway?” I leaned closer to her and allowed our arms to touch again. “Ah, minty. Mind if I have a taste?”

  “Not at all. You've never had a mojito before?”

  I was playing dirty, no one could deny it, but I desperately wanted to turn the conversation sexual. She looked amazing tonight, her hair wild and a slight sheen of sweat on her décolletage. I found it terribly appealing, and it made my mind wander.

  If you haven’t noticed by now, my mind was prone to wandering.

  “I have, but I wanted to have a taste of yours. Put my lips where your lips have been.”

  “You're such a pest,” she giggled, and stole the drink back from me. I smiled widely because I’d already managed to have a taste.

  “That's quite a fetching outfit, Fred. Can I take a loan of it next week?”

  She gave me a comical grimace. “After the way I've been sweating in it tonight, you don't want it, trust me. This club is stifling hot.”

  I decided to bait her. “Not necessarily. The sweat is an added bonus. I can sniff on it while I have some private man time.”

  The way she took it on the cheek was further evidence of how alike we were. “Ugh, even I think that's disgusting, Viv, and I work in a charity shop. Dealing with ‘soiled’ clothing is part of my job.”

  I was enjoying this back and forth between us. And I thought she might actually be flirting with me. I loved the way she flirted. She didn’t act all coy and girlish. Instead, she goaded me, gave me shit, and said whatever weird thing was inside her head.

  “I hope you wash your hands regularly. Just how soiled are we talking? I have to admit, I'm morbidly curious.”

  “Don't worry. The dirty clothes get laundered before they're put on display. But if you're looking for details, I've seen everything from questionable white stains to yellow ones and all that comes in between.”

  I grinned wide now, knocking back a gulp, and replied brazenly, “What comes in between white stains and yellow? In my experience they both come out of the same...pipe. I'm not aware of any in between in that area.”

  “I'm not sure, possibly pre-cum.”

  In that instant I burst out laughing, clutching my stomach. I found her so hilarious that I was actually considering abandoning my quest to bed her in order to simply be her friend, because this girl was utterly priceless. Totally lewd and absolutely brilliant in my eyes. I’d never met anyone quite like her.

  “Fuck, that was a good one, Fred.”

  Her reply was deadpan. “I'm available for special occasions and corporate events.”

  “I'll spread the word.”

  A second later, her friends showed up: Nora, a blonde girl, and a chubby guy.

  Fred pulled a stiff Nora into a hug and then began introducing me to her other pals, Harry and Anny. Before I knew it, we were on our way to a nightclub. I’d gone to the dressing room to grab a proper shirt and bumped into Sean, the drummer from the house band. I’d asked him if he wanted to come, and he was all for it. Then I was in the back of a taxi with Fred, her soft body right next to mine. There was something about the confined space and breathing in the smell of her shampoo that made me want to pull her onto my lap so she could straddle me with her sexy thighs.

  I was all for back-seat taxi shenanigans.

  Once we arrived at the club, I was instantly bombarded by loud, garish music and hordes of people gyrating on the dance floor. Normally I preferred a less populated setting. I’d been there, done that, purchased the T-shirt when it came to the club scene, but since Fred was with me, I didn’t mind. A Lady Gaga song came on, and I dragged her onto the dance floor. She was reluctant, but I insisted. I tried to pull her body close to mine, but she manoeuvred away, and I smiled at her fondly when she began to do the robot.

  She was nervous, and I thought it was adorable.

  I wasn’t going to let her get away with platonic dancing, though, as I spun her around, put my hands on her hips, and brought her body flush with mine. With my front pressed into her back, I was hoping she could feel how she affected me. She remained stiff even as I tried to coax her body to move to the beat. I’ll admit I felt like doing a Patrick Swayze and starting in with some real dirty dancing. I could dry-fuck on a dance floor like you wouldn’t believe, and I had moves that would make even a stripper blush. However, Fred was already mortified by our proximity, and I didn’t want to scare her away.

  “Relax,” I told her, my breath hitting the back of her neck. “Follow my lead.”

  Her body became a fraction less rigid, and I preened inwardly. She was trying. She wanted this. I allowed my hand to wander up to her neck and sink into her lustrous curls. They called to me with their siren’s song, begging to be touched. I wasn’t sure what the sexiest thing about her was, but I was beginning to think her hair was taking the lead. It was so soft and silky, I wanted to sink my face into it and breathe it in. Totally creepy, yes, but there you had it.

  “You still dreaming about that wig, Viv?” she asked, turning her face to me.

  It brought her mouth closer to mine, and I was seriously considering kissing her. Instead, I ran my hand back down her body to her waist and gave her a squeeze before replying boldly, “No, I'm dreaming about all of this golden-brown honey draped over my pillow.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes glazed over. I could tell she was imagining the kinds of things we could do that involved pillows…and beds. It delighted me. I loved it that she was visualising us together. The mind was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  I chuckled softly. “What, nothing to say to that, Fred?”

  “You got me. I'm completely speechless,” she replied.

  I leaned in closer and allowed my lips to brush her earlobe.

  “I'd like to see you speechless, breathless, panting....”

  She froze and instantly pulled away. Oh, no, I’d been too forward again, and she had the look in her eye of a woman who was about to scarper.

  She mouthed the word “bathroom,” and then she was gone.

  Shit. I’d fucked that up good and proper.

  Later that night, after Sean the drummer had gotten off with Fred’s friend Harry and Nora had been a complete bitch to Fred, we were on our way back to our apartments. Fred had splashed some water on Nora in the ladies’ room, which was apparently why Nora was being mean, but I had another theory.

  I suspected Nora was jealous that Fred was getting all of my attention. And yeah, she was probably also a touch annoyed at finding out what I did for a living. When people met me in
everyday life, I may have come across as a tad eccentric and flamboyant, but they rarely guessed that I spent my nights dressed as a woman.

  It often left them with a bad taste in their mouths, and Nora certainly had a bad taste in hers. She strutted straight to her apartment and disappeared inside, leaving me alone with Fred. My curly-haired beauty stood hesitantly outside my door and watched as I pulled out my keys. Her eyes shone with a hint of drunken excitement, but she wasn’t completely wasted. She was ignoring what had happened between us on the dance floor, not bringing it up, but I didn’t mind. When I asked if she wanted to come inside and see my place, she answered eagerly in the affirmative.

  I let her go in ahead of me and watched as she dropped down onto my lime green chaise longue and picked up my fancy red feathery pillow. I tended to decorate my living quarters in what many would deem a slightly garish manner. I enjoyed the Pop Art style and often favoured eye-catching colours. I don’t think I owned a single item that was beige. I also liked to collect interesting pieces of vintage furniture. A lot of this stuff had been in storage for years, but now that I was trying to settle down, I was finally able to fully enjoy it.

  Fred grinned as she looked around my place, which led me to believe she liked what she saw.

  “I've never been in here before. None of our previous neighbours were the friendly type. It's fucking huge. I have to admit, Viv, I think I've got apartment envy,” she said.

  “Feel free to visit any time,” I told her fondly, smiling as I went to make some tea.

  I was what many would deem a tea-aholic, especially now that I was trying to steer clear of booze insofar as I could. I was glad that she liked my apartment, because if I got my way, she’d be spending a lot more time here. I’d taken Phil’s statement about me living in tiny places to heart, and decided to branch out and get a two-bedroom apartment. The building was nothing fancy, but I felt it was a step in the right direction that I’d gone for something bigger this time. Having all of my things here also meant more commitment, which in turn meant it wouldn’t be quite so easy for me to up and leave, as was my habit over the years.

  When I brought my attention back to Fred, she was staring at my wigs. I’d left several of them sitting on the window ledge because I was in the process of organising everything.

  “I can't wait to see you as a redhead, Viv. Why didn't you go for a wig tonight?” she asked curiously.

  I paused before answering, because a devious and cunning plan was forming in my head. It came to me quite suddenly, and it was a way in which I could spend more time with Fred without her realising just how strong my attraction to her was growing. Preparing my lie, I let out a long sigh and finished making the tea.

  “I had to go bare bones because I haven't yet hired a dresser. I'll let you in on a little secret — I'm awful at choosing costumes and doing my own makeup. I've always had an assistant to do it for me.”

  Can you see where I’m headed with this? Yes, I thought you would, you clever madams.

  “Wow, there must be money to be made in the drag-queening business if you can afford an assistant,” Fred teased me.

  I kept my expression neutral because I didn’t want her to guess I was lying. “Not really. I inherited a lot when my father passed away. It's caused me to accumulate expensive tastes. I should probably be more frugal.”

  That was another lie. The only expensive tastes I had were for alcohol, dresses, and procuring women’s shoes in men’s sizes. Other than that, I hardly spent a penny on extravagance.

  “Is that what you're doing by living here? Any sane person with cash to splash would run a mile from this dump.”

  “It's not so bad. I think it's got character. I've always tended to select my living spaces in older buildings. Places that feel lived in are oddly reassuring to me.” That one was true. I loved the feeling an old building could give me, relished wondering what kinds of people might have lived there in times gone by, what stories their lives had been.

  Fred made me laugh when she responded, deadpan, “If by ‘lived in’ you mean an aged whore with cracked skin and some sort of downstairs infection she can't get rid of, then you're right — this building has plenty of character.”

  I found myself smiling at her fondly again. “You have a wonderful way with words, Fred. Disgusting, but wonderful.”

  “Why, thank you. So tell me more about this assistant predicament. I thought you looked amazing tonight. You can dress and do your makeup fine. What's the problem?”

  “I've just gotten used to having somebody else do it over the years. I suppose you could call it a combination of habit and laziness. I'm also terribly disorganised, if you hadn't noticed.” I indicated my haphazard attempt at arranging the furniture in my apartment.

  “Ah, now we're getting to the crux of the matter. I think I should stage an intervention. No longer will Vivica Blue require the services of an assistant/dresser/makeup artist. From here on out, she will do it all herself. You need to learn to get organised if you want to survive in the cutthroat business of gay nightclub performance. Harry tells me the gays can't abide by clutter.”

  I eyed her for a long moment until she was fiddling with the hem of her dress in her lap and asking self-consciously, “What?” She stared at me from under her lashes. It made her look shy yet sexy, and I enjoyed the view.

  Taking my time, I brought my tea cup to my mouth and mused, “You're something of a job collector. How would you feel about a third?”

  “Are you asking me to be your assistant?” she said in surprise.

  “I might be. How are you with makeup?”

  “I get by.”

  I allowed my gaze to wander over the pretty dress she was wearing. “And what about fashion? You seem to have good taste. I like the whole ’40s vintage thing you've got going on tonight. Yes, there's definitely potential. How about a two-week trial period?”

  For the next few minutes she tried to convince me she wasn’t the woman for the job, but I was determined. After all, it wasn’t about the job. It was about getting to spend time with her. Oddly enough, I was looking forward to hanging out and bantering with her back and forth perhaps even more than I was looking forward to bedding her. I hadn’t met a woman I’d enjoyed shooting the breeze with this much in a really long time, if ever.

  Finally, she agreed to be my assistant, and we shook on it. I could tell that, despite her initial protestations, she was just as excited about this venture as I was.

  After Fred left that night, I crawled into bed, thinking of her and smiling to myself. I was going to have to send Phil a gift, because I was beginning to think that moving to Dublin was the best decision I’d ever made.

  June 30th, 2012.

  Soundtrack: “Be Italian” from Nine / “Modern Love” by David Bowie

  The next day Fred was continuing to play hard to get, and it was beginning to wear on me. I hadn’t been gifted with patience. I always wanted things when I wanted them, no waiting around. Don’t get me wrong — I was enjoying the chase, but at the same time I was beginning to wonder if maybe she just wasn’t interested. Maybe I simply wasn’t her type.

  We’d spent half the day together, and when I flirted with her, it felt like she was flirting back. However, I couldn’t be certain if the only reason she was flirting back was because she enjoyed the banter. Every time I tried to initiate intimacy, she would abruptly back away.

  We were in my dressing room at the club, getting ready for my first show with her as my assistant. I couldn’t take my eyes off her sexy body, but she seemed quite oblivious of my attention. I’d introduced her to Phil when we’d arrived, and I could tell he liked her. I knew he would. Fred was the kind of girl that anyone could admire. Even though she clearly had some insecurities, there was a sort of openness about her that was appealing.

  She was playing around now, swinging the swivel chair she was sitting on in circles until it made her dizzy. I was lost in admiring her smiling eyes when she stopped and asked me if I want
ed to start getting ready. Teaching her the ropes was going to be time-consuming but at the same time fun.

  “Makeup first — my clothes are expensive. Some are one of a kind. I can't risk ruining them,” I explained to her. “Would you paint my nails for me, Fred?”

  “I'd love to, Viv,” she answered happily, and picked up the bottle of polish. I watched as she came and sat in front of me, then grabbed my hand and placed it on her lap. It took me by surprise, because it was quite a specific placement. I wasn’t sure if she was aware how close my hand was to her pussy. I thought I noticed her breathing accelerate slightly, and my body moved closer almost of its own accord. If this was her subtle way of flirting, I was enjoying it immensely. She focused intently on painting my nails red, while I focused intently on how she bit softly on her lower lip while she concentrated. She seemed to startle when she glanced up to see how intensely I was staring at her.

  “What? Did I make a mistake?” she asked, breaking our eye contact.

  In the moment, I decided to go with stark honesty and tell her exactly what I was thinking. “No. I have to admit, for some reason I find you incredibly sexy, Fred.”

  Her gasp was so tiny I almost missed it. Then she plastered a breezy grin on her face and quipped self-deprecatingly, “You might need to pop in to Specsavers for an eye test, Viv.”

  “I've got perfect twenty-twenty vision, I'll have you know. How about I lock the door so that we can have a quickie? If we're going to work together, I need to get this urge out of my system to fuck your brains out.”

  I knew my words had their desired effect when she clenched her thighs together and swallowed visibly. She was thinking about it. However, a wall went up instantly as she replied, “Ah, I have a true romantic on my hands.”

  “I never claimed to offer romance, Fred, but I'm fairly confident I can provide you with the perfect sexual release. It has been three and a half years, after all.”

  Earlier in the day she’d admitted just how long it had been since she last got laid. I’d been surprised that someone as sexy as she was had managed to evade a good shagging in all that time, but when I considered how bundled up she could be, I guessed it made sense.