by T. J. Klune
Darren glared at me.
“Don’t do that,” I scolded him. “You’re ruining Britney Spears for me with your angry eyebrows.”
“I don’t have angry eyebrows—”
“Unique,” I said to the audience. “That’s the word I was looking for. The Homo Jock King certainly looks… unique. But he’s trying, you know? Which is all I could have asked for. And really, he didn’t have to do any of this, but. He did.”
Huh. That was a strange realization to have, especially here in front of everyone. Why did he agree to do this? Sure, there was his stupid rule ten that he still wouldn’t tell me about, but I didn’t think it could be that big of a deal. What exactly did he hope to gain from this? He was obviously going to fuck that twink (if he hadn’t already), and he hadn’t done jack shit with his father since we’d had that lunch all those weeks ago, so why was he here, on this stage, wearing what he was wearing?
It couldn’t have been out of the goodness of his heart. The Darren Maynes of the world didn’t work that way. There was always an ulterior motive, something else that was kept hidden until they revealed it like some egomaniacal villain in a superfluous monologue that usually was so over the top that it made little sense.
Sort of like a drag bachelor auction to save a gay bar against an evil Republican.
And if that wasn’t a damning thought, I didn’t know what was.
But Darren….
I wanted to know why.
Why he’d done all of this. Why he seemed so different than I actually thought he was. Why he could smile at me like I was the greatest thing in the world and then send text messages planning his next hookup.
“He helped me,” I said slowly, wondering where this new awareness was going to go. “Even though most other people would have told me to fuck off, because, really, wouldn’t you have? It’s not the standing on stage that’s the most important. It’s not even the act of drag itself. No, it’s the moment he decided he was going to help me, even if it meant stepping out of his comfort zone.”
And gross, I sounded so fucking mushy, but for the life of me, I couldn’t even find a way to stop. I blamed Darren for making me aware of my feelings, even if he was going to fuck a hipster twink. But, I supposed he couldn’t be faulted for being who he was. That’s what he did. That didn’t mean that I still couldn’t be his friend. The thought of things going back the way they’d been caused my stomach to turn. We were better as a team than we’d ever been as adversaries, and even though we were close to our probable ending (because in the real world, fake boyfriends didn’t turn into more), I thought maybe it could be the beginning of something else.
I’d get over everything else.
Eventually.
“And he did it, without complaint,” I continued. “Well. Mostly without complaint.”
The audience laughed.
Darren didn’t. Darren was just watching me with wide eyes.
While standing in a schoolgirl outfit, which obviously completely ruined whatever expression was on his face.
“So, yeah,” I said, feeling awkward. “He’s a good guy, and while I ask that you return him in one piece, just know that whoever gets the winning bid is very lucky. He’s rough and cocky and smug, and sometimes, I want to fucking punch him in the dick, but he’s a good guy. Who is a math nerd.” I needed to end this fast before I started waxing poetically about the heart boner I apparently had for Darren.
The crowd cheered.
Darren didn’t even seem to notice they were there, his gaze never leaving me. So I broke it and looked away, forcing a smile back on my face. “And for this prime piece of real estate, let’s start with an opening bid of fifteen hundred.” Caleb grinned, eyeing Darren up and down, and I hoped that Jack It was sitting on top of a sinkhole. “Does anyone out there want—”
“Four thousand!” a voice cried out.
The crowed parted slightly, people turning to see who’d called out first and raised the bid.
And I really should have expected it.
Nana stood in the middle of the crowd, next to Matty and Larry. I hadn’t even seen them arrive, but here they were. Nana was wearing a muumuu that had pictures of Harrison Ford’s face on it, a word bubble coming out of his mouth saying I WANT YOU TO HAN MY SOLO. The regulars here knew who she was. The nonregulars looked horrifyingly fascinated as they stared at her. I didn’t blame them. Our Nana was the most special of all the snowflakes.
The level of relief on Darren’s face at getting bid on by an elderly lady in a Star Wars muumuu should not have been as obvious as it was.
(And it probably matched my own.)
“Four thousand,” I managed to say. “To Nana. Because why the fuck not.”
“I like men in skirts,” Nana said to everyone around her. “I have this paddle at home that I’ll probably use on him. Make him my boy for the night. Helena would understand. She knows what’s up.”
Darren started coughing explosively.
I waited until he stopped being such a drama drag queen before continuing. “Four thousand,” I said. “Do we have five thousand?”
“Five thousand!” someone called from the back, an older man who looked like he’d probably be better off driving an ice cream truck through a neighborhood at ten o’clock at night. I hoped he wouldn’t win with his creepy ice cream money.
Nana glared at him. It would have been intimidating, except she was barely over five feet and was instead adorable.
“Six thousand!” another person shouted and that voice I recognized.
“Paul,” I hissed into the microphone. “What are you doing?”
He shrugged as he pushed his way through the crowd, Vince trailing after him. “Bidding,” Paul said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
So, naturally, I had to take it one step further because it wasn’t obvious to me. “Are you trying to reenact my sex dream I had about all of you?” I blurted out. “I told you, I didn’t mean to suck Vince’s dick! That doesn’t mean you can promote incest and then have them both suck on your nipples.”
Now, the funny thing about blurting is that it’s almost an involuntary action. You’re not necessarily controlling the sound of your voice, nor the words that come out, given your mouth tends to move ahead of your brain.
And sometimes, you’re standing on a stage, holding a microphone, and you blurt into it, causing a proclamation about nipple-sucking brother sex to just echo around a rather large room you happen to be standing in with hundreds of people, some of which are your friends and family and that one guy whose heart you wanted to hold and butthole you wanted to lick.
All noise inside Jack It pretty much just died after that. Even the DJ stopped the remix with a stereotypical screech of the song, like I was trapped in that eighties movie my life had become.
“Um,” Nana said into the silence that followed. “What?”
“Wow,” Matty said to Larry. “Just when you think this place can’t get any kinkier, incest happens.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be surprising, given everything else that goes on here,” Larry said, eyeing a couple who partook of the furry lifestyle. One was a fox. I thought the other one was supposed to be a poodle or a duck-billed platypus. I couldn’t be sure of which. “We might as well be squirrels because we’re surrounded by a bunch of nuts.”
“Oh my god,” Paul moaned. “I can’t believe he said that.”
“Was he talking about balls?” Vince asked Paul. “Or people.”
“Double entendre, for the win,” Matty said, high-fiving her husband. “Well played, Mr. Auster. Maybe you should squirrel me away for the winter.”
“How perfect, Mrs. Auster.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Because I’m already nuts about you. And if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll be nuts on you—”
“Seven thousand!” Nana shouted. “I won’t let my grandson beat me on winning Darren Mayne for some incestual freaky-deaky. Not when I can have my own piece of that pie.”
“I’m not trying to win him for incest,” Paul cried, sounding scandalized. “I don’t even like him like that.”
“You better not,” Vince said with a growl. “I don’t want to share you with anyone. And I don’t think I can fuck my own brother.”
“I bid ten thousand for the brothers!” creepy ice cream truck guy bellowed. “I have no problem with incest! I’m going to be the meat on that hot brother lover sandwich!”
“This escalated rather quickly,” Kori said, holding the microphone between her and Charlie.
“Twelve thousand dollars!” Nana bellowed. “Twelve thousand dollars for the Homo Jock King!”
“Do you even have that kind of money?” Kori asked.
“I used to do things when I was younger,” Nana said.
“What kind of things?” Vince asked, carrying on as if we weren’t standing in the middle of a gay bar on a Saturday night while I was trying to pimp my fake boyfriend.
“Things that make your toes curl in horror and pleasure,” Nana said, going shifty-eyed. “I can’t say anything other than that because then I’d have to kill you. And trust me when I say, you wouldn’t be my first.”
“Everyone,” Matty called out. “Everyone! Yoo-hoo! My mother is just kidding. She never actually killed anyone. You don’t need to back away from her slowly like you’re doing right now.”
“Crazy Eyes, they called me,” Nana said. “Back in the war. ‘Here comes Crazy Eyes,’ they’d say. ‘Everyone cover your urethra before she steals it.’ So go ahead, try and bid. See what happens.”
“I don’t know if I want her to win,” Darren whispered to me, and I don’t know when we got to standing so close to each other again, but my hand accidentally scraped against his exposed thigh and I had to keep from being a pervert about it.
“Just cover your urethra,” I hissed at him. “You know you need it.”
“I don’t even know if I know what that is,” Darren said.
“How can you know math and not know what the urethra is?”
“Those aren’t even remotely the same things!”
“How would you know? You don’t even know what it is!”
“Twelve thousand going once!” Nana cackled. “Do you like bingo, Darren? Because I go to my friend’s house the third Saturday of every month and play the strip version.”
“Strip bingo?” Darren said with a gulp.
“Yes,” Nana said. “But when Wilma asks you to touch her G37, you best run in the opposite direction. Because that’s nasty. Twelve thousand going twice!”
“I thought I was supposed to be calling out the bidding,” I said.
“You were too busy talking about how Darren makes your mouth happy,” Kori said.
And then it all came to a crashing halt.
“I bid thirty thousand dollars for the Homo Jock King.”
The air got sucked from the room.
Everyone turned slowly to the voice that had just offered the most outrageous sum of money for the awkwardness that was standing damn near pressed against me.
My first thought was that we’d done it. That if that bid was legit, if it was real, then there was no way Andrew Taylor would make more money than us, not combined with all the other cash brought in. For the briefest of moments, I was absolutely convinced that we had just won and that everything was going to be okay.
My second thought, though.
The second thought came as I saw who the voice belonged to. My jaw tensed and I almost wished it was a joke, because if it wasn’t, it meant that I was pretty much fucked on everything.
“Are you full of shit?” Nana asked, eyes narrowed.
And Caleb the hipster twink said, “Of course not. Thirty thousand dollars for Darren Mayne.”
The second thought came as I looked over at Darren then, only to see a pleased smile on his face, like he was happy about this turn of events. Happy that no one would probably beat that bid.
Happy that it’d been Caleb.
And really.
Who was I to stand in the way of that?
“Thirty thousand dollars,” I said.
And Darren must have heard something in my voice because he looked toward me, that smile fading. Possibly edging toward the pity I never wanted from him.
But I was Helena fucking Handbasket.
I was a motherfucking queen.
And as a queen, I didn’t let anyone get to me.
So I smirked for that audience, pulling myself out of a hunch. I stood tall in front of them, in front of him, and when I spoke again, I Meryl Streeped the shit out of it. And everything was good. There’d been a momentary slip of the mask, but that was behind me. I had a job to do, after all.
And who knew? Maybe one day, far off into the future, I’d look back on this and laugh.
“Thirty thousand dollars,” I repeated, sounding far more jubilant. “Now that’s what I call a bid! Do I even need to ask if there’s anyone that can beat that?” I didn’t, but it still felt like it should be said. It was all part of the show, after all. Like the homo jocks in drag. Like the reason we were here.
Like Darren and me.
All for show.
No one said a word, not even Nana. Paul was looking between Darren and me, eyes calculating. And I should have remembered that out of everyone in this room, he knew me the best. He knew when I was acting and when I was being real. He knew the tones and cadences to my voice, the fake cheer that I could pour out in waves, the biting snark that came with being a queen.
But he also knew the opposite of that. Which meant he’d seen that slipup. That crack that I’d rushed to fill back in. I didn’t know if he could even remotely understand what had just happened, but knowing Paul Auster like I did, he was probably already spinning theories in that scary brain of his.
This was not good.
“Thirty thousand going once,” I said.
Darren took a step toward me. “Sandy,” he said quietly.
I ignored him. “Going twice!”
Caleb winked at me.
“Sold!”
Streamers and balloons fell from above.
The crowd roared and advanced on the stage.
In the chaos, I managed to avoid everyone I knew.
Especially when I saw Caleb grab Darren by the hand and pull him close. He whispered something in Darren’s ear and Darren laughed and shook his head.
The music blared to life and everything was fine.
I slipped away.
Chapter 20: Good Cop, Bad Cop, Corrupt Cop
THE PERSON that was pounding on my front door at seven thirty on a Sunday morning deserved to face my fiery wrath and stand there while I peeled the skin from their bones. I pulled myself from where I’d been cocooned in the covers on my bed and scowled as I stalked down the hall toward the door.
Corey was sitting in the kitchen wearing a pair of ratty sweats and a Dartmouth T-shirt, typing something on his laptop, sipping a cup of coffee.
“You couldn’t answer the door?” I asked.
He didn’t even look up at me. “You know I don’t do things for anyone other than myself before eight. And besides, I don’t think they’re here for me. Especially since I wasn’t the one that sent out a mass text canceling brunch for today.”
“Who?”
Corey just hummed and took another sip of his coffee.
“Sandy! I know you’re in there! Open the damn door!”
I groaned. “It is far too fucking early for this.”
“Right?” Corey said. “Why do you think I’m ignoring it? I’m trying to be Zen before the shit hits the fan.”
“What shit?” I asked while debating if I should just leave Paul outside. Then I remembered he had a key. Which didn’t explain why he wasn’t using it. He was a mystery wrapped in a candy-coated shell, my Paul was.
“Sandy! I will break this door down, I swear to god! Okay, now your neighbor across the street is staring at me funny. Let me in before she calls the cops! You know she’s hated me ev
er since Wheels accidentally threw up on her feet that one time. She’ll do anything to get revenge! Wheels! Stop barking at the somewhat nice lady!”
“What shit indeed,” Corey said. “I’m surprised he didn’t charge in here last night after we left the bar. You know. When you conveniently disappeared and then ignored all phone calls and pretended to be asleep when I got home.”
“I was tired,” I said stiffly.
“Really,” Corey said. “That’s what we’re going with.”
“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Funny,” Corey said. “Because Mike and Charlie seemed to think otherwise.”
Uh-oh.
Corey picked up his phone from the table, pointed it at me, and took my picture. “There we go,” he said, looking down at the phone. “I’ve always wanted to have a photo of someone in the middle of a dawning realization tinged with horror. I must admit, it’s sweatier than I thought it’d be.”
“Wheels! You can’t poop there! Vince, grab him before more comes out!”
“You grab him before more comes out!”
“Oh my god,” I moaned, covering my face with my hands. “This is not happening.”
“Oh but it is,” Corey said. “But then, you probably should have expected this to blow up in your face.”
“Wheels! Oh my Christ, what did you eat? An entire bowl of gravy? Vince! Call an exorcist! That has to be the result of demonic possession.”
“You’re pretty much fucked,” Corey said. “I didn’t get to see the intervention you had for Paul back in the day, but you can sure as shit bet I’m going to be a part of this one.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I hissed at him.
“Watch me.”
“Holy shit,” Paul said. “Vince! I have a key.”
“Uh, yeah,” Vince said through the door. “I know. I just thought you were trying to be overdramatic like you normally are.”
“I’m not overdram—you know what? Never mind. We’re doing this now.”
And the key slid into the lock.
I admit: I gave very serious consideration to running back to my room and escaping through my window. I’d have to go into hiding and probably change my name. I wondered if I could pull off being a Preston Babcock. By the time the front door opened, I’d forgotten to run because I’d been distracted by my new alter ego who would be a mystery writer and pen a series of semisuccessful novels about an elderly woman who solved white-collar crimes like tax fraud and the occasional murder with the help of her pet raccoon Mr. Florida. Preston Babcock would like to drink Earl Grey on cool foggy mornings before he sat down at his typewriter to finish Mrs. Havisham and Mr. Florida and the Mystery of the Corrupted Zoning Board.