Seven Deadly Queens (The FuBar Book 3)

by Jess Whitecroft

  The apartment door opened directly onto a large living room. Dark wood floors. Enormous windows. Adam instinctively went to look at the snow falling over Downtown. It was starting to settle on rooftops and windowsills, and as he looked he felt his heart give an odd, almost queasy flutter. A sensation between delight and dread. Delight because he had found something that pleased him this much, and dread of the disappointment that might come with wanting it too much.

  Ryan came up behind him and wound his arms around his waist. The tip of his nose was icy against the skin behind Adam’s ear.

  “How much?” said Adam, determined to be practical.

  “It’s doable. If we go in together.”

  Adam swallowed the lump in his throat. “Okay. Show me.”

  He let Ryan lead him through the apartment. He was almost relieved when he saw the bathroom, a closet sized thing with a shower in one corner. It was a reason to say no.

  “There’s two,” said Ryan.

  “Two bathrooms?”

  “Yep. Two bed, two bath. Gives you some extra space for all your Instagram swag. Do you actually use any of that shit people give you?”

  “Sometimes. I got some really great eyelashes I was happy to endorse, but no, I don’t plug anything I think is garbage.”

  “What about all that weight loss shit?”

  “Weight loss shit? Are you saying I’m fat?”

  Ryan groaned. “Ugh. Have you seen yourself? You’re like one sixty wet. No, I’m thinking of starting a personal training thing online, but I want to avoid all that snake oil shit, you know? All those fat blockers and saran wrap scams. And that bullshit tea that makes you crap your pants.”

  “Oh, you’re never gonna avoid that,” said Adam. “MLMs and Instagram go together like crackheads and scabies. Hashtag bossbabe. Is there a tub. I must have a…oh.”

  There was a tub. Not only a tub, but the kind of large tub irresistible to a man of six foot two. Faced with that tub, the Art Deco fanlight and the big walk in closet off the master bedroom, Adam didn’t stand a chance. “Okay,” he said, because Ryan already had his arms around his waist from behind and he could feel the smugness in Ryan’s smile radiating across the room. “There has to be something wrong with it.”

  Ryan swayed. “You loo-ve it,” he crooned.

  “No, but seriously. What’s the catch? Is it haunted? Are the neighbors gonna go all Rosemary’s Baby on us?”

  “Adam, just say yes.”

  Adam took a breath. This felt big. “Yes,” he said, and turned around in Ryan’s arms. It was another one of those memorable kisses, and this time he didn’t even care that it happened in a bathroom. “You know me so well,” he said. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to resist those windows. And that view.”

  “I was counting on it,” said Ryan, his blue eyes shining.

  “I wanna take another look.”

  Adam went back into the living room. So much space. He gazed up at the high, corniced ceiling, spread out his arms and did a Maria Von Trapp twirl.

  That turned out to be a mistake, because Ryan’s gym bag was still in the middle of the living room floor. Adam caught his foot in the strap and ended up on his ass, turning his bad ankle as he went down. Something heavy went skidding across the floor.

  “Oh, fuck – goddamit. What was that?”

  It was a phone.

  “Yeah, never mind that,” said Ryan, kneeling down beside him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It was fucked anyway. Is that your phone?”

  Ryan looked. “No. Mine’s in my jacket.”

  “Well, it flew out of your bag.”

  They both looked over at the phone for a moment. Looked back at each other. One of those couple moments of perfect understanding, but tinged with evil. Which were the best kind, really.

  “Is that Venus’s phone?” said Adam. “How did you get that?”

  Laughing, Ryan crawled across the floor to retrieve the phone. “It must have been at the gym,” he said. “She’s always doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Filming. They’ve threatened to kick her out before, because you’re not supposed to film in the changing rooms. One time I caught her hiding her phone in someone’s shoe, because she can’t stand not to—”

  “—film her every waking moment,” said Adam, figuring it out. Venus must have slipped the phone into the front pocket of Ryan’s bag in an attempt to conceal it. “Oh my God. Is it locked?”

  “No,” said Ryan, snatching the phone out of the way. “No. That’s terrible.”

  “Don’t talk to me about terrible, Ryan Kantner. Venus is trying to destroy my best friend. Give me that.” The phone wasn’t locked. Adam immediately searched for the video files, and sure enough, there it was. Venus, sitting on a gym bench, talking on a phone. “She tapes herself talking on the phone? Who does that?”

  “I told you,” said Ryan, coming in for a closer look. “She has multiple devices going at all times. It’s pathological.”

  “You’re not kidding. These are like Trump levels of narcissism.” Adam hit play and ended up right in the middle of a full on bitchfest.

  “—no, you know what, I am so fucking tired of her. And her fucking Vivienne Westwood plaid and that snotty ass accent. She’s like ‘Excuse me, I’m Asian’…yeah, I know, right…Asian is like, ching chong shit…”

  Ching chong shit? Oh, sweet Miley Cyrus. Jackpot.

  “…she’s Indian. The dots kind, not feathers. Like, you can say that, right? That’s not racist…like, seriously…I know. She’s so fuckin’ patronizing. Coming on like royalty. I’m like, excuse me, did you marry Prince Harry? Is your name Meghan? No…but she’s all ‘Well, actually at home I’m referred to as Asian, because the majority of Asian immigrants to Britain are from India and Pakistan and not from China and the Pacific Rim,’ and I’m like ‘Well, chim fucking chimnee, bitch, but are you in Britain right now? Um, no. You’re in Am-er-ica…’”

  Adam paused the recording.

  “Why did you stop?” said Ryan.

  “Give me a moment. Oh, sweet fucking schadenfreude. I just want to savor this,” said Adam. “This is it, honey. This is it. This is the Grab Them By The Pussy Tape of drag queen racism. It’s got everything. It’s got ching chong shit, it’s got whitesplaining and it’s got ugly casual xenophobia.” Not even the throb of his ankle could take the edge off his joy in that moment. “Oh my God, life is so beautiful.”

  Ryan reached for the phone. “Press play. I want to see what else he says. This is gold.”

  “…like, why are Brits so fucking superior?” Venus continued. “What have they got to be so smug about? All those dukes and lords and shit. It’s like their entire country is one big Renaissance Faire, but with worse food. And what even is cricket?”

  “Okay, that one’s a valid question,” said Ryan.

  “…what? That? No. Fuck that. I can’t. Not tonight. I gotta do a live thing…yeah…I gotta pimp that Happy Tummy Tea shit…yeah, that’s right. The one that makes you shit hot lava.” Venus gave a small shudder. “No, of course it’s gross, but they give me money, and idiots on Instagram buy it. Shit, if I told my followers to drink diarrhea they’d fucking do it…”

  Adam paused it again. How did this keep getting better?

  “Do you need a moment?” said Ryan, laughing.

  “I’m actually erect right now,” said Adam. “Is that wrong?”

  “Incredibly.”

  “I can’t help it. This is the second greatest thing that’s happened to me this morning. We’re totally gonna leak this, right?”

  “Uh, duh.”

  Adam blinked. “Really? I thought you were going to head for the moral high ground on this one.”

  “Fuck, no,” said Ryan. “Happy Tummy Tea? Are you kidding me?”

  “Ooh, you’re kinda evil. I’m into it.”

  “Okay, so how do we cover our tracks? Because we can’t just put this on your Instagram…”

  �
�Wait…”

  “What?”

  Adam held the phone close to his chest. “I think we should let Helena see this first.”

  “You’re right. Let’s go back to the bar.”

  “I thought you were going to the gym?”

  “I was,” said Ryan. “But somehow I’m really enjoying this drag queen drama.” He sighed. “God, I hope you’re happy. You have completely sucked me in.”

  “Assimilated,” said Adam. “That’s drag queens, baby. We’re like the Borg, but with glitter.”

  They found Stephen downstairs in the bar, nursing an orange juice and a sour expression as he dealt with the mess that Venus’s minions kept making on his Instagram. He looked surprisingly lousy for someone who’d been up all night boning his true love, but even his meanest resting bitch face couldn’t repel Adam today.

  “Smile, Miss Montana,” said Adam, wrapping both arms around him.

  “No. I don’t want to smile and you can’t make me.”

  “Bet I can,” said Adam.

  Stephen glowered. “Fuck off. I’ve got enough gambling problems right now.”

  “Aw. Is Justin still keeping his penis in his pants?”

  “Yes. And my ability to pay him his winnings is rapidly sliding down the crapper.”

  “Relax, Helena,” said Adam. “I think Ryan and I have just found a way to solve your Venus problem.”

  Helena perked up a little. “Does it involve bullets?”

  “Nope. What if I told you I had a way of making her apologize?”

  “I’d say you were delusional,” said Stephen. “And apologize for what? Getting her face in the way of my fist? That’s like, Dick Cheney levels of evil. Not even you have those kind of dark powers, Bunny.”

  “Ah, but I do, my darling. I do,” said Adam, whipping out the phone. “Get a load of this.”

  Helena kept on scowling, but soon turned that frown upside down as Venus’s fuck-laced rants unfolded. “Oh. My. God,” she said. “Is it wrong that I’m kind of…”

  “Chubby?” said Bunny. “I know. I had that, too.”

  “Yeah, I was okay up until the part where she called her followers idiots who would drink diarrhea,” said Ryan. “Then it was like, Bonertown.”

  Adam sat back on the barstool. “Ryan thinks we should leak it.”

  “Fuck, no,” said Helena. “This is…this is a nuclear warhead. You don’t use this. You let your enemy know that you have this, and that you could use it…”

  “Mmm.” Tempting thought. A one time bomb, or a permanent deterrent.

  “…and in the meantime, you remind them that you have it. Every now and again you take out that big radioactive sonofabitch and parade it through Red Square with a ribbon tied around its nose cone.”

  “Yeees,” said Bunny, warming to the theme. “Listen to this Cold War bitch. Mutually assured destruction – this is the way to go. Mr. Gorbachev, build up that wall!” Ryan turned his head and Bunny saw a small blond figure lurking in the snow, beyond the glass of the front door. “Oh, what the fuck? Is that…?”

  “Speak of the devil,” said Helena. “She just can’t help herself, can she?”

  They went to the door. Venus was there, blinking in mock innocence as the dog once again pooped on the doorstep. “Oops,” she said, and grinned. “Do you guys have a doggie bag?”

  Bunny sighed. “Oh, Venus. Do you have any conception of what you’ve just done?”

  “Yes,” said Venus. “And you bitches can’t do a damn thing, because look at this mug.” She gestured to her two black eyes and the splint on her nose. Helena winced. “I could squat down and curl one out on your step myself, and you couldn’t say jack about it.”

  “Please don’t,” said Bunny. “I don’t ask for my own sake, but I think Pittsburgh has been through enough lately, and doesn’t deserve to see your pasty goblin turd cutter in action. Perhaps instead of shitting on one another’s doorsteps, we could talk about this? Like civilized human beings?”

  Venus scooped up Chad Michaels II. “Suits me,” she said, and waltzed into the bar with her splint in the air. Helena was once again looking guilty, but Bunny wasn’t buying it. By all accounts Helena’s punch had landed on Venus’s jaw, knocking out a couple of teeth. And here was Venus sporting the kind of black eyes that went with a broken nose. Either she had better make up skills than Bunny ever gave her credit for, or she’d taken advantage of the timing to sneak off for some surgery.

  “My God, you look terrible,” said Venus, taking in Helena’s stubbled sourness. Because she could. Oh, this was going to be delicious.

  “So do you.”

  “Well, whose fault is that? How many Instagram followers did you lose, Helena?”

  “A few,” said Helena, waving Venus to a seat. “Drink?”

  “No. And you shouldn’t either. Last I heard, tequila makes you punchy.”

  “Make yourself comfortable, Venus,” said Bunny, pulling up a chair for Ryan. “And we’ll talk.”

  The four of them sat around a circular table, Venus smug and oblivious, Bunny smug and poised to deliver the good news. Chad Michaels II shivered in Venus’s arms: like most dogs he knew when something was up.

  “So,” said Venus. “Are you going to apologize?”

  “I did,” said Helena, who’d done so, both in person and online. “I said that violence was wrong and that I was sorry. Because I am sorry, Venus. And not just because I thought that if I said I was sorry, you’d stop milking it—”

  “—milking it?” Venus’s voice rose. “Excuse me, but I had a gig in New York that I couldn’t get to because of your uncontrollable fucking Hulk rage.”

  “Mmm,” said Bunny. “And her enormous fists. That somehow managed to punch you in the nose and the jaw at the same time.”

  “Are you calling me a liar, Bunny?”

  “No, I’m just saying. It’s odd. I definitely only heard one punch land, but…you know. Heat of the moment.”

  “Precisely,” said Venus. “Not everything you see on Instagram is real, girl.”

  Like your tits, ass, lashes and complexion, girl. Bunny somehow managed to bite her tongue, but there was some bullshit afoot here. Venus had a perfect right to go to the police, but she hadn’t, and Bunny couldn’t help suspecting it had something to do with not all of her injuries being related to Helena.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” said Helena. “I really am sincerely sorry. And I’ve said that, and I will do whatever you want me to do to repay you for loss of earnings in New York, but I’m getting a little sick of sanitizing my social media every damn morning. We had to scrub graffiti off the front of the bar, and it’s not fair…”

  “Graffiti? Oh my God. What did it say?”

  “It said ‘Venus Envy fans can’t fucking spell,’” said Bunny, getting bored of toying with her now. “Well, that was the jist. When’s it gonna end, Venus? When are you gonna stop sending your Instaminions—”

  “—sending?” Venus blinked. “Me? I didn’t send anyone. I do not control my followers, okay? There are far too many of them for one person to control.”

  “But you can try,” said Bunny. “Like the time when you told them that the whole thing was over, that Helena had apologized and offered to compensate you and that it was time to leave the whole th…oh no, wait, you didn’t do that, did you? Instead you just posted crying selfies and showed off your bruises.”

  Venus made a soft, disgusted sound. “I am totally prepared to let this go.”

  “Right,” said Ryan. “Which is why your dog was shitting on the doorstep again.”

  Venus laughed. “Oh my God. It speaks. I was beginning to think Bunny keeps your vocal cords in her purse, along with your balls.”

  “Nah,” said Ryan, sitting back with a smile. “I got my own bag. You know it, Venus. You’ve seen it. That green bag I bring to the gym? The one where you hid your phone?”

  She stared for a moment, then quickly came back on the offensive. “You motherfucker. You have my phone? You l
ied.”

  “No, I didn’t know I had it at the time,” said Ryan. “It was handy you came by, actually.”

  “Yeah, we were gonna return it to you,” said Bunny, whipping out the phone.

  “Give that back! Right now!”

  “One second,” said Bunny, and sent the video file to her own phone.

  “What are you doing? That’s mine. That’s private.”

  “It was,” said Bunny. “But now it’s public. Semi-public.” She handed back the phone with a shit-eating grin. “It wasn’t locked, and there’s a video file on there you might want to delete.”

  “Oh, if you mean the sex tape…” said Venus.

  Helena turned green. “Ew. You made a sex tape?”

  “Yes. And I didn’t even piss on him. I realize that’s deviant behavior in Helenaworld, but we’re not all as fuckin’ sick as you, honey.”

  Bunny sat back. She was going to let Helena have this one, because it was going to be glorious.

  “Oh, Venus,” said Helena. “Venus, Venus, Venus…it’s not a sex tape. It’s far worse than that. It’s you, on a phone, in a locker room, saying some things that even your hardcore stans might find somewhat objectionable.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like attempting to school Sheila on her own race,” said Bunny.

  “Or referring to Asians as ‘ching chong shit,’” said Helena. “Which helpfully harks back to the reason why I decked your racist little ass in the first place.”

  “And that was just the entrée,” said Bunny. There was a flash of panic in Venus’s eyes now. “The main course was when you referred to your beloved followers – you know, all those people who put you where you are today, for reasons best known to themselves and which I will never fucking fathom, but there it is. Those people. You referred to them as ‘idiots’ and said they would drink liquid shit if you told them it was good.”

  Venus’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, then she looked down at the phone in her hand. “Okay,” she said, after a short, stunned pause. “Assuming I even said those things—”

  “—which you absolutely did, because we have them on tape—”

  “—assuming I did, Helena.” Venus stared at them and laughed. “Why would you give me back the phone?”