Killer Queen: A Painted Faces Novel (7 page)

“Of course you can. Just put a cardboard box under
the sink, and I'll sleep in there.”

Her response spurred me on.

“Nonsense. You'll share my bed. I wouldn't agree to
anything less.”

“Great, so I can be your cook and your bed warmer.
What a convenient setup.”

 “My thoughts exactly. I could fall asleep on those
wonderful breasts each night. I couldn't think of anything more relaxing.”

I probably should have kept my big mouth shut. I had
a gift for speaking inappropriately, but thankfully, as Phil often told me, I
had enough charisma to charm my way out of a maximum-security prison. Fred spat
the mouthful of wine she’d just taken right out onto the table. It was both
hilarious and awkward in equal measures. I couldn’t help but laugh, and so did
Nora. The fact that even uptight Nora could find humour in what I’d just said
made me feel a little better.

Her voice was sweet when she said, “I can't believe
you just said that about Fred's boobs. You're terrible.”

“Yeah, just
terrible
,” Fred put in, her
pretty eyes narrowed to slits and pursing her lips.

“I wish I had ones as big as yours, Fred. Mine are
like little fried eggs,” Nora went on, clearly angling for a compliment. And I
liked to think I was an accommodating (though often lewd) gentleman, so I told
her, “I happen to admire all shapes and sizes.”

Fred immediately put me in my place when she said,
“What, even square and rectangular ones? You are a true connoisseur, my
friend.”

She was passive-aggressive and cynical, but
strangely, I enjoyed her barbs. And unlike Nora, I could tell that once I freed
her from her uptight prison, she would be wild in the way I adored women to be
wild. I laughed and gave as good as I got. “Triangles, too. Oh, and octagons.
I'm an equal opportunist for breasts.”

She gave me a reluctant smile, shook her head, and
focused her attention back on her food. Once we’d finished eating, Nora swiftly
left for her shift at work, and I couldn’t deny that I was pleased by her
departure. It gave me the perfect opportunity to work on Fred. I was
determined, although it was clear that she wanted nothing more than for me to
leave. When I began helping her clean up, she said firmly, “You can go now, you
know. I've got this.”

I couldn’t seem to tell if she really didn’t want
company or if my presence made her anxious. I got the distinct impression that
she was unused to men being as forward as I was being with her. Which was a
damn shame. This girl was pure femininity and beauty, and she deserved to be
told as much on a daily basis.

“I'd like to stay for a while, if that's okay with
you?” I said to her softly.

My tone seemed to work in loosening up her resolve
as she shrugged and quipped, “Sure, if you want. But be warned, I usually go to
bed pretty early, so there'll be no late-night shenanigans, if that's what
you're after.”

Oh, she had no fucking clue the kind of shenanigans
I was after. I think she might have blushed right down to her toes if I’d told
her. And I wouldn’t have minded witnessing that. I especially loved it when
women got all flushed during sex.

I put my hand to my chest, feigning offence. “Ah,
you wound me, beautiful lady. I had been hoping to romance you. Late-night
shenanigans are not my forte.”

She eyed me like she was onto my game and it wasn’t
working on her. She was a tough cookie, this Fred. As we tidied up, I found my
eyes trailing over her whenever she wasn’t looking. She struck me as one of
those women who had absolutely no clue how appealing they were, and because
she’d probably gone out with a few dipshits over the years, she’d built up a
wall of defence.

In my opinion, the vast majority of men in this
world were clueless, lazy arseholes. I’d known so many who didn’t appreciate
the beautiful women they had by their sides. In fact, it could be said that I
was one of them on occasion. But I guessed I was more in touch with these
things than the average bloke because I straddled a line. As Vivica Blue, I tried
to plunge myself into the role of a female, trained myself to embody her
spirit.

Once the dishes were all done, Fred went to sit on
the couch in front of the television, and, like the smitten kitten that I was,
I followed her. We sat in silence, her eyes trained on the screen, my eyes
trained on her wonderful hair. I took a strand of it between my fingers,
savouring the feel, and forgot to censor myself when I said, “This is some
great hair, Fred. It's so silky. I'd love to get it in a wig.”

I was so used to speaking openly about my profession
that the comment about the wig came out of its own accord. Biting back a wince,
I plastered a confident look on my face and waited for her to respond. One
thoughtful eyebrow went up.

 “I think you might have a few kinks in your armour
there, Viv.”

What she said caused a breath of relief to escape
me, because although there was teasing in her tone, there was no judgement
whatsoever. I grinned, pleased.

“Lots of kinks, lots of quirks. My sexuality is
multifaceted.”

“Right. And wigs are your thing. Each to their own,
I guess.”

She didn’t realise that if I were to get my way,
that’d be a philosophy she would have to truly embrace. I was nothing if not
unique. My grin widened as I corrected her. “Isn't it supposed to be chinks in
your armour?”

She shifted in her seat, which I noticed brought her
a fraction closer to me. I chose to take this as a sign that the ice queen was
thawing.

“Well, that wouldn't have worked as good as kinks.”

A companionable silence ensued, and I became
fidgety. I wanted to touch her, so, like any boy faced with the girl he
fancies, I chose to start a tickle war. In terms of methods that would enable
physical contact, this was the lowest common denominator. She asked me to stop,
her tone annoyed, but at the same time she was laughing. Before I knew it, I
was straddling her, and she was lying flat on the sofa, her chest heaving for
breath after such vigorous activity.

I paused when her chest brushed mine, dominating her
as I held her hands down over her head. Sucking in a slow breath, I shifted my
body, savouring the feel of all her lush softness beneath me. My eyes traced
her features, and I wondered what she was thinking, wondered if she could feel
me hardening against her thigh. I wanted her now, and my impatience to have her
meant I didn’t have time for wooing and romance. My mouth spoke before my head
could intervene. I leant down and ran lips over the shell of her ear.

 “You're very pretty, Fred. I'd really like to fuck
you.”

She gasped, and her reaction to my words was
immediate as she scrambled out from under me. “Christ, Nicholas!”

If I hadn’t seen her blatant interest and the way
her pupils dilated at what I’d said, I might have been disappointed. Instead, I
simply saw this as a small blip on my road to bedding her. I sat up and gave
her my full attention as I told her simply, “We're both adults here, Fred. Are
you really that offended by my proposition?”

She glanced away, not meeting my eyes for a
substantial period of time, and fiddled with the shirt she had on.

“Um, what...yes, of course. I hardly know you.”

“You've been flirting with me all night, darling.”
My tone was tender, cajoling.

 She seemed surprised by that statement. “Have I?
Oh, my God, you're seriously mistaken. I absolutely have not. I was being
friendly, joking around. Do you say you want to...to have sex with every girl
who talks to you?”

 “No, not all of them. But I can tell we'd be very
compatible in bed. What's the problem if I'm direct about it?” I gave it to her
straight. I didn’t want to beat around the bush. As I studied her, I could tell
one thing for certain, she was immensely embarrassed. She really hadn’t met a
man as forward as me before, had she? In a way, I was pleased. I wanted her all
for myself, and I had a feeling that unlike some women, one fuck was not going
to be enough with curvy, passive-aggressive Fred. It was definitely going to
take a couple of shags for me to get her out of my system, which wasn’t
necessarily a bad thing. Marathon sex sessions were one of my favourite
pastimes.

She bit her lip, then joked, “This coming from the
guy who said he wasn't interested in late-night shenanigans.”

The joke was brittle, though, and I could tell I was
wearing on her, so I decided not to push her further. Not tonight, anyway.
Instead, I gave her full honesty when I replied, “I apologise. I just thought
we could keep each other company for a night. We're both lonely. It makes
sense.”

“I'm not lonely,” she protested weakly. It was a
lie, and she knew it. I had a gift for knowing when humans were hungry for
another’s touch, when they felt completely isolated in the world. Perhaps
because I often felt that way myself. Seeking comfort in the physical was
actually something of an addiction for me.

“You seemed lonely today, all soaked from the rain
with your shopping bags in your hands.”

“I was more annoyed than lonely.”

 I stared at her for a long time, then let her have
it her way. “All right, my mistake. You're not lonely, Fred. I’d better go.
I've got my first show tomorrow night to prepare for. You should come along. I
already mentioned it to Nora. The club is new — it's called The Glamour Patch.
It's not too far from here.”

“Oh, sure. Yeah I might come. I'd like to see you
perform. By the way, you probably should have put the moves on Nora instead of
me. She likes you, if you hadn't noticed.”

 I smiled at her indulgently. She was going to have
to learn very quickly that I was used to getting what I wanted, and her
resistance only made the challenge that much more thrilling.

I cut straight to the chase with my closing line. “I
noticed. I'm not interested in Nora, Fred. I'm interested in you.”

And with that, I left her standing in her living
room, a look of absolute bewilderment on her face.

June 29
^th
,
2012.

Soundtrack:
“Sweet Transvestite” from
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
/ “I Bet You
Look Good on the Dance Floor” by Arctic Monkeys

“What
has you so excited tonight?” Phil asked me, one hand on his hip, the other
holding Pickles under his arm. The tiny dog struggled to break free, and Phil
finally let him down.

I sat in front of the mirror in my dressing room at
The Glamour Patch, using some mousse to slick my hair back away from my face.
My lips were red, and I’d gone for a smoky grey eye shadow that highlighted the
blue of my irises.

“My new neighbour’s coming to see the show. I can’t
wait for you to meet her, Phil. She’s quite something.”

His lips quirked. “Ah, I was wondering why you were
going all Frank-N-Furter tonight.”

I glanced at him as I topped up my mascara. “What’s
that supposed to mean?”

He raised an amused eyebrow and folded his arms.
“You always whip out the Rocky Horror when you want to get a lady all hot and
bothered. They love that androgynous shit, not to mention those hot pants leave
very little to the imagination.”

I grinned mischievously. “I do believe I’ll take
that as a compliment, Philip.” A pause before I continued, “So, does it usually
work?”

“Depends on the lady. If she’s that way inclined,
yes, it works a charm.”

His answer pleased me. “Good to know.”

Phil was right — I was definitely going for
androgyny tonight rather than full-on female, and it wasn’t because my head was
messed up. It was because my own vanity was surfacing, and I wanted Fred to
find me sexy. I wasn’t certain that a dress was going to do it for her, but
once she saw how little my hot pants left to the imagination, as Phil so
graciously put it, I was sure she’d be shifting in her seat.

Yeah, that’s right, my package, for lack of a better
word, was well on display. Are you regretting picking up my diary yet, you nosy
little things? No? Well, let’s see if we can change your minds. I will find a
way to make you tug uncomfortably at your collars yet.

This was my outfit in a nutshell: lacy black gloves,
black heels, hot pants, black waistcoat, fishnet stockings complete with
suspenders, a full face of makeup, and no wig. I allowed myself one drink
before my performance, because, strangely enough, I was nervous. I didn’t think
I’d been this anxious about performing since I was a teenager.

No, anxious was not the right word. Anticipatory was
probably better. I was anticipating the moment when Fred realised exactly what
I did for a living with great excitement. I was dying for her to see me as I
really was.

It was slightly unnerving. Normally I didn’t give
two hoots what people thought of me. I’d been doing this for so long that I
knew I was strange, and it wasn’t something I ever planned on changing. I’d
spent far too many years as a boy trying to hide my true self as it was.

Once it was time for me to take to the stage, Phil
stepped out and made the introductions. I’d completed some vocal warm-ups
earlier, ensuring my voice was in top form. Before I knew it, the house band
was starting up, and I was confidently strutting out into the club on my
six-inch heels. Immediately, I spotted Fred, Nora, and two of their friends
sitting just shy of the stage.