by Tanya Boteju
“Come.” Deidre hadn’t let loose my hand yet, thankfully, and now she guided me toward a group of drag queens who sat in lawn chairs next to a bright red canopy, smoking a variety of substances.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the belles of the ball!” Deidre’s voice soared, and many extravagant heads turned toward us.
“And if it isn’t the balls with bells!”
Cackles.
Just as I started to feel even more awkward, one of the queens stood up, glided over to me in a magnificent fashion, and seized my hand from Deidre.
“You are adorable. I’m Marsha. What in the world are you doing with this drama queen?”
I tried to focus on her bright blue eye shadow. I’d been called adorable by two drag queens so far tonight and was beginning to wonder if drag queens had something equivalent to beer goggles but, like, drag goggles.
“Hi. I’m—Nima. Deidre and I just met, really.”
“Picking up sweet little dykes now, Dee Dee?” Marsha asked.
Does she mean me? I’d never really thought of myself using that word either.
Deidre placed one indignant hand on her hip. “Who you callin’ a dyke, you prissy bitch? Nima’s just Nima, as far as I know.” She grabbed my hand back and gave it a kiss.
Getting. More. Awkward.
Marsha, surprisingly, appeared somewhat abashed. She looked at me and put a hand on my shoulder. “No offense intended, cutie. I know better than to assume!”
“Uh, no offense taken . . .” My forehead itched. What am I doing here?
“Girl, you went and made her uncomfortable,” Deidre scolded.
That sent up a chorus of “Oh nooos” and “Girls” and “Booooos” from the other queens, which culminated in a cacophonous but somehow soothing fit of laughter.
I couldn’t help but laugh as well.
I was offered a beer. I accepted, but nursed it. Not that Charles and I didn’t partake in our fair share of his parents’ wine and spirits now and again, but I wanted my wits about me this evening. I also thought, though, that a little liquid courage wouldn’t hurt if I did have to face certain pixie punk types.
The next half an hour involved some of the most surprising conversations I’d ever heard, to say the least.
“Sugar, you will never be-lieve the dexterity of the doctor who gave me these boobs.”
“My eighty-seven-year-old grandmother was the first person to tell me I had a gorgeous figure and should show it off.”
“She just said to ‘Trust the Mother Earth Spirit Nipple’ and everything would be all right.”
“All I have to say is that the worst show I ever did involved a very expensive, purebred, hairless cat. Enough said.”
The gathering around us had grown by at least thirty or forty people and the volume had risen too. A couple of other queens joined our group, along with three women dressed as men. All three had BROWN BROTHER POSSE printed across their ball caps, and I learned that they were drag kings. I’d never heard of that before—drag queens, yes—but not kings. I guessed that was what Winnow was as well?
This was definitely beyond my research and reading realms. While I’d dabbled online over the past few years, my search history garnering a long list of topics such as Where do gay girls go? and Are straight girls ever gay? and Watch lesbian movies free, my investigations had never revealed anything about drag kings or scenes like the one unfolding in front of me.
As I sipped my beer, I surreptitiously glanced around the crowd, a restlessness brewing in my body. Deidre stayed true to her promise not to leave me alone—and stood beside me, chatting with a couple of boys who weren’t dressed in drag. Eventually, I placed my empty can of beer on the ground and touched her elbow. “Hey, Deidre.”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Will all the performers from tonight be coming here, you think?”
“Oh, girl, just ask what you really want to ask: Will that sexy George Michael be coming along?”
I tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear and looked into the fire. Trying to keep my voice even, I responded, “Well, I just thought it might be kind of cool to meet her, maybe. . . .”
“Well, I think you’ve been trying so hard to look like you’re not looking that you’ve missed some details. She hasn’t missed you, though, from what I gather. Don’t look now, but—” She turned herself directly toward me and pointed her finger back over her right shoulder.
I casually leaned over to my left to look behind her. Casting my eyes slowly across the scene, I saw a group of stagehands sitting on some blankets and playing some sort of drinking game. Standing just behind them, holding a can of beer and talking to another girl, was Winnow.
She wasn’t in costume anymore. Her hair no longer curved into a peak, nor hid beneath a hat, but instead swept over her right shoulder in an inky, silky-looking waterfall. She wore black jeans and the same heavy boots as before. A green tank top with a photo of Dolly Parton on it hung loosely off her slender frame, and she had a leather bag over her shoulder.
Three times tonight I’d seen her, and each time it was like she’d reincarnated as someone new. All three seemed like people I wanted to know. People who seemed to be causing disruptions to my heartbeat. But also, three people with three possible styles of rejection.
The punk poet: This girl. You. No, girl.
The king: Baby bye bye bye.
The girl: *Blink, blink. Silence.*
She took a swig of her beer and glanced over to where we were standing. When she caught me looking, I thought she paused mid-sip for a split second. I quickly leaned back in to hide behind Deidre’s broad shoulder, but Deidre had already turned back to the boys next to her. I tried to look like I was part of their conversation and laughed a little, awkward as ever. Deidre turned to me.
“Well, did you find her?” she asked.
“Huh? Oh yeah. I think that’s her over there by the picnic table.”
“And?” Her fake eyelashes blinked demandingly.
“And what?”
“And are you going over there or do I need to drag you?”
“ ‘Drag’ me. Ha-ha—good one.” Inside my sneakers, my toes curled and uncurled.
“Okay, listen up.” She slipped the fingers of both of her hands through my backpack shoulder straps—oh my God, I’m still wearing a backpack—and pulled me to her. She had definitely consumed a few drinks by that point, and her breath smelled even sweeter than before, like peaches and medicine.
“Am I going to have to give you pep talks all night? Because you are too lovely to be hiding out here with a bunch of queens and their loyal but delirious fans.”
“I can’t just walk over there. She’s with people. Cool people. What will I say?” Fumbling attempts to profess my love and Ginny’s friendly pats on the back flashed in my mind.
“That girl has been checking you out since the minute she got here. Here’s what you do: walk over to the Porta-Potties and stand in line. Just act natural. I promise she’ll be right behind you.”
“Mmm, let’s meet by the Porta-Potties, sweetheart,” I said with exaggerated breathiness. “How romantic.”
“Never mind, smart-ass. Now, I’m gonna say something completely uninteresting, but you and I are going to laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world. Then I’m gonna give you a big old hug, and you’re going to walk off to the washroom right after that. Got it?”
“Uh—”
“Good. Here we go: I really need to get my eyebrows plucked—they’re weighing me down into a frown. Now laugh!” She let out that spiraling laughter of hers, and just the sound made me smile. Then I was laughing too. Really laughing.
She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Okay, now come in for our hug, sugar.” She wrapped her lengthy arms around me. My nose was squished up against one of her plump boobs, but I didn’t mind. I was glad to stretch my arms around her muscular waist and squeeze tight. This was a good hug, and it calmed a few of the fluttering wings in my stomach.
As I turned toward the Porta-Potties, Deidre spanked me on my butt and I let out another loud guffaw. Each laugh calmed me a little more. Maybe it was just this night in general. Everything felt so surreal, so magnificently unusual. Maybe heading to a set of blue Porta-Potties to try and pick up a girl who moonlighted as a drag king made perfect sense on a night like tonight. Maybe I was caught up in some kind of cross-genre, fairy tale–romance–fantasy.
A short line had formed in front of the three weathered Porta-Potties. I stood at the end and dug my hands into my pockets, trying to look as though loitering around portable toilets was totally my thing.
By the time I pulled open the thick plastic door to one of the Porta-Potties, I really did need to pee. I shut and locked the door tightly behind me, muffling the laughter and music of the party. The quiet would have been comforting if the smell wasn’t so obscene. I quickly peed, wiped, hand-sanitized, then pushed back out into the noise and fresh air.
My lips released a burst of breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding.
“That bad, huh? Should I just use a bush?”
Winnow was at the end of the line, but kind of off to the side, like she wasn’t really planning on standing in line at all. Lord in lady pants. Deidre really knew her stuff.
I wet my lips. Where’s a gallon of water when you need it? “Uh . . . yeah, it’s pretty gross. A bush might be better. Although I can never pee properly when I’m squatting. My legs get tired and then I lose my balance and pee all over myself—”
“Hey, TMI, girly!” someone in the line shouted.
I’m sure all the brown in my cheeks burned red.
“Oh no, I hear you. I always pee all over myself when I try to pee in the woods too,” Winnow said. Her hands were in her back pockets, her head tilted a little to the right. She was just trying to make me feel better, but I appreciated it.
Also, that head tilt.
She took a couple of slow steps toward me. “I think I recognize you. Did you come to my shows tonight?” One hand reappeared and played with the pendant around her neck, a tiny crescent moon.
“Uh, yeah.” But I’m not stalking you! I promise! “I didn’t even know what I was seeing, to be honest. Both were just kind of . . . whims.”
A couple more steps and she was within arm’s reach. “Following a whim is nothing to be ashamed of.” She pulled her fingers through her loose hair, combing it down over her shoulder. It could have been actual silk. “What did you think?”
I heard Deidre in my head. Keep your cool, girl. “Well, both were . . . surprising. I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Yeah, the punk poetry thing is just an experiment. Was it too weird? Cheesy?”
For just a moment, her eyes fluttered with worry and a tiny rivulet of relief flowed through me. Is she nervous too?
“No, no—not at all. Well, actually, yes—weird and cheesy, but wonderful. Weird, cheesy, and wonderful.” My cheeks felt splotchy. Don’t give too much away, fool!
Her face exploded into a grin. My chest exploded with relief. “You’re adorable. Come on.” She turned and headed back toward the drag crowd.
Adorable. Again. I need to hang out with these folks more often.
As we walked, she held her hand upturned toward me and said, “I’m Winnow.”
After a confusing moment of deliberating what I was meant to do, I laid my hand on top of hers, our fingers lacing together in a brief squeeze for an odd but wonderful handshake. Her skin felt like it was well used—a bit rough, but comforting. Like well-worn leather.
“Nima,” I said, reluctantly letting go of her hand.
“Short for?”
“Pardon?”
“Nima. Short for what?”
“Oh . . . Nimanthi.”
“Cool name. Do you ever use it?”
“No.”
“Too long?”
Maybe, but that’s not the reason. “Yeah.”
“Where’s it from?”
“My mom chose it.” That’s part of the reason.
“Well, it’s an awesome name. Can I call you that?”
I wanted her to call me lots of things, but not that. “Sure, but I may not answer.”
She laughed and squeezed my shoulder. “Okay, okay. Nima it is. Nima’s cool too.” Her fingers slid down my arm before departing.
Merciful heavens. I swallowed my heart back into my chest and just focused on placing one foot in front of the other.
She led me back into the party. My bare arm was a mere inch or two away from her bare arm, and my skin tingled at the thought. A shiver ran through me and I involuntarily twitched.
Winnow turned toward me. “Cold?”
“A little, I guess.” But not really.
“Well, let’s get closer to the fire, silly.” She said this while rubbing her palm up and down my arm a couple of times.
“Well, okay then.” I smiled casually, but my heart played hopscotch around my chest. I tried to temper the feeling with a few breaths. I was still having a hard time trusting any of this—that these people would really like me, that I wouldn’t make a complete jackass of myself—and part of me was waiting for the Ball of Doom to drop.
As we strolled over to the fire, Deidre caught my eye, and her teeth took up her entire face at the sight of Winnow and me. I had a hard time not laughing. But Winnow saw me smirk. “What are you smiling at?”
“Just my friend over there—the one in the shiny blue dress. She makes me smile, is all.”
“Cute. I’ve seen her around before. Dee Dee, right? She does a kick-ass show. Introduce me?”
“Sure, no problem.” ’Cause I’m cool like that.
I walked her over to Deidre, whose face was still enveloped by an enormous grin.
“Well, hello, hello, ladies! Aren’t you two a welcome sight! All these queens everywhere. We need some diversity around here, people!” she hollered, whipping her head and her tight bronze braids back toward the circle of queens. She had clearly kept on imbibing since I left, although really, she didn’t seem that different from her less drunk self.
“Deidre, this is Winnow. Winnow, Deidre.”
“I’ve seen you, girl!” Deidre went straight in for a hug, and Winnow complied gleefully, laughing out loud. Deidre pulled back, holding Winnow at arm’s length. “I love a sister who’s not afraid to hug a loud, obnoxious stranger!”
“I agree one hundred percent,” Winnow said, her eyes on me. I wasn’t sure what that look meant. Should I have hugged her by now?
Luckily, Deidre squeezed in between us, turned, grabbed us both by the waist, and guided us toward the fire.
“Ladies and other folks,” she announced, “I would like to introduce you to two of the finest people with vaginas I have met today, Miss Nima and Miss Winnow.” She turned to Winnow quickly and stage-whispered, “Is it ‘Miss’?”
Winnow laughed. “Yes, you can go with ‘Miss’ at the moment.”
“Miss-at-the-Moment Winnow!” Deidre bellowed over the crowd. Then she paused again and whispered to us both, “And I just assumed you had vaginas . . . sorry!” She giggled.
Winnow and I shared our amusement across Deidre’s pronounced boobs.
Giving us both a little push, she said, “Now go on with your bad selves!” and let loose an unruly “Whee!”
Winnow and I trotted a few steps from the force of Deidre’s exuberant push and fell into a similar pace toward the fire. My arms welcomed the warmth. I felt even more shy now that we stood still, and alone.
“She’s something else,” Winnow offered, pulling a couple of cans of beer out of her shoulder bag and handing me one.
Another beer would definitely not hurt right now, so I took it. “Yeah. I feel like I’ve known her forever, but I only met her a few hours ago.”
“Wait—seriously?” Her eyebrows leaped up.
“Yeah. We met in line for your show.”
“For the drag show?”
“Yeah.”
&
nbsp; “I love that.”
“What?”
“That you met waiting to see drag. For me, drag is all about community.” She pulled open the tab on her beer and slurped up some foam.
“Have you been doing it for very long?” I opened my can and took a sip too, trying to look as cool as her but dribbling a few drops of beer on my shirt instead.
“Officially only a couple of years. But I’ve been practicing in my bedroom for much longer.” She smiled at me—a bit shyly, maybe?
“You mean you pranced around in front of the mirror in boys’ clothing, don’t you?” I smiled back, wiping the wet spot on my shirt as casually as possible.
“Precisely. You ever done that?”
“Pranced around in men’s clothing? No.” I thought for a moment. “But I never wear dresses, either. And my dad wears muumuus. Do I get credit for my dad’s cross-dressing?”
“Ha-ha, yes. You absolutely get credit for that. And for being adorable.”
Seriously, stop saying that.I might start believing it’s true.
“Do you live here?” she asked.
I had to swallow a few times before I could speak. “Yeah. Just a few blocks from here, actually.”
“With your parents?”
“Yeah—well, with my dad.”
“So you’re in high school?”
Uh-oh. Should I lie? Probably. But I didn’t. “Yeah, going into senior year. You?”
“Me what?”
“Where are you from, how old are you, et cetera.”
She rattled off a half-dozen places she’d lived. I quickly did the mental math and realized she must be at least twenty-one, which gave me a couple of heart palpitations.
“Wow. That’s a lot of movement.” Now what? “Um, how did you get into all of . . . this?” I asked, flicking my hand around me.
“Drag, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess it was just a natural progression out of a bunch of things I enjoyed, like dressing up, dancing, performing. . . .” She downed a few gulps of her beer.
“Taking your clothes off?” I said, before I could control my mouth.
She half choked on her beer and had to cover her mouth with her hand.