Seven Deadly Queens (The FuBar Book 3)

by Jess Whitecroft

  “It’s cool,” said Trey. Or David. It was really hard to tell. They were both blond, and muscular. And oh boy – there was one on each side now on the black satin mattress. Justin had never modeled before, but somehow he didn’t think ‘starving sex vampire’ was going to be too hard a look to pull off.

  “It’s nice to keep it PG13, actually,” said the other twin. “I so did not feel like douching after all that eggnog yesterday.”

  “Wait…” said Justin. “You’re…?”

  “Used to more adult ratings?” said the twin. “Hell, yeah. We’re porn stars.”

  This was a new level of Twilight Zone fuckery. Sandwiched between blond, porn star twins, and unable to do a damn thing about it.

  “We’re not really twins,” said the other, adjusting Justin’s hips and motioning that he should drape a leg over him. “We’re like, third cousins, but we look so similar that people were always mistaking us for twins.”

  “Yeah, and people are nasty when it comes to incest,” said Twin One. “So we perform as twins.”

  “Wait…you fuck…?”

  “Each other? Oh yeah. That’s our whole thing.”

  “And they let you watch,” said Sheila, from somewhere behind the camera.

  Justin groaned. He really hoped the slingshot squashing his junk in place was up to the job.

  *

  Misty Meanors knew how to make an entrance. “Sorry, I’m late,” she said, and dropped her trenchcoat.

  Tess whistled.

  Under the trenchcoat Misty was wearing nothing but a pair of black CENSORED bars over the goods. Her face and body were scribbled all over with marker lines for a plastic surgeon, and she quickly reached into her bag, grabbed a gilt edged mirror and struck a pose.

  “Pride,” said Wrath, applauding. “I’m sure I’m not helping your whole situation by telling you that you nailed it, but that? Is genius.”

  Misty lowered the mirror and grinned. “Yeah, and look at you. Look at all of you. Seven Deadly Queens.” She did a quick headcount. “Wait, where’s Lust?”

  “Oh, she’s sandwiched between a couple of porn stars right now,” said Helena.

  “Taking her work seriously. I like it,” said Misty, gathering up her coat and bag. “Is Envy around yet?”

  Tess shook her head, trembling the towering curls of her gold, baroque wig. “She’s doing the diva thing.”

  “Ugh. As ever. Girl, I love that shade of purple on you.”

  “It’s Cadbury Purple.”

  “It’s perfect. Is that powdered sugar on your tits? No, leave it. It’s like when you dust sugar on ganache. God, you’re making me hungry…”

  “Drinks,” said Bunny, heading for the bar like she was on wheels. They’d had Justin mix up some pitchers of a pomegranate punch, with grenadine and lime. All they had to do was add the Prosecco, although Bunny didn’t look in great shape to be popping corks right now. She looked like she was coming down with the jitters. It was one of the FuBar’s best kept secrets that Bunny Boyle always had a backstage barf bucket handy, and on more than one occasion had been forced to perform last minute emergency repairs to her lips before stepping out to face the audience.

  “Are you okay?” asked Helena. “You look like you’re about to start sweating off your make-up.”

  Bunny savaged an orange slice. “I’m good. Low blood sugar or something. I was fine until Misty started talking about food.” She held a hand to her rumbling stomach and gazed hungrily at Tess’s cupcakes.

  “Well, did you eat?”

  “No, I couldn’t. I was gonna but then I started Googling what was wrong with my foot—”

  “—oh my God, tell me you did not roll out of bed this morning and start looking for internet diseases,” said Helena, taking charge of the Prosecco. “Bunny, you know how that goes for you. It’s always cancer or heart disease.”

  “No,” said Bunny, chewing frantically on a maraschino cherry. “Not always. Sometimes it’s prion diseases.”

  “Oh. Okay. Prion diseases are the new hypochondriac hotness. Good to know.”

  Rose hurried up to the bar, still shivering. “Hey. Is there booze?”

  “Not for you, Miss Rose,” said Bunny. “Diet Coke.”

  Rose blinked. “Diet?”

  “Ignore her,” said Helena, pouring out the punch. “I think she has an eating disorder.”

  “I do not.”

  “Oh yeah. Tell me again how it’s perfectly normal to exist on take-out, candy and cocktail garnishes. Bunny, your diet is a war crime. It’s no wonder you can’t poop.”

  Bunny was about to say something else, but then the door opened and she turned to look.

  It was Venus.

  She was wearing a huge coat and had a large silk scarf tied over her hair. It was overcast outside, but of course she was wearing giant dark glasses to complete the old school jet-set Liz Taylor look. There was a new boyfriend, too, a cutely bearded hipster named Sam, and a creature from the depths of YouTube who did her make-up. Her chihuahua – Chad Michaels II – was snuggled in the sleeve of her coat.

  “If she’s wearing nothing but a pair of censor bars under there, this is gonna get awkward,” said Bunny, in a stage whisper.

  Venus’s various minions descended to unwrap her, and what emerged was…disappointing. She wore a pastel green gown and a pale pink wig. No concept. No real commitment to the theme. The wave of annoyance that swept the bar was palpable, and Helena was sure everyone was thinking along the same lines as she was. After all, she’d upholstered an entire couch for Sloth to snooze on. Rose and Bunny had sat up sewing until their eyes rolled back in their heads. Tess had not only made her outfit, but also baked and frosted cupcakes, while Misty had torn across Pittsburgh looking like a plastic surgeon’s ‘before’ picture. On purpose.

  “This is Envy?” Helena whispered. “She just put on a gown, a pastel wig and a sneer? She does that anyway.”

  “Fucking low effort bitch,” said Rose. “I can’t believe I used to stalk her Instagram.”

  Oh, wait – Venus had done something. She’d dyed the dog. Poor little Chad Michaels II was a bilious – and utterly unenviable – shade of green. The look on Tess’s face hustled Wrath into the unlikely role of peacemaker.

  Bunny quickly beckoned Tess to the bar.

  “I’m gonna kill her,” said Tess.

  “No.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m a dog person.”

  “What’s going on?” said Misty, joining the huddle to avoid Venus.

  “Is that even legal in this state?” said Tess, mashing her phone screen. “I know you can get fined for dyeing your dog in Colorado…”

  Bunny held up a hand. “Ladies, please. I know how you feel. Wanting to strangle Venus is pretty much my default state, but we don’t need any violence.” She put an arm around Rose. “Especially with the baby on probation and all.”

  Tess simmered down slightly and set down the phone. “Fine. What are we going to do about her?”

  “Helena and I have been through this before, and we came out smelling of roses, okay?” said Bunny. “Listen and learn, ladies. Venus is going to push every button you have and some you didn’t even know you had. She is going to shit on you at every available opportunity, but clench your teeth, smile pretty, and think of her Instagram followers. All those lovely eyeballs on your gorgeous asses. Get those likes. Get those followers. Get those advertisers. Then, when you’ve got everything you can possibly squeeze out of your association with Venus. Then…” Bunny busted out the tiger shark grin, which was twice as scary coupled with those Halloween contacts. “Then, my darlings, it is open motherfucking season.”

  “She’s right,” said Helena. “I know Venus is a pain in the ass, but you should have seen what that Judgment of Paris gig did for my Instagram. I got likes from Dita. Oh, yeah. The Dita. I paid off my credit card and still had cash to take Hu away for the weekend at this mansion up in Erie. It was fucking sweet. And there was a turret.”

&nb
sp; Misty frowned. “A turret?”

  “She likes turrets,” said Bunny. “It’s a Disney princess thing.”

  There was a cough somewhere behind Tess’s shoulder, and they all guiltily opened up the huddle to reveal Venus standing there. “You look…amazing,” she said, glancing over at the stage, where the newly christened Justine was rising from her bed of sin. Her lips looked like they needed a running repair already, and one of her tits was askew, but if Sheila had wanted Lust to look like she was rode hard and put away wet, Justine had delivered. Venus double taked. “Who is that?”

  “We call her The Mystery Meat,” said Bunny.

  “Have we met?”

  “Maybe. I’ll introduce you later.”

  “I wasn’t under the impression I’d be working with strangers,” said Venus, and Rose got that I-am-twenty-and-have-poor-impulse-control look that Helena had been dreading all morning.

  “Why is your dog green?” said Tess.

  Venus flipped her pale bubblegum hair. “It’s a theme, okay. It’s fine. It’s safe. It’s a food dye.”

  “Is he gonna shit green from licking himself?” asked Rose. Helena had always had difficulty picturing the moment when tiny Rose had gone postal with a lunch tray. Until now. She threw Rose a warning look, but Sheila came down from the stage. “Nice of you to show up, Envy,” Sheila said. “Wrath, stop eyeballing Gluttony’s cupcakes. I need your blood sugar low and your fuse short.”

  “I can’t help it,” said Bunny. “Sloth smells like sandwiches and she’s making me hungry.”

  Sheila leaned close to Helena and sniffed. “Do I want to know why?”

  “It’s a Joan Crawford thing,” said Helena. “It’s Bunny’s fault.”

  Sheila nodded. “Most things are, especially Joan Crawford things. Oi, Tess – on stage, please. We’d better get you and your cupcakes on camera before Bunny polishes them off.”

  “You’re not next?” Helena asked Venus, as Sheila thankfully ushered the still scowling Tess up to the stage.

  Venus primped her pastel pink wig. “No, I already did my individual shots. I’m just here for the group shots.” Her base was flawless, thanks to the YouTube creature, a messy former ‘MySpace celebrity’ who had turned to selling cosmetics when hard living and misguided plastic surgery had left him – at the grand old age of thirty-five – like a cross between the Crypt Keeper and the late Pete Burns. From a professional point of view, Helena had to admit he knew his stuff, although there was no way she would have done that nose contour on Venus. It was far too severe.

  “Could I have a word?” said Venus. “Bunny? Helena?”

  She peeled them away from the group.

  “Something the matter, dear?” said Bunny.

  “The color scheme,” said Venus, looking them both up and down. “What is this?”

  “Um…Wrath and Sloth?” said Helena.

  “Yes, I know that, but I discussed the color scheme with Sheila. Lust was going to be red, Gluttony was going to be purple, green was going to be Envy – of course – and blue…well, Pride was supposed to be blue, but look how that turned out.”

  “Her surgical cap is blue,” said Bunny. “Oh, and her shoes.”

  “Nobody is going to notice her shoes,” hissed Venus, lowering her voice. “And you two – Wrath was supposed to be black and Sloth was supposed to be pink.”

  “We are,” said Helena, gesturing to her own outfit. “I’m in pink. How much more pink do you want?”

  “I was thinking hot pink.”

  “How does hot pink say sloth?” said Bunny. “This is the perfect pink. It’s like hot pink that maa-ybe thought about being hot pink for a hot minute, but couldn’t be bothered and phoned it in.”

  “Exactly,” said Helena. “Lazy pink. Sloth pink.”

  Venus sighed. “It’s the same color as my hair, Helena,” she said, as if explaining to an idiot.

  “Maybe change your hair?” It was hard to tell if Bunny was being friendly at the best of times, but downright impossible with those lenses in. “I’ve have a whole closet full of wigs you can borrow if it bothers you.”

  Venus sighed. “No, it’s fine. I’m not changing it now. Just don’t stand next to me, Helena. I don’t want my hair bleeding into your outfit.” She glanced over at Justin, who was pouring the drinks, and recognition dawned. “Dear God, did you drag up the bartender?”

  “Isn’t she gorgeous?” said Bunny, who loved nothing better than the moment when Venus realised she wasn’t the prettiest princess in the room.

  “Very nice,” said Venus. “Although I had no idea this was amateur night.” She flipped her hair. “Sam, honey, can you get me a drink? Get the straw – no, my straw. You know I only drink from the silver one…”

  She sashayed away. Helena could have sworn she heard one of Bunny’s molars crack.

  “I’m going on record now,” said Helena, into the short, seething silence. “And telling you that I really think the ax was a mistake.”

  Bunny hissed softly. “Or the means of correcting one,” she said. “It’s going to be a very long afternoon, isn’t it?”

  11

  In retrospect, what happened that afternoon looked inevitable. As the shoot wore on, Venus started to look more and more like that one character in a mystery novel, the one who you knew was going to end up face down with an ax buried in her spine, because she spent all of her time above ground giving all of the other characters motive to murder her. And not only murder her, but laugh at her last breath and then form a happy conga line of ding-dong-the-bitch-is-dead and dance their way to piss on her grave.

  The green dog had pissed off Tess, and she was simmering away like a purple satin volcano. Misty and Rose had both come under fire when Venus made a passing comment about how some queens didn’t recognize when sexy crossed the line into trashy exhibitionism. And poor Justin – who had fucked Venus’s ex – didn’t stand a chance.

  “I think it was very sweet of Sheila to let amateurs join in,” Venus said. “It lowers the bar and makes drag look so much more accessible than it does when polished professionals do it. And he tried really hard with his make-up.”

  “I did his make-up,” said Helena.

  “Oh. You know, that’s so weird, because I could have sworn I saw that shade of blush before,” said Venus. “But now I remember. My Aunt Jennifer had the exact same shade when she was laid out at the funeral home. Do they have special brands of paint for corpses? And do you get a discount?”

  ‘Looming’ was the only verb suitable for what Bunny was currently doing, just behind Helena’s shoulder. “Just say the word,” said Bunny, when Venus was out of earshot. “I will do it. I will put that bitch in the ground.”

  “Stop it,” said Helena. “I know she’s the worst, but we got ‘er done, queen. Group shots done and nobody got murdered. Let her finish her pomegranate punch and walk out of the door unharmed.”

  “Meh. Did I ever tell you how much I hate it when you’re the sensible one?”

  “All the time, honey. Come on. Can you imagine the drama she’d bring down on this place if something did go down?”

  A chill breeze floated across the bar and Helena shivered and turned to see who had opened the door. It was Ryan, his hair still damp from the gym. “Hey, baby,” he said, planting a careful kiss on Bunny’s blood spattered cheek. “You look…disturbing.”

  Bunny blinked. “Thank you. I would also settle for ‘gorgeous’, but thanks anyway.”

  Ryan looked around, understandably nervous in the presence of so many drag queens at once. At a glance he took in Misty’s surgical cap, Tess’s Marie Antoinette wig, Rose’s gilded eyelashes, and the remains of the cupcakes on the plate. Justin, who was busy posing for selfies with Rose, still had pink frosting on the end of his nose.

  “Jesus Christ,” said Ryan. “Is that Justin?”

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” said Bunny. “Beyond my wildest expectations.”

  But Venus wasn’t done yet. She simply couldn’t
help herself. She spotted Ryan and sashayed over. “Ryan, it’s so good to see you. Did you get my email?”

  Bunny had taken out the white contact lenses, but the look she gave Venus in that moment was still pretty damn scary. “Email?”

  “Oh, didn’t you know?” said Venus, with a twinkle of malice. “Ryan and I have been working on a little something together.”

  Helena instinctively looked for the ax. It was nowhere in sight. Thank God.

  “It’s a…a side hustle,” said Ryan, unhinging Bunny’s jaw. Helena was equally stunned. What the hell would Ryan be doing with Venus, who had called him a ‘brainwashed boyfriend’, among other things?

  Helena was just about to bodily throw herself between Bunny and Venus, but then a miracle occurred. Bunny – in mid-loom towards Venus – suddenly widened her eyes and clutched her midriff. That cupcake must have done it. “Gotta go,” she said, and took off running for the bathroom, with Ryan in hot pursuit.

  “Oops,” said Venus.

  “Well, fuck this,” said Helena, and bunny-slippered her way over to the bar. Pomegranate punch wasn’t cutting it any more. This was starting to look like one of those days where you gave yourself permission to drink tequila before six o’clock.

  “Did you know anything about this?” she asked Justin.

  “About what?”

  “Ryan and Venus. Side hustle.”

  To Helena’s mounting horror, some kind of recognition dawned on Justin’s face. “Oh my God.”

  “What?”

  “I think I saw them together. Outside the bar.”

  Helena moaned. “Pass the Don Julio. I’m drinking it neat from now on.”

  But she didn’t even get that far, because there was a high pitched beeping noise coming from somewhere. Everyone reached for their phones to see who had malfunctioned.

  Except for Rose, who was standing there staring dumbly at the red flashing light on her ankle.

  “Rose, are you out of juice?” said Helena.

  “I had to get ready!” said Rose. “I didn’t have two hours to spend plugged into the goddamn mains this morning.”