by Tanya Boteju
“Hey, Winnow!” Luce exclaimed. “We were just talking about you!”
Erg. Not something I wanted her to know.
“Oh yeah?” Winnow replied. I finally forced myself to look her in the face, and her eyes stared directly into mine. “Hey, Nima,” she said, a tilting smile on her lips. Her eyes glimmered in the dim lighting, and I tried hard to hold their gaze.
It felt weird not to give her a hug, but I was also afraid that if I tried to give her one, she’d shrug it off. Instead I squeezed Luce’s hand—some kind of substitute reflex, I guess.
“Sweet performance, Winnow,” Luce said.
“Thanks, Luce. You too.” Her eyes remained fixed on me. “And you, Nima. That was something else.”
Ugh. And by “something else” you mean utterly pathetic. “Uh, ha-ha . . . thanks. Not my finest moment, I know.” In fact, no fine moments to speak of . . . in my life . . . ever.
“Oh, um, this is Gordon, by the way.” I used the opportunity to let go of Luce’s hand and move closer to him.
“Hi, Gordon,” Winnow said.
Gordon replied with a head nod and a clipped “Hey.”
Luce looked from Gordon to me to Winnow. “Okay, cool. Well, I’m going to make a round of the bar and say hi to a few people. I’ll catch up with you folks in a bit.”
“Okay, cool,” I called after her, a failed attempt at nonchalance.
I took a quick look at Winnow, who still stood a little ways from our table, watching the lively dance floor. Her throat undulated as she swallowed, and the tiny crescent moon on her neck appeared to glow in the black light. I should say something, but what? It had been a week since I left her place, embarrassed and unsure of where we stood. She hadn’t called. Neither had I, but who could blame me? Shouldn’t she have made the first move to see if I was okay? If she was interested in seeing me again, that is. But I guess she wasn’t. Interested. In me.
The realization sent all the air hissing out of my lungs.
Before I could deflate to the ground in self-pity, Boyd, drunk as ever, crashed into the table and flung his arm around me. “Nimaaaa!” One slobbery kiss on the cheek later, he started babbling about a hundred things I couldn’t keep track of. As Boyd continued to prattle on, Winnow shook her head at him with an almost-smile and left in the direction of the washroom. All I wanted to do was follow her, but I didn’t. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t want a sad puppy escort as she peed.
When Boyd finally paused to take a breath and a slug of his beer, I introduced him to Gordon. “Boyd, this is Gordon. Gordon, Boyd.”
Boyd squished in between me and Gordon, which made Gordon curl into himself in utter discomfort, which amused me a great deal.
“Hey, bud,” Boyd offered in his disarming way, holding his beer bottle up to Gordon for a clink. “What’s up? You like the show?”
Gordon lifted his beer uncertainly to Boyd’s and replied, with equal uncertainty, “Yeah . . . you were cool, man.”
Okay, not bad, Gordon, not bad.
I chimed in with, “Yeah, Boyd, you were amazing. Seriously. So talented.”
A lazy smile lengthened Boyd’s lips. “Aw, thanks, you guys. I’ve been working on that one for a while.” Then, in a typical drunk about-face, he threw his arm around Gordon and bellowed, “So, Gordo, you playing for my team, or hers?” He fluttered his fingers at me.
Gordon looked a little deer-in-headlights, but managed to get out “Uh . . .”
“Yeah, you know, you like boys or girls, or both or neither or somewhere along the spectrum?” He made air quotes as he said “spectrum.”
At that point I elbowed him in the gut and started, “Boyd—”
But Gordon interrupted me. “Girls. Definitely girls.”
“Really?” All Boyd’s facial features expanded as if by helium. “Sweet! Be my wingman, dude! Come on—let’s go find some ladies who like lads.” He began to pull Gordon from the table but then stopped abruptly, and his face became serious. “This won’t be an easy mission. Are you up for it?” He was totally close-talking right into Gordon’s face, and it cracked me up.
Gordon leaned back a little, but I was surprised to hear the words, “Yeah, man—lead the way” come from his mouth. He gave me a wide-eyed look as Boyd tugged him away, but a hint of excitement appeared in his eyes too. I found myself excited for him as well.
Then I realized I was alone at a table in the middle of not only a crowded bar, but also a very confusing situation.
I leaned my back against the table to pretend I was interested in the crowd on the dance floor. I wished I at least had a drink to sip.
As if by telepathy, Luce appeared with two tall glasses brimming with what looked like more rum and Coke. She handed me one and clinked it with hers, then took several long gulps like it was water.
Unsure of what else to do at this point, I matched her gulp for gulp, despite obvious reasons not to. But the main reason I’d come here, at this point, seemed a long shot. And this cute girl in front of me—well, she was in front of me. Buying me drinks. Kissing me. She actually seemed to want me. Who was I to pass up being wanted at this point? I could chance it with Winnow and lose out on this, or seize the day and lose what I’d probably already lost.
What better time to drink, am I right?
On cue, Luce shouted, “Drink!” and chugged back the rest of her rum and Coke. I did the same, right to the bottom of my glass, and let out a barbaric burp. Luce laughed, and I yanked her out onto the dance floor. Once situated tightly among the bumping, frenzied bodies, my lips found hers. I shut my eyes tightly and tried to focus on the thumping beat. Her tongue was forceful, strong, deep, and though my brain still whirred in confusion, my body responded quickly and I allowed her to press herself into me. After a lengthy make-out session, she withdrew her mouth from mine and whispered loosely into my ear, “You know Winnow’s my ex, right?”
Wait, what? I pulled back a bit and looked at her.
She grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m totally over it, but I can see you’ve got a thing for her.”
Whaaaat?
“Listen, as far as I’m concerned, this is a great way to make her jealous, so just keep kissing me.”
This is messed up. Finally finding my words, I stuttered, “Are—are you trying to make her jealous?”
“Nah. Not really. I mean, if she is jealous, it’s a bonus, but like I said, I’m over her.” But something in her eyes told me that wasn’t completely true.
This wasn’t happening. If Luce was Winnow’s ex, then kissing her was probably ten times worse in Winnow’s mind. And Luce probably knew that. Which meant that Luce didn’t actually want me. She just wanted to use me.
And just like that, I was back in the changing room with Ginny. Reading the letter from my mom. Listening to Jill’s story. Wondering who I could trust and if I’d ever be someone’s person.
I pushed Luce’s hands off my hips and forced my way past the group of girls circle-dancing next to us. Just as I got through that first obstacle, I tripped over someone’s bag and in my attempt to regain my balance, reached for the first arm I could find. That arm, coincidentally but predictably given my current luck, belonged to Winnow.
“Whoa. Hey,” she said, grabbing me with her other hand and pulling me to a standing position in front of her. “All right?”
I wiped something wet off my arm. “Yeah. Thanks.”
She looked at me for a moment, then over at Luce, who had broken her way into the circle of dancing girls, apparently unperturbed by my sudden exit. “When did you and Luce get together?” she asked me.
“What? No—we’re not together. I only met her tonight.”
Her eyebrows popped up. “Wow. That was quick. I know Luce can be forward, but—”
“It was quick!” My next words came out in a desperate tumble. “I don’t even really know what happened. I don’t know how I got onstage, or where any of those kisses came from, or how I’m even getting home tonight.” I searched her face despa
iringly.
“What’s going on with you, Nima?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
So much. But I didn’t know how to say it, or whether she’d want to hear it. I didn’t really know anything, it seemed. Except that I wished I hadn’t been such an ass tonight. Instead of answering her question, I simply blurted, “I came here looking for you, Winnow.” I hadn’t really meant to say that, but there it was. Suddenly my feet became sensationally fascinating.
Winnow’s hand touched my arm in a distinctly formal manner—fingers cupped in a stiff circle around my bicep. She leaned in and spoke in a voice just barely above the music. “If that’s true, Nima, I just wish you hadn’t been so easily distracted.” Her fingers squeezed my arm lightly. “I hope you’re having fun at least.” The fingers fell from my arm, and when I looked up, all I could see was the shape of her geisha, hazy and shifting beneath her shirt.
And just like that, in a mass of jumping, sweaty bodies, I felt utterly alone.
I needed to get out of there. I tracked down Gordon and Boyd at the back of the bar, where they were trying to ingratiate themselves with a group of three girls who seemed only mildly interested, and realized very quickly that there was no way Gordon would be driving us home that night. Feeling lost, the only thing I could think to do at that moment was call the one person whose relationship with me didn’t feel like a complete mess: Deidre.
After locking myself in a washroom stall, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number, selfishly ignoring the fact that it was way past midnight.
On the fourth ring I almost hung up, but then I heard, “Mmm . . . and just who is callin’ me at this ungodly hour?”
Just hearing her voice—even in its sleepy sandpaper whisper—my heart lightened a touch. “Deidre? I’m so, so sorry to call this late. It’s Nima. I—I’m so sorry.” And then the tears.
CHAPTER 14
On the other end of the phone, it sounded like Deidre had leaped out of bed and thrown on her clothes as she asked me where I was and assured me she’d be there in less than ten minutes. Through my hiccuping sobs, I managed to get out a few details, including the fact that Gordon was with me.
I told Gordon if he wanted a place to sleep that night, he better finish his damn drink and get his ass in gear. He looked like he was about to argue, but my face seemed to stop him. Boyd offered his place, but that obviously wouldn’t work, so I told him no thanks, Deidre was already on her way.
As we stood outside, waiting for Deidre to drive up, Gordon lit a cigarette, which I really wanted to slap out of his hand. I was not in the mood for stanky-ass cigarette smoke.
“Do you have to?”
He inhaled and blew out before responding. “Man. What crawled up your ass? Too many chicks to handle in one night?”
Too many chicks. Too many rejections. Too many complications. Too many secrets. Too many fucking questions.
My hands, already tensely gripped into fists, rammed into Gordon’s chest. He staggered backward a few steps and lost his cigarette to the ground.
“What the . . . ?” His face looked more shocked than angry. I charged at him again, but just as I got to him, two strong, sinuous arms caught me from behind and held me tight.
“Nima, Nima! Girl! Hold on, sugar!”
Deidre.
Without letting me loose, she said, over my shoulder, “What is happening here, baby? This boy botherin’ you?”
“What? Hey—I didn’t do anything. She’s freaking out and just busting my ass for nothing!” Gordon protested, salvaging his cigarette from the pavement.
“Is that so?” Deidre aimed at him. Then, to me, “This the friend coming home with us?”
Not trusting my voice, I just nodded.
“And do you still want him coming home with us?”
In her arms, my heartbeat began to slow its pace. I took a few deep breaths before answering, beginning to realize how this all must look to her.
“Yes. He can come. I’m not mad at him. I’m just . . . mad,” I managed, my voice coming out in shudders.
“Well, all right then. Let’s get the two of you back to my place and put some food in your stomachs.”
After a very quiet ride in Deidre’s van, we arrived at a tall, sleek building. Deidre parked in the underground garage, and we traveled by elevator to the eighth floor. Despite my agitated state, I was amused to finally notice Deidre had worn nothing but booty shorts, a tight T-shirt, and flip-flops to come get us. A silk scarf covered her head. I could tell Gordon didn’t know where to look as we rode up the elevator.
Walking into Deidre’s apartment felt like what I imagined entering a high-end spa might feel like. A subtle scent of lilacs greeted us as soon as we entered. Calming, faint-green hues painted the walls, and natural wood flooring spanned the entire space. The wide living and kitchen area looked like something out of a magazine. This was a soothing paradise, and just what I needed.
When I’d expressed my surprise to Deidre, asking facetiously how much drag queens made these days, she let out that beautiful laugh of hers and revealed that drag and drag “tutelage,” as she called it, were her side gigs, and that she was, in fact, an accountant by trade. Another surprise.
Deidre laid out some ingredients on the kitchen island and set Gordon to task. “Make some sandwiches, darlin’. Y’all need to soak up some of that liquor.” She then handed me some linens and pillows. “Make up that couch for your friend here, and you can sleep in the spare room, honey. Bathroom’s down the hall, and towels are under the sink in there.” She also lent us some sweats to sleep in and gave us toothbrushes, since neither Gordon nor I had come prepared to sleep over anywhere. She placed her hands on her hips and looked around the living room, as if deciding whether there was anything else we needed to know.
“Deidre.” I touched her elbow. When she turned to me, I slipped my arms around her waist and pushed my head into her chest. “Thank you. Really. So much.”
“Oh, girl, it’s no trouble.” Her arms pulled me in farther. “I’ve been there, done that to many, many people in my life. Gotta keep the karma flowin’, right?”
I closed my eyes. Snuggled into her like this, I finally felt some of the tension ease from my shoulders and neck. My jaw and brow loosened too.
After a minute or two of this heavenly respite, Gordon’s voice broke through, albeit in a gentler tone than I’d heard from him all night. “So, did you guys wanna eat, or . . . ?”
While Gordon and I devoured our sandwiches, Deidre prattled on. I could tell she was trying to give us a chance to settle our minds and bodies, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather be listening to. We heard about her favorite wig store in town, her obsession with pantsuits, and her first drag show, which was a disaster (and which made me feel a bit better about mine). Then she turned her attention to her career.
“Accounting isn’t exactly my passion, per se, but you know, it gives me the freedom to do my thing onstage and live this life of luxury you see around you.”
“How long have you been doing it?” I asked, wiping some mustard from my mouth.
“Oh, about three years now, I guess. It took me a while to get my schooling done. Ain’t easy when the only money coming in is from drag, dancing in sketchy bars, and a few other things I won’t burden your virgin ears with.” Her lips stretched into a cheeky smile over the edge of her mug as she sipped her tea.
Through his full mouth, Gordon mumbled, “How old are you?”
Deidre’s eyebrow cocked just a smidge. “Honey, you are cute, but not cute enough to talk at me with your mouth full. You can ask me that question again once you’ve swallowed.”
To my surprise, again, Gordon lowered his head, chewed, swallowed, took a sip of water, then said in a slightly higher voice than before, “I just wondered how old you were, since you’re already an accountant and everything.”
She gave him a warm smile, and I swear, he blushed.
“Let’s just say I’ve been twenty-nine for about six years
now.” She batted a beautiful eyelash at us. I swear I blushed.
“You said your mama lives close, right?” I asked, thinking back to our conversation at my house.
“She’s still in Woodland, where I grew up, and my brothers live on the other side of the country. But I don’t speak to them much anymore.” She sipped her tea. “They’re not big fans of all my fabulousness.” She pulled gently at the silver necklace at her throat—two feathery wings—and winked again, but this time, instead of blushing, my heart ached for her. I supposed these were some of the “bitter bits” Deidre had mentioned before.
“So . . . your brothers hate that you’re . . . uh . . . ,” Gordon started to ask, unsure of how to refer to Deidre, I guess.
“That I’m a woman, that I like boys, that I don’t play football . . . all of the above, sweetheart. But I got plenty of love in my world, don’t you worry.”
Gordon just nodded, staring at his food. My heart ached a bit for him, too.
We munched and sipped in silence for a while, contemplating all the implications of our various identities, I suspected.
But by the time Gordon and I had finished eating, at least my mind was only half-preoccupied with thoughts of Winnow and Luce and the royal jackass I’d made of myself tonight.
I noticed that Gordon, too, had been affected in some way by the words materializing from Deidre’s mouth. He’d fallen under her spell as I had that first night Deidre and I met.
Deidre conducted our cleanup from the stool she was sitting on, and when we were done, she said, “All right, snap peas—off to your pods. I wanna hear all about your night, but now’s not the time.”
I wanted to tell her all about my night too, and hear her thoughts, but she was right—my eyelids drooped and I couldn’t wait to feel a pillow beneath my cheek.
Deidre’s glorious spare bed brought me a good night’s sleep, and in the morning, I felt somewhat human. When I meandered into the kitchen, Deidre was sitting at the island, reading a newspaper with a shimmery silver robe wrapped around her and a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.