Painted Faces (33 page)

Ukuleles and The Polka Dot Twins

I throw my bag in the boot of Nicholas' powder blue Nissan Figaro and then hop into the front seat beside him. It's six o'clock in the morning, but since it's the summer it's already bright out. I got a great night of sleep thanks to Nora's magic snooze pill, so I'm raring to go.

I'm wearing a peach coloured pencil skirt, a cream short sleeved t-shirt and cream flats. Yeah okay, I put in the effort, but it's not every day that I find myself travelling to Scotland with a drag queen.

It takes us just under twenty minutes to get to the airport. Nicholas leaves his car in the long stay parking lot and we head inside. Once we've checked our bags and gone through security we have a little fun in the duty free looking at all of the designer handbags.

Nicholas throws a dark red leather one over his shoulder and struts over to the mirror, doing his Vivica Blue walk. I've noticed they have different strides. Nicholas' is smooth, masculine grace, while Vivica's is lighter on the toes and contains more movement in the hips

Then we stop by a café where we have croissants and coffee for breakfast. When we board the plane I'm pleasantly surprised to find that Nicholas has booked us in business class. I flop down into the massive seat with relish.

“
I thought you said you were going to try to be more frugal with your money Viv,” I comment, even though I'm glad that he splashed out. I've never flown anything other than economy before, so it's a thrill despite the fact that the flight is going to take less than an hour.

“
I said I
should
try. I never said I was going to,” he corrects. “Anyway, I wanted to treat you.”

“
Aw, you're the best boss ever,” I tell him happily.

I order a vodka and orange juice from the air hostess as she passes by our seats. When in Rome, as they say.

“
Isn't it a little early to be drinking?” Nicholas asks with a wry grin.

“
I'm on holiday Viv. Morning alcohol is allowed when you're on holiday.”

“
This isn't a holiday, it's a work trip.” He reprimands, and seems to be enjoying doing so.

I scowl at him. “Semantics.” I pause to sip on my drink. “Are you getting firm with me, boss?”

He lets his head fall back against the seat, his eyes trained lazily on my lips and slowly reaches out to run his hand over my knee. “Maybe. Do you want me to be your boss now instead of Viv? I think I can pull that off.”

I draw my knees together when his hand makes a move to wander between my legs. “Nah, I think you should be Viv. We don't want to get ourselves thrown off the plane for indecency.”

He glances at the fluffy clouds out the window. “We're airborne, Fred.”

I raise my glass to him. “Exactly, Viv.”

He laughs. “Are you drunk already? You've only had a few sips.”

I shrug. “I could be. Alcohol affects me stronger this early in the morning.”

“
In that case, no more screwdrivers for you.”

I laugh loudly. “
Screwdriver
, that's a funny word.”

Oh my God, I'm tipsy. This is a new record. Usually it takes me at least a couple drinks to get this far.

I put down the glass and pull a cookery magazine out of my carry on bag. Yes, I read cookery magazines. Sometimes I'm partial to a bit of food porn. I love looking at the pictures of the finished recipes. It gives me good ideas about what new food I'm going to try and cook next. About a year ago Nora and I got into the habit of playing a game where we'd open a cookery magazine on a random page and I would have to try and make the recipe, no matter how difficult or bizarre. One time I made Heston Blumenthal's snail porridge. It was actually quite nice. Okay, stop complaining. I warned you there were more tangents on the way. I'm done now.

Nicholas motions for the air hostess to come over and asks her for a bottle of water. I don't fail to notice them flirt back and forth before she goes to get him his beverage. To be honest, I can't really blame her for flirting with him. He's one of the prettiest men you will ever come across. Still, it irks me that he flirts back.

I have no right to be irked, but such is life.

The air hostess comes back and twists the cap on the bottle of water open for Nicholas, before pouring it into a glass with ice and a slice of lime over the rim. I want to cock my eyebrow at her and remark,
Overdoing it a little, aren't we love?
But I seal my lips tight. I don't want to come across as a jealous psycho. Even though, let's face it, when it comes to Nicholas I am a bit of a jealous psycho.

She leaves to take care of another passenger and Nicholas leans in, resting his shoulder against mine while he peruses my magazine. The page is currently open on a recipe for home made chicken stew.

“
Do you remember some of the things you said to me last night?” he asks casually, his breath brushing against my ear.

“
Unfortunately yes, but I have a feeling you're going to remind me anyway.” I sigh and turn the page.

“
You said you were going to kick the arse of the next punter who tries to get up on the stage and fondle me,” he tells me, with a big delighted grin on his face.

“
Alcohol makes me think I'm tougher than I really am,” I explain. “You seemed a little shaken by the whole thing. I wanted to make you feel better.”

He picks up his water and takes a sip. “Well, thank you for that. But I suppose I can't really complain about it. It's just something I have to deal with. Take the rough with the smooth. Most performers in my profession would kill for the packed out venues I get. If I started bemoaning the fact that some men can get a bit “handsy” then I'd come across as an ungrateful diva.”

“
There's no doubting you're a diva Viv, but you're certainly not ungrateful. Every night you pull out all the stops, giving the audience a performance they'll never forget. You make them feel a part of something special for a small moment in time. You put your whole self into your singing, portraying emotion through your on-stage persona. The least you can expect in return is for the audience not to disrespect you or turn you into an object.”

He gestures with his hands. “This is why I like you so much. Most women would turn around and say I should enjoy being objectified simply because I have a penis. You see past that.”

“
Yeah well, that kind of thinking pisses me off. Some people think that men are never the victims of sexual assault. Men can be raped too, you know,” I say, waggling my teacher finger at him. A moment later I regret having said it when I look up to see some strange emotion on his face. Some kind of pain. Crap, maybe I went a little too far.

“
Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you or anything,” I apologise and focus back on the magazine.

“
Don't be, I like that you say what's on your mind. You just brought back a bad memory, that's all.”

Oh no. I don't want to think about what that memory might be. God, I really want to hug him right now, but that might make him uncomfortable. I've always known that Nicholas must have experienced a dark past, mostly because his cheerful demeanour is often punctuated with periods of sadness, but also from these little things he says. Like how he told me he's had to suffer for his passion that time when we were walking up Grafton Street.

“
I'm sorry that you've got bad memories,” I tell him, not knowing what else to say. I'm not going to come right out and ask him what the memory was. Some things you need to let people tell you themselves if they want to, and if not, you let them keep them hidden inside.

“
Every memory makes me who I am right now, in this moment. Good or bad, all experiences shape you.”

“
And I like how you're shaped,” I say, turning to give him a peck on the cheek. It's a sweet little gesture that I know he wasn't expecting. He smiles at me and turns to look out the window at the passing clouds. I focus back on my food porn for the rest of the flight.

If I had to pick two words to describe Edinburgh, I would tell you that it's majestic and beautiful. Really, really old, but somehow more alive than any other place I've ever been. Perhaps that's just because there are people everywhere for the Fringe. Every single sign post is covered with posters for shows. Around each corner there's a different street performer ready to show you something new. To dazzle you with some unusual and captivating talent.

I almost stick my head out the window of the taxi to get a look at a woman who's walking by in shorts and a tank top, with tattoos and piercings covering almost every square inch of her body. I'm thinking the words
cool
and
ouch
all in the one thought.

Nicholas gets the taxi driver who picked us up at the airport to drop us at The Royal Mile outside the Radisson Blu Hotel where, I shit you not, we are going to be staying. Okay, so if you've never seen this hotel before then you aren't going to understand my amazement. It's like a massive medieval looking fortress right there in the middle of the busiest street in the city. On the drive here I found myself astounded by the fact that around each corner there could be a castle waiting to surprise you. Or a historical building that shoots up high into the skyline.

When we get inside the hotel I find that Nicholas has booked us into a suite. A suite! This must be costing him a bomb, but he did say that he was quite comfortable money-wise, so I'm not complaining. I run inside the room and hop onto the bed. Then I look around and realise it's the
only
bed. So I'm going to have to share with him. Oh no, what a travesty. The idea simultaneously sets my body alight and paralyses it with nerves.

“
Viv, you calculating little devil,” I call as Nicholas puts his bags down in the lounge area of the suite.

He glances at me for only a second through the doorway, a carefully constructed innocent look on his face with his hand raised to his chest. “Calculating? Moi? Whatever gave you that idea?”

“
A one bedroom suite in the fanciest hotel going, business class plane tickets. Need I say more? Better women would be naked and spreading their legs for you as we speak. It's a good thing I'm not materialistic,” I raise my nose to the ceiling and fold my arms.