The Queen & the Homo Jock King (6 page)

“Paul told me he did, though,” Charlie said. “Nice boy, that Paul.”

“That motherfucker is already dead,” I hissed. “I will gouge his fucking eyes out and—”

“You know,” Charlie said as if I’d never spoken at all, “there’s that saying about how thin the line is between love and hate. Ever heard that one?”

“A home, Charlie,” I threatened. “Paul and I will put you in a goddamn
home
with absolutely
no
male nurses named Sven with really large muscles and a hot ass. In fact, the entire
staff
will be made up of bull dykes with names like Large Leslie and Theresa the Tank. I will
personally
schedule your rectal exams.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He sniffed. “I’m too precious. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d had a lesbian in my ass.”

I stared at him.

He shrugged. “The eighties were very weird.”

“You owe me that story one day, old-timer,” I said, because I couldn’t
not
find out why Charlie had been anally involved with a lesbian. It practically
demanded
itself to be told. With
visuals
. “I have a show to do.”

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” he said.

“This conversation is
over
.”

“Yes, Helena.”

“I mean it, Charlie.”

“Of course you do.”

“Charlie, I swear to
god
.”

“You look pretty and you’re awesome and I like that you humor an old man from time to time.”

I melted. “I love you. Now I’m leaving because I can’t stand the sight of your face right now. I have baby queens downstairs and a show to perform. I don’t have time for your shit. Make sure you get my good side on camera or I will
end
you.”

“All your sides are good sides,” he said.

“I’ll allow it because it’s true,” I said.

And then I stormed off only as a queen could: elegantly, with shimmery hair and an undercurrent of simmering rage.

Charlie’s laughter followed me down the stairs.

I PUT
on my wide, fake so-happy-to-see-you smile as I entered the bar. People began to mill around me excitedly, and I kissed their cheeks, posed for photos, and made fun of them to their faces. They laughed, because that’s what a queen did. I was a performer, my show built on flirting, sex, and sarcasm. I pushed the boundaries of taste and comfort, sometimes crossing the line by leaps and bounds. But I never pushed so hard that someone walked away feeling bad about themselves. I would never do that. People weren’t supposed to be the butt of the jokes, they were supposed to be
in
on the jokes and laugh
with
each other, not
at
. There was a difference between observation and bullying. I could never be a bully. There was too much of that outside of this place. Jack It was a safe space, free from judgment (well, as free from judgment as a gay bar could get—it should be noted that gay men could be catty as fuck and it was my job to even the playing field).

I made it to the end of the bar, making sure to keep an eye out for a certain Homo Jock King that I wanted to avoid. Thankfully, he was nowhere to be seen and if I was lucky, he’d already found a twink conquest for the night and was gone.

One of the newer boys was working behind the bar. His name was Izaac, and he made sure everyone knew it was spelled with a
Z
and not an
S
. I made sure he knew that I didn’t give two shits how he spelled his name, just as long as he had two shots of tequila waiting for me for a bit of preshow warmup. It was a tradition started by Vaguyna, god rest her soul, and continued on by me. It was usually all I drank anymore, as it was getting harder and harder to escape a hangover the older I got. That was a depressing thought, especially being only thirty-one. My body was an asshole that way.

Izaac was shirtless, as the bartenders often were. He was also straight as hell, with a muscled chest and stomach, a trail of hair below his belly button. Regardless of what else he was, he had the right idea, working in a place like this. He was cute in a bland Abercrombie cookie-cutter sort of way, all-American blond hair and blue eyes. He made a shit-ton in tips and then went home to his girlfriend. Straight boys could make a killing in a gay bar, with the whole forbidden fruit thing going on. This world was filled with gay-for-pay porn and gay-for-you romance, so they saw him as a challenge. He made bank, the boys got to flirt, and everyone went home happy.

Of course I had to hit on him. It’s just what Helena did. She devoured little boys like him and loved it when he blushed under the attention. We both knew nothing would ever come of it, and I didn’t even want it to. But it was fun to poke and prod, and I liked him more than any of the other bartenders or barbacks. He took my shit, but he knew to give it right back.

“My Queen,” he said as I approached.

“My questionable heterosexual,” I said, leaning over the bar and kissing his ear.

He grinned at me as he set two shots of Patrón on the bar. “You wouldn’t even know what to do with me if I swung that way.”

I grinned at him, showing far too many teeth. “Kitten, there would be nothing left by the time I was done with you. I would
destroy
you.”

He clutched his hands over his heart and sighed dramatically. “With an offer like that, who I am to resist?”

“You’ll give in.” I slammed back one of the shots. It burned as it went down. I placed the glass back on the bar. “They always do.” I brushed a trace of tequila off my lips and licked my finger.

“Maybe I like to go slow.” He leaned forward, elbows on the bar. He had these pert little nipples that just begged to be twisted. “All gentle-like.”

I rolled my eyes. “Then, honey, you’re talking to the wrong queen.” I took the other shot and felt myself even out. “I don’t do slow and gentle.” Well, I did, but very rarely. It was an intimacy that I didn’t quite allow myself to have.

“My girlfriend hates it when I do it slow and gentle,” he said seriously.

I grimaced. “Ugh, that is such a waste.”

“What? That I have a girlfriend?”

“No, that you like it slow and gentle. It’s unbecoming of a man with nipples like yours.”

He blushed and there it was. It was probably a good thing he was straight, because if he hadn’t been, I probably wouldn’t have been able to resist having his cock down my throat the second night he worked. What could I say, I obviously just cared too much.

“I’m never going to be able to look at my nipples the same way again.” He sighed.

“There, there.” I patted his hand. “I’ll do all the looking for you, and somehow, life will go on. Now stop distracting me. I have a show to do.”

Izaac rolled his eyes. “Your baby queens are already back behind the stage. I think Summer Zeeve was having a little freak-out earlier.”

My jaw tightened. Summer was a newer queen who had impressed me during her auditions with her ability to crab walk backward while gyrating her crotch toward the ceiling directly on the beat from Nine Inch Nails’s “Closer.” She was young, brash, and somehow, didn’t have a goddamn lick of common sense.

Most drag queens were also drama queens. You really couldn’t be one without the other. However, it was meant to be part of your persona, to add to the whole package. Summer tended to forget that and was about drama for drama’s sake. She liked to have mini-meltdowns prior to shows, saying she was too scared to go on, that she just wasn’t
ready
. It usually took me snarling in her face a bit before she would smirk quietly and go out on stage. I didn’t have
time
for her right now. Not for the first time, I regretted hiring her.

It was Saturday, the second in the month, which meant I had three other queens with me. I was the only regular, the others were on rotation. Georgia O’Queef was an older black queen who loved lavish costumes and Bette Midler. The other, Crystal Queer, was a couple of years younger than me, a lovely queen who usually utilized the stripper pole installed on the stage. She’d told me once her dream as a child had been to grow up and work at The Candy Store, but that dream had died when the strip club had closed after it turned out to be a meth lab and had forty-six dead bodies buried underneath the floorboards. “There’s nothing like seeing your childhood dreams dying because of murder and meth,” she’d said sadly. Given that she was one of my favorites, I’d had Mike, the owner of Jack It, install the stripper pole after I’d promised under no uncertain terms that there would be no nudity. I’d promised with wide eyes, both of us ignoring the fact that there were dicks out in the back room even as we were speaking.

“Of course I have to deal with children,” I muttered.

Izaac shrugged. “Not everyone can be so well put together like you, Helena.”

“If you ever leave me,” I threatened, “I will hunt you down and it will end in a murder-suicide.”

He cocked his head. “Who would be the murdered one?”

“Try and quit one day,” I purred. “See what happens.”

“I could never leave you,” he said. “No one simultaneously strokes and crushes my ego all in one breath like you do.”

“And don’t you forget it,” I said. “Tell me I look beautiful.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, baby doll. Now I must leave before I pull on those nips of yours.” I winked at him as he blushed again, leaving him behind and heading toward the back of the stage.

I pushed through the curtain at the end of the hall that led behind the stage. Georgia stood with her hands on her hips, wearing a long, elegant, and deeply cut blue dress with a train that stretched along the floor. The edges of the dress were slightly frayed, years of mending not able to catch every little stray strand.

Crystal wore white thigh-boots and a black unitard that barely covered any skin and would have been a probable pornographic situation if it hadn’t been for strategically placed costume tape that held the pieces together to not reveal any more of her more… manly components.

And then there was Summer. My dear, sweet, overly dramatic and pain in my ass Summer. She wore some ridiculous fishnet concoction that looked immaculately sloppy, like she’d spent hours poring over it to look purposefully like a hooker. Knowing her, she probably had. She was a nineteen-year-old college student named Tristan in her real life, and I was sure he would be kind and sweet with whatever he did with his life, but as Summer, the need I felt to bitchslap her rose more and more every day. I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to take it. She was good at what she did, mostly, but she refused to take any kind of advice or direction and most certainly didn’t want a drag mother hanging over her. Not that I’d ever do that for her. I didn’t want to be responsible for her murder, after all.

Georgia looked over at me with a frown. “Thank Christ you’re here. Get that cunt under control before I tear off her wig and shove it up her ass.”

Georgia was an old queen who didn’t take shit from anyone. She was amazing.

Crystal was standing in front of Summer, who was wailing about how she couldn’t do this, about how
nervous
she was, and that she’d be alone forever, she would
never
find a man, and she had an Econ exam she was
sure
she’d failed, and her professor
hated
her, that cunt, she was just
jealous
because
Summer
looked better in Uggs than that skank
ever
would, and she hadn’t had time to perfect her
routine
and all those boys were going to
laugh
at her, but she’d show
them
, she’d come out stronger than ever and everyone would love her if they only gave her a
chance
—

I didn’t have time for her shit. I had a show to put on, a routine to perform, a Captain America wannabe to ignore, and a best friend to murder for inviting said Captain America wannabe to my brunch, which was supposed to be a
safe space
.

“Listen here, you silly little bitch,” I snapped. “We don’t have time for you to pretend there are cameras following your every move. Stop your fucking nonsense before I rip out your falsies and choke you with them.”

Summer ceased at once. Regardless of what else she did, she certainly knew when I was
this
close to following through on my threats.

“Now, I don’t care what your problems are outside of this room. You are
here
, I
hired
you to be here, and you fucking
focus
. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Helena,” she said with a watery sniff, though miraculously, her eyes were dry. “And I know my routine. I promise.”

“I know you do,” I said. “You’re good at what you do. Now if only you talked less, everything would be well and the world would be a better place. Now, Georgia, you’re up after me. Then Summer. Then me. Then Crystal and then the finale with all four of us looking fierce and phenomenal. There will be no deviation. This show will go off perfectly as it always has. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” the queens said.

“Good,” I said. “And what do I
always
say?”

They all spoke as one. “If I ever catch you performing ‘Let It Go’ from
Frozen
, I’ll castrate you and feed your dicks to some horses. That song is overplayed and no drag queen should ever perform it ever again anywhere ever.”

I clapped my hands together. “Isn’t this just so much fun?”

I TOOK
a breath and waited for the DJ to announce my name.

The shots were doing their job. I felt loose. I felt good.

I took another breath and held it, letting it out slowly. Tyson the little twinkie boy had taught me his art of breathing, and I was surprised by how much it’d helped me.

I always felt nerves before a show, a low, underlying current that was almost soothing in its regularity. Vaguyna had told me that any queen worth her salt still felt nervous, because that meant she was still in it to impress. It was the moment you
stopped
being nervous, she said, that it was time to hang up your wig.