Kings, Queens, and In-Betweens

by Tanya Boteju

  Looking up over the tops of the frames when I entered, she held open her arms and said in her velvety voice, “Hey, baby. How’d you sleep?”

  As if reeled in by her welcome, I floated right into her awaiting arms for another glorious hug.

  “Incredibly well, thank you. Your home is so inviting, Deidre.”

  “Good. It’s meant to be. Coffee? Tea?”

  “Both?” I looked up at her and smiled sleepily.

  She laughed and poured me a coffee from a small metal contraption on the stove. As she watched me scoop sugar into the rich liquid and sip it, she said, “All right, darlin’, while that tough cookie is still zonked out over there on my couch, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  I divulged every last piece of drama from my past three weeks—Charles, Ginny, the letter from Mom, Jill and Mom, Winnow, Luce—and Deidre nodded, tut-tutted, patted my hand, and listened to all of it. By the end, I was pretty close to tears, and she just pulled me back into her strong arms and let me weep all over her fancy housecoat.

  But she only let me cry for a couple of minutes. Then she held me out at arm’s length and said, “That’s it. That’s all the crying you’re allowed for now, because these next couple of days are for replenishing our spirits, girl. I have all kinds of goodies for us to gobble up!”

  “But don’t you have to work or anything?”

  “That’s the beauty of having my own businesses—I can do whatever the hell I want, when I want!” she exclaimed, followed by a quiet titter.

  “Then . . . you’re okay with me staying here another night?” The thought sent my heart leaping around in my chest.

  “Sweetheart, you can stay for as long as you need to, under two conditions.” She held up one perfectly manicured finger. “One, you trust me and jump feetfirst into whatever Mama Dee Dee throws at you.” A second slender finger popped up. “And two, that you don’t avoid all this madness in your life for too long.” She pointed the two fingers at me. “Ya dig?”

  “I dig.” Something told me I’d be digging deep this weekend.

  We moved out onto the balcony, where the sun had warmed two lounging chairs to a cozy temperature. Deidre took the private moment to ask about Gordon, who was still sound asleep on the couch. Without revealing Gordon’s secret, even though I thought Deidre was the perfect person to share it with, I told Deidre about the bumpy nature of Gordon’s and my relationship and that he was simply curious about drag. It was difficult to maneuver around why he was here and where his curiosity came from without saying too much, and I’m sure Deidre suspected there was more to the story, but she didn’t press.

  She did, however, ask, “Do you think your surly friend will want to stay, or . . . ?”

  I thought about it. “I don’t know. I guess we can ask him. Would it be okay if he did stay?”

  “Honey, if you trust him in my home, then I trust him in my home.”

  Do I? Trust Gordon? The jury was out on that one.

  When Gordon woke up, groggy as ever and smelling like a combination of smoke machine and cigarette smoke, we asked him over eggs and toast if he’d want to stay and hang out another night. I could tell from his hesitation that he wasn’t sure what he wanted. I suspected he was intrigued by Deidre and curious about what we’d get up to, but also that his general distrust of people kept him from wholeheartedly jumping into the situation.

  “What’re you guys gonna do?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked.

  I looked at Deidre. She smiled broadly and tapped Gordon’s nose with her finger—something I couldn’t imagine anyone else in the world getting away with. “Why don’t you just stick around and find out, darlin’?”

  The briefest of frowns flitted across his forehead, but then he mumbled, “Uh, sure. I guess I can stay for a bit. But just for a couple of hours, probably.”

  “Whatever suits your fancy, honey,” Deidre said, turning her attention back to her breakfast.

  Gordon looked at me, his eyes squinting with suspicion, but I just shrugged and took a bite of my toast.

  Before anything else, Gordon wanted to get his truck, so Deidre drove us to pick it up. I think Gordon wanted to be able to escape if he needed to, which was fine by me. We both showered and changed, which made everything infinitely better in my book, and when we’d finished, Deidre appeared from her bedroom in a bright orange cardigan, formfitting blue jeans, and silver flats. A Cleopatra-style black wig cascaded down either side of her face, and a few tasteful pieces of jewelry accented her wrists and neck.

  Meanwhile, Gordon and I practically matched in our jeans and T-shirts. I could tell from Gordon’s parted lips and lengthened forehead that he was in perfect awe over Deidre.

  Deidre didn’t seem to mind that we looked like vagabonds next to her. She pulled a humongous purse from a hook on the wall and swung it over her shoulder. “Ready, babies?”

  First up on Deidre’s agenda: Top Secret. We hopped into her van and drove to a mystery location, which turned out to be a white clapboard building. When I looked up, I saw a light purple cross extending above the double front doors. My questioning eyes slowly traveled from the cross to Deidre.

  Her mouth curved downward into a knowing smile. “Don’t panic. I’m not taking you to church . . . although this is one fabulous church.”

  “Okay . . .” Trust her, trust her, trust her.

  “We’re just using the space.”

  “Uh-huh . . .” And?

  “Come on, you two.” She grabbed my hand and Gordon’s and pulled us around to the side of the building. I noticed Gordon shook his hand out of hers right away, but Deidre paid no mind. As we walked, I heard singing from inside. Hymns. But not like the ones I thought they probably sang in other churches.

  “We are stronger together! Women, men, and all between! God’s love will sustain us, she is our supreme queen.”

  “What the . . . ,” Gordon muttered.

  “Okay,” I said, my hand gripping Deidre’s a little tighter, “now I’m starting to have strange thoughts.”

  She hooted. “I’m sure you are. Just come on.”

  We continued around the back, where a small yard opened up and another entrance seemed to lead into the basement of the building.

  Deidre pulled out a key and opened the door. She flipped a switch and a wide room extended out in front of us under long, cold fluorescent lights. “Sorry about this horrendous lighting. Give me one second.” She glided over to the other side of the room, plugged in three strings of lights, then turned on a standing lamp. She then magically produced a lava lamp from somewhere behind an old couch and plugged that in. The lamp turned bright red, but the blob of “lava” sat indignantly at the bottom. “That’ll heat up fast, just like me—promise,” she said, winking at us and coming back to turn off the fluorescent lights. The room instantly became warm and inviting—groovy, as Dad might say.

  She squeezed between us and put her arms around our shoulders, surveying the space. “There. Better, right?”

  “Much,” I agreed. Gordon just grunted.

  She walked out into the middle of the room, kicked off her flats, and spun around slowly with her arms stretched out. “This is my secret rehearsal lair. Like it?”

  I nodded as I took the space in.

  The room was a large rectangle. On the opposite wall from the doorway we’d entered through was the magical lava lamp couch—a plaid, beastly thing covered loosely with a much more palatable red-and-gold blanket. The longer walls were exposed brick and mostly bare, except for a very large mirror on one side. On the other side sat stacks upon stacks of CDs and a stereo system like the one Jill had—complete with CD slot and cassette player. Another doorway at one end of the wall with the mirror on it opened into a staircase, which I guessed led up to wherever the singing had come from. I could barely hear the strange hymns down here, though.

  “It’s . . . very large . . . and open,” I offered.

  “That it is. For good reason.” She pranced over to us, to
ok both our hands again, and guided us over to the couch. Gordon let her this time. “Sit. Relax.”

  She pulled off her cardigan and flung it at Gordon, who just looked at it in his lap. I don’t think he knew what to do with himself at this point, and I found that amusing. Beneath the cardigan, Deidre wore a fitted sleeveless top. Great galloping gods. I’d kill for a physique like hers.

  I sat, but the relaxing part was just out of reach. I still wasn’t sure where this was all leading. In answer, Deidre pulled something out of her back pocket and handed it to me. It was the coupon for a free drag lesson that Luce had given me last night.

  “Found that on the floor this morning. Must’ve slipped out of your pocket. How come you didn’t tell me you’d been granted a lesson with yours truly?” She arched her eyebrow in a mock reprimand and shook her finger at me.

  “With all the drama, I guess I forgot about it,” I admitted, holding my palms up to the ceiling and shrugging.

  She gave me a playful “humph” and skipped over to the stereo. She was clearly excited about something, and it made me smile, even as it caused my stomach to squirm. Crouching, she opened a CD case and slipped the CD into the stereo, searched through a few songs, then landed on one.

  Out of a trunk on the floor, she drew a thirties-style felt hat, which she slanted casually on her head, and a feather boa, which she slid around her shoulders. She hit play on the stereo, and an older song I didn’t recognize sprang from the speakers.

  “There ain’t nothing I can do or nothing I can say . . .”

  Deidre turned coyly from the stereo, her hand on her hip and her eyelashes fluttering at me, then at Gordon. Taking long, slow strides toward the couch, she began mouthing the lyrics in a manner halfway between sensuous and coquettish. Just in front of us, she launched into a smooth spin, the sparkliest of sparkles in her eyes.

  “Ain’t nobody’s business if I do, do, do, do . . .”

  My body sank into the couch, my feet into the floor as I watched, awed by this private performance. Watching her in all her feminine wear was one thing—she was simply a beautiful, vibrant woman. But seeing her here, performing, forced the air from my lungs in one colossal burst. It was almost like she transcended her physical self—like I could see her beautiful spirit illuminating through her body. From Gordon’s utter stillness beside me, I imagined he felt and saw something similar.

  As the song came to a close, Deidre moved closer and closer to me. She laughed as she lip-synced, and I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face if I’d wanted to. She ended by swinging the boa around my neck, planting the hat on Gordon’s head, pulling me off the couch into a twirl, then dipping herself (because there was no way I’d be able to hold her up) in an incredible show of acrobatics.

  As the music ended, she stepped back and bent forward in a deep, graceful bow. I stood across from her and clapped ecstatically, feeling like I’d just won the lottery.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, my dear,” she said. “That was special, just for you two.”

  “I don’t even know . . . what to say, Deidre. That was . . . incredible . . . ,” I managed, still breathless.

  Before I had a chance to fully express my appreciation, Gordon bounded from the couch and dropped the hat onto the floor. “I’m out. See ya.”

  Deidre looked at me questioningly. I frowned and shook my head. Then, to Gordon’s back as he stomped toward the door, I called, “What? Why? Where are you going?”

  Without looking back, he just muttered, “I gotta go,” and made a waving-off motion with one hand. He was out the door before I could say anything else.

  “Should I go after him?” I asked Deidre, still staring at the door.

  Deidre moved beside me and put her arm through mine. “I don’t think so, baby. That little darlin’ is overwhelmed. Let him go take a breath.”

  I trusted Deidre’s advice, but I just hoped Gordon wouldn’t do anything dangerous. I made a mental note to check in with him a bit later.

  Deidre turned back to face me and placed her hands over my cheeks. “You’re gonna fill me in on that boy’s story later, all right?”

  The thought filled me with comfort. “Okay.”

  She kissed me on my forehead, then clapped her hands together in front of her chest and grinned. Again, she seemed ridiculously excited about something, which released a small butterfly in my stomach.

  She put her hands on my shoulders and looked deeply into my eyes. Her face became very serious. “Now, Nima, sugar, sweet, sweet girl—”

  Uh-oh.

  “—you need to trust me, okay? I saw how you watched those queens and kings at the festival, I saw your eyes as you watched me just now, and . . . I think you’d make a stunning drag king—”

  Christ in tights.

  “—so today, I’m bequeathing to you my extra-special, uniquely tailored just for you, drag boot camp!”

  My knees quickly liquefied. Another time I may have been excited at this prospect, but after the events of last night, I wasn’t so sure.

  My face must have conveyed my uncertainty (and probably more than a little horror), because next she said, “Now, now, baby girl—just have some faith and groove with it. No pressure to be amazing, or ‘perform,’ or whatever—just a rowdy hour or two of something I just know you’re meant to do. Okay?”

  My mouth opened the tiniest bit, but no words came out. Last night I’d thought getting onstage would prove something—that I could be exciting and fun, attention-grabbing and desirable. I’d achieved the attention part, but not the kind I’d hoped for.

  Yet here was another invitation from someone I trusted wholeheartedly. Here, I could focus on fun instead of my fears. In Deidre’s eyes, I could see myself as I was and as who I could be. The thought made the edge of my lips lift ever so slightly.

  Deidre saw this hint of affirmation and mouthed the word “yes” while nodding at me encouragingly and gently squeezing my shoulders.

  She looked so expectant, so earnest.

  My wobbling legs grew steady.

  A “yes” drifted out of my mouth.

  And then I was gleefully tackled by what must have been one of the most persuasive drag queens alive.

  “Take this . . . and these.”

  A baseball cap and sunglasses landed in my hands.

  “And go change into this shirt and pants.”

  Deidre produced these items out of a cabinet next to the couch. A ribbed tank top and striped Adidas athletic pants. Apparently, I was the Sporty Spice of drag kings.

  “We’ll start you off easy—you probably wear this outfit on the weekends, don’t you, girl?” Deidre said, playfully tugging my ponytail.

  I let out a weak laugh. “Ha . . . yeah, how’d you know?” No part of me was completely on board with this yet.

  “Just woman’s intuition,” she said, sailing toward a wicker basket that had been tucked away under a round table in the corner. From this basket, she pulled a selection of makeup cases and cylinders.

  “Makeup? Do I have to?” I whined. Images of my blurry, blobby reflection in the bar last night rose in my mind.

  “Yes. Now go get changed.” I just stared at the pants and tank top in my hands. “Get going.” She gave my arm a loose pinch.

  While Deidre fussed over multiple CDs, I undressed and then pulled on each item of clothing in slow motion, trying to moderate my racing heartbeat. The pants sagged comfortably around my bum and crotch, but the tank top hugged me tighter than I was used to. I pulled my ponytail through the opening in the hat and secured the ball cap on my head. For now, I hung the sunglasses from the neck of my shirt.

  When Deidre turned to look at me, her face did that thing faces do when they think you’re adorable, like a puppy.

  “Oh-my-cute-as-a-goddamn-button. Get over here,” she said, waving me toward her.

  She adjusted my hat a little to the side and tried to push the tank top up a bit to reveal my midriff, which I promptly put a stop to. “Don’t push it, Scary Spice,�
� I said.

  That set off one of her spectacular cackles, and I felt a tiny bit better.

  “Now it’s makeup time. Come with me,” she said.

  She led me up the staircase to a two-stall washroom on the main floor. From what I could tell, this floor housed a large gathering space with rows of foldable chairs and a raised stage. A small kitchen with a cutout counter opened into the bigger space. It was exactly the kind of setting in which I could imagine a church potluck or post-baptism celebration taking place—except with bright purple walls and a billowing rainbow flag strung across the back of the stage.

  In the washroom, Deidre placed the makeup containers on the sink ledge and positioned me in front of the mirror. She stood behind me and we both looked into our reflections.

  “What kind of facial hair do you want, sugar?”

  Hmm. Luce hadn’t asked me this last night. She’d just taken charge. “Um. I have no idea?” I said, staring at Deidre through the mirror.

  “Long sideburns? Short? Mustache? No mustache? Beard? The sideburns really help sell the boy part.”

  Besides the blurry bar reflection, I’d seen Luce’s work only briefly last night before madly scrubbing the makeup off after the show. I hadn’t really felt like looking at myself at the time. I shrugged in mild defeat.

  Deidre crouched a significant distance to wrap her arms around my waist and lay her chin on my shoulder. I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of having her arms pull me in. “Sweetheart, you are a gorgeous girl and I’m about to make you into a gorgeous boy. Tell me what you want and I’ll make it happen, I promise.”

  I gazed at her face, then at my own. Chewing on my lower lip for a few moments, a collage of facial hair floated through my mind. Leading men from the old movies that put my dad to sleep, Mr. Helm’s rough, stubbly layer, all the drag kings I’d seen so far. The image that hovered out front, however, was of the trim mustache and delicate sideburns I’d seen last night across a crowded bar.

  I opted for a subtle look. “Maybe . . . shorter sideburns and a modest beard and mustache? Or something like that?”