The Case of the Missing Drag Queen

by Michael Rupured

  Luke lathered up and thoroughly scrubbed himself from head to toe, twice, and would have gone for three but the hot water ran out. He turned off the tap, threw back the shower curtain, and cursed when he remembered all the towels were in the washer. He sloshed across the linoleum to the kitchen and dried off with paper towels.

  He tossed the sheets onto the mattress, moved the towels to the dryer, and started a load of whites in the washer. Then, still hoping for a much-needed nap, he made the bed, and finally, sprayed the bathroom from top to bottom with basin, tub, and tile cleaner.

  Two more tasks hung over his head. After the white load had dried, he slipped into a T-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms, grabbed his keys, and ran out to spray Bertha’s bench seat. Then he walked over to Apartment 2 and knocked. He pressed his ear to the door for a moment but heard nothing. His hands trembled so much he had trouble getting the key in the lock. He took a deep breath and let it out. The hinges squealed as he slowly opened the door.

  He found the light switch and was surprised to see drapes over the entrance to the eat-in kitchen. He poked his head between the navy velvet drapes. The dining area had been converted to a sewing room, but Ruby wasn’t there.

  Ruby hadn’t moved out. Nor did it look like anyone had broken in. He hurried through the apartment, checking the kitchen, the bathroom, the walk-in closet in the bedroom, and even the utility closet. Ruby wasn’t there. His conscience was clear. He locked up, returned to his apartment, and hit the bed.

  Chapter 8

  FREE OF the tiresome itching and guilt for not checking on Ruby, Luke slept like a log until Mr. Patrick called just after six o’clock to let him know that, after two attempts, the Drano had done the trick. Luke listened to MTV as he tended to his laundry, and then headed into the kitchen for something to eat.

  The milk had soured, so he munched on dry cereal. The delicious dinner at Brougham House and the immensely satisfying Polly Jo burger left him with little appetite for the tasteless frozen breaded pork or chicken patties that were the mainstay of his diet. The cereal would hold him until he stopped to eat somewhere on the way to work.

  In its prime, the little dryer may have been faster. After the dark load had finally dried, Luke pulled out the pants, shirts, and socks he wanted to wear and left the rest in the dryer. Then he took another shower, whipped his hair into a look, and dressed. On the way to work, he stopped at Sir Pizza, splurged on a small Royal Feast with extra cheese, and ate every piece.

  Soon after Luke got to the Gilded Lily, Frank came over to the bar. “Charlie is running late again. Think you can handle the bar by yourself for the first show?”

  “I think so,” Luke said. Maybe he’d make enough to offset the bad night he’d had the night before.

  “I hope you’re right.” Frank shook his head and pinched his chin. “The Green Carnation gets slammed every Saturday so I can’t pull anyone from there. The Red Poppy is short-staffed because of all the women in town for the big dart competition, and Annie’s by herself in the Lavender Rose.” He studied the ceiling and pinched his chin a few more times. “If you get busy, I’ll bartend, Pixie can emcee, and Russel will have to handle the music and lights. Okay?”

  “You’re the boss.” Luke smiled. “Anything you say.”

  “Really?” Frank chuckled. “Anything?”

  Luke gulped. Butterflies took flight in his stomach and his face grew hot. “Uhm. Well….”

  Frank laughed and winked at him. “Don’t worry. I’d never take advantage of you.” He turned, headed for the corridor, and paused a few feet from the door. “Unless you want me to.” He laughed and left without waiting for a response.

  Just as well. Stunned silence was the best Luke could muster. Anything you say had left him wide open. Was Frank interested in Luke? Or was the setup too good to pass up? Most likely, the latter.

  Or, maybe not. After all, though they had never met, Frank remembered Luke from five years earlier. Yes, he’d come to the Garden six nights a week after coming out of the closet, but only for a few months before Donald Sullivan swept Luke off his feet and whisked him away to Atlanta. Not that it mattered. Pixie said Frank was married to the Garden.

  The show was about to start, and customers waiting for drinks were losing patience. That only one bartender was working did not improve their temper. He watched his hands and avoided eye contact with anyone until he was ready for another order and moved as fast as he could.

  Frank’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Gilded Lily. Thank you for your patience. We’re a little short-staffed at the bar tonight. Don’t take it out on Luke, okay?”

  His cajoling didn’t soften the angry tone. Luke plowed on as Frank previewed the show.

  “…and the star of our show, our very own tiny dancer, Miss Pixie Wilder!”

  Boos and hisses broke out across the room.

  “We want Ruby!”

  “Yeah! We want Ruby!”

  Everyone in the Gilded Lily took up the chant.

  “We want Ruby!”

  Frank’s voice came over the loudspeaker again. “Ladies and gentlemen, please!” He waited for silence. “Ruby was on the schedule for tonight, but for unknown reasons, she is not here and will not be performing.”

  More booing and hissing.

  “Please welcome to the stage, the dark and lovely Simone!”

  The crowd for the first show was about average for a Saturday. Again, Ruby was all anyone talked about. Luke heard bits and pieces but was too busy to follow any conversations.

  An anemic crowd lingered in the showroom after the first show. Pixie Wilder emerged from the dressing room dressed for a square dance with a full skirt, frilly blouse, white high-heeled boots, and maybe a three- or four-gallon version of a ten-gallon hat. She pranced over to Luke.

  “Hey, darlin’. Feelin’ any better?”

  “Yeah, much. Thanks.”

  “Yer welcome, honey.” She stared at him for a moment.

  “What?”

  “How long I gotta stand here before you ask me what I want to drink?”

  “Oh!” Luke laughed and dropped a cocktail napkin in front of her. “Double Jack on a rock?”

  She smiled. “Make it a single. It’s still early. I can’t be responsible for what happens if I get shitfaced before the second show.” She pulled a ten-dollar bill from her cleavage and slapped it on the bar. “Do what ya said you was gonna do?”

  Luke nodded. “She wasn’t there, she hasn’t moved out, and she’s going to be evicted if Buddy Sinclair doesn’t get her rent by Monday morning.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Are you shittin’ me?”

  “Nope. I didn’t say anything about her being missing. Wouldn’t have made much difference with his heart of gold.”

  “Mm-hm. Cold, hard, and yellow. That worthless skunk has been hangin’ around for years waitin’ for his momma to die so he can get the family fortune.”

  “He’s rich?” Luke said.

  “Honey, ya ain’t listenin’.” She shook her head. “Read my lips. His momma got the money. Buddy ain’t got a pot to piss in less’n somebody gave it to him.” She tossed back her drink and set the empty glass on the bar.

  “Another?”

  She shook her head. “Word in the dressing room is that Ruby ran off with the Arab prince who’d kissed her Thursday night after her knock-down-drag-out fight with Frank.”

  “Arab prince?” Luke laughed. He didn’t say anything about running into him at the drugstore. “I heard she was holed up in a basement dungeon after being kidnapped by a jilted lover.”

  Pixie sighed. “Some girls get all the breaks.”

  Charlie Ross hopped over the bar and walked toward Luke and Pixie. “Hey, man. Thanks for setting up.”

  “Good God, Charlie,” Pixie said. “What the fuck happened to you?”

  Charlie furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Darlin’, you look like you been rode hard and
put up wet,” Pixie said. “I’d ask if ya slept in them clothes, but them big bags under your eyes say you ain’t slept.”

  Charlie’s nostrils flared, and his face got red. He pointed his finger at her. “Mind your own fucking business, you little bitch.”

  She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Your daddy told me all about your temper last night when I was suckin’ his dick.”

  Charlie moved toward her, his hands out from his sides in a menacing manner. “You better be glad you’re on the other side of that bar.”

  “Jumpin’ over the first time wear ya out?” She put her hands on her hips and glared. “Come on, big boy. I ain’t afraid of you.”

  Luke watched in stunned silence. Small as Pixie was, Charlie would kill her. If he wanted to get physical, there wasn’t much Luke could do to stop him.

  Charlie glared at Pixie for a long moment. “You’re not worth the trouble I’d get into for beating the shit out of you.” Then he returned to his end of the bar.

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Luke asked.

  “Honey, don’t you worry. He ain’t gonna hurt me.” She smiled and then waved at Russel. “Not with him standin’ five yards away.” Then she grabbed Luke’s wrist and checked the time. “Shit. I gotta get ready for the second show.”

  “Good luck!”

  Pixie stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to face him. “What did you say?”

  “Good—”

  She held up her hand and shook her head. “Don’t say it again! You trying to put a curse on me?”

  Luke furrowed his brow and chewed on his lip. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

  She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Luke said.

  “Try break a leg, dumbass.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Luke smiled. “Break a leg, dumbass.”

  Turnout for the second show was disappointing and went from bad to worse. Instead of staying seated until the grand finale, people left to check out other parts of the Garden. Some returned. Most did not. The poor turnout affected the performances too. Simone danced like she had lead feet. Kitty Galore stifled a yawn in the middle of her number. A clearly disappointed yet stunning Mimi Von Sant unfurled enormous angel wings before a nearly empty house.

  Luke knew what was coming when Charlie sidled over. Being his bitch was getting old, but Luke needed the money too badly to complain.

  “Man,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “I may as well have stayed home.”

  “Yeah.” Luke nodded. “Is being this slow unusual?”

  “Very.” Charlie nodded. “This is the worst I’ve ever seen it. Who knew Ruby was such a big draw?”

  “She always puts on a good show,” Luke said.

  “I guess.” He shrugged. “If you like that kind of thing. Hey, buddy.” He patted Luke’s shoulder. “Mind closing up for me again?”

  Luke would have to lie on the floor to make walking all over him any easier. “Sure, no problem.”

  “Thanks, man.” He groped his crotch and smiled. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

  Hot as Charlie was, Frank was more Luke’s type. Sure, sex with Charlie would be great. Just seeing and touching his naked body would be an experience he’d never forget. Then what? Other than jobs at the Gilded Lily, they had nothing in common. Despite his good looks, Luke didn’t even like him.

  And if he did, guys like Charlie weren’t interested in the likes of Luke. Same with guys like Michael Dean, Pharmacist. Nobody that gorgeous would ever be interested in him.

  Chapter 9

  Sunday, October 24, 1982

  LUKE HEADED for Bertha a little after 2:00 a.m. with a disappointing ninety-six dollars in his pocket. He worked three more shifts before the month ended, including the Halloween party—the gay equivalent to a holy day of obligation. Hopefully, he’d have a big weekend and wouldn’t have to ask Aunt Callie for help.

  Before his outing with Pixie, Luke had never felt unsafe leaving the bar. Now he imagined bad guys jumping from between parked cars and every vehicle cruising the block was a potential threat.

  He shivered and quickened his step.

  The big rainstorm had ushered in cooler weather. Five years in balmy Atlanta had spoiled him. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders, and hurried toward the sleeping blast furnace lurking beneath Bertha’s ample hood.

  A dark sedan slowed alongside him. Luke’s heart raced. He kept moving without looking left or right, intent on reaching Bertha. The passenger-side window of the sedan slid down and Luke braced for whatever was about to come through it.

  “Hey, good-looking.”

  Luke relaxed, but didn’t stop. He nodded at the heavyset, gray-haired man behind the wheel.

  “Want a blowjob?”

  Luke shook his head and kept walking.

  “I’ll give you twenty dollars.”

  “No, thanks.” Broke as he was, some lines he would not cross.

  “Would fifty change your mind?”

  Luke stopped. His moral compass wavered. Fifty dollars was a lot of money. “Thanks, but I’m not for sale.”

  “How about a hundred?”

  Luke’s moral compass spun like a top. Should he?

  He needed the money and was ready for an end to the months-long monogamous relationship between his dick and his right hand. He was at his sexual peak. Use it or lose it.

  On the other hand, even well-paid hustlers were still prostitutes. The guy could give Luke some awful disease, or bite his dick, or rob him.

  Luke drew a deep breath and let it out. “Sorry, I can’t.”

  The man shrugged. “Suit yourself.” The window went up, and he drove off.

  The rest of the way to his car, Luke went back and forth between patting himself on the back for the moral victory and chiding himself for being such a prude. He opened the car door, pulled his keys from his pocket, and was about to sit when he heard a moan.

  He froze, listened for a moment, and heard it again. He gasped when he saw Pixie curled up in the floorboard behind the front seat. He opened the back door, dropped to one knee, and put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  She wiped the back of her hand across her bloody mouth and nodded. “I’ll live.” She groaned and sat up. “Took ya long enough to get here.”

  “Sorry. Charlie left early again.” Luke didn’t know what else to do so he patted her shoulder. “What happened?”

  “Motherfuckin’ cowards clobbered me from behind and used me for a punchin’ bag when I fell.” She adjusted her hair. “Wig probably saved my life.”

  Concern for Pixie eclipsed his anger. “Can you stand?”

  She nodded and held up her hand. “With a little help.”

  Luke took her hand, helped her to her feet, and wrapped his arm around her waist so she could lean on him. He opened the door and eased her onto the front seat.

  “Oh, my God!” The dome light revealed cuts and bruises he hadn’t seen. He opened the glovebox and handed her napkins accumulated from drive-through windows and a pocket-sized package of facial tissue. “You need to go to the hospital.”

  “No.” She shook her head and dabbed her lip with a napkin. “Ain’t nothin’ broke. I’ll be fine.”

  Luke hurried around to the drive side, slid onto the seat, and started the car. “Shouldn’t we call the police or something?”

  She shook her head. “They don’t have much sympathy for men in dresses.” She opened her purse. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “Sure, go ahead.” He didn’t know what to say. Being gay had never cost him anything. Sure, he’d been bullied a bit in school, but nobody had ever physically harmed him.

  “Who did this to you?” He cranked the heat up as high as it would go.

  She shrugged and exhaled smoke out the slightly open window. “I don’t know.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”

&n
bsp; “Looks worse than it is.” She wiped her face with a tissue. “Can we just go to your place? I don’t want Daddy to see me like this.”

  “Whatever you say.” He put Bertha into gear, backed out of the parking space, and headed for the Sinclair Arms.

  The radio played softly in the background as Pixie wept and dabbed at her wounds. Luke wanted to comfort her but could think of nothing he might say or do to make her feel better. He pulled up to the curb in front of the Sinclair Arms and turned off the headlights, but left the engine running.

  “Ready to go inside?”

  “Yeah.” She sniffed, then wiped her nose and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “I don’t want to be no trouble.” She stuffed discarded napkins and tissues into her purse. “Give me ten minutes to clean myself up a bit then you can take me home.”

  “It’s no trouble.” Luke went around to open the door for her and helped her to her feet. “Stay all night if you like.”

  “Well, Luke Tanner.” She batted her eyes and took his hand. “Are you comin’ on to me?”

  “You’re not my type.” Encouraged by the return of her sense of humor, Luke squeezed her hand and headed for the entrance.

  She yanked her hand away and put her fists on her hips. “What’s the matter with me? Too femme for you? Too short?”

  He laughed and draped his arm across her shoulders. “Too young.”

  “Oh.” Pixie nodded and put her arm around his waist. “I can live with that.”

  They entered the Sinclair Arms, and Luke unlocked his apartment. Had he known he’d be having company, he would have cleaned up a bit. “It isn’t much, but it’s home. Come on in.”

  Pixie stepped inside, looked around, and let out a low whistle.

  “I’m in between maids,” Luke said. “Had to fire my decorator too. Same old story. Hard to get good help anymore.”