The Queen & the Homo Jock King (48 page)

I shrugged.

“Not to give him an out, but we all do stupid things when we’re that age.”

And apparently we do stupid things when we’re thirty-one too, but I didn’t think she needed to know that. “So forgive and forget?”

“Haven’t you done that already?” she asked. “Why would you be with someone who you couldn’t forgive?”

“Right,” I said. Because
right
.

“Look, Sandy,” she said as she stepped forward, taking my hands in hers. “I’ve seen it now. With my own eyes. The way he looks at you. I’ve never seen him look that way at anyone else. I don’t know why you agreed to be in a relationship with him if you can’t trust that, but it’s real, okay? I’ve heard the way he’s spoken about you for years. I don’t know the courage it must have taken for you to admit how you felt, or whatever Darren had to overcome to finally allow himself to have this, but it’s real. If you need him to tell you, ask him.
He will tell you it’s real
.”

“You can’t make me cry on Thanksgiving,” I told her, blinking away the burn. “It’s against the law. If you cry on Thanksgiving, Native Americans come to your house and take away your pie and then give you blankets filled with smallpox as ironic revenge.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how it goes,” she said.

“You don’t know that,” I said. “You’ve never cried on Thanksgiving.”

“Maybe I have.”

“Have you ever had smallpox?”

“No.”

“Then you haven’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t tell Darren I made you cry. He’ll never let me come back to Thanksgiving. Or ever. He’s very protective of you.”

“Don’t
say
stuff like that!” I snapped. “You’re making it worse!” As if to prove my point, a big, fat Disney Princess tear fell down my cheek.

“Oh my god,” she moaned. “That was like the most perfect tear I’ve ever seen. I’m in so much trouble.”

“You don’t have to—”

“What’s going on?” Darren asked from the doorway. He was frowning and looking between the two of us. His phone was in his hand. “Are you crying?”

“Of course not,” I said, my voice watery. I sniffed. “That would just be ridiculous.”

He stalked over to me, glaring at his mother. He pushed between us and stood facing me, setting his phone on the counter. His brow was furrowed as he reached up and took my face in his hands. His thumbs brushed my cheeks as he studied me, as if he could figure out all that had occurred just from the look on my face.

“I’m okay,” I said.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re getting snot on my hands. You’re not okay.”

“Gross,” I said, not moving at all.

“Tell me about it,” he said. “The things I do for you. Why are you crying?”

“That would be my fault,” Sherry said, sounding guilty. Darren’s hands tensed slightly on my face. “We were talking about—”

“Family stuff,” I said. “You know. Holidays and family stuff. It just gets to me, every now and then.”

He sighed and before I knew what was happening, he wrapped me in a hug, chin hooked over my shoulder, my face pressing against his neck. His arms were tight around me, holding me close, and it might have been the nicest thing that had ever happened to me. I felt safe and warm and I didn’t want this to be fake anymore. Not after everything.

His breath was on my neck as I looked over his shoulder. His mom stood behind him, and when she caught my gaze, she grinned widely and gave me a thumbs-up. I rolled my eyes at her, but didn’t let go.

I wanted this.

And maybe, just maybe, I could have this.

AND THEN
it all came crumbling down.

We were in the living room, drinking wine and laughing at Charlie, who growled at the TV every few minutes or so.

I was sitting next to Darren on the couch, curled up at his side, his arm around my shoulder. I felt loose and happy.

“I’ll get the dessert set out,” Matty said after a while. “In case anyone wants some.”

“I’ll help,” I said. Feeling rather daring, I leaned over and kissed Darren on the cheek. He turned his face as I started to pull away and his lips grazed mine, and for a moment, we sat there, grinning stupidly at each other.

“Ugh,” Charlie said. “You two are going to be worse than Paul and Vince.”

“Hey!” Paul said. “No one is worse than us!” Then, “Wait.”

I laughed and Darren squeezed my shoulder before letting me go.

I followed Matty into the kitchen. She was at the fridge, pulling out whipped cream and setting it on the counter.

I began to unwrap the pies when she said, “You guys look happy together.”

I shrugged, trying to play it off. “Maybe.”

But she knew me too well to allow my bullshit. “You’re allowed to be.”

I looked up at her. “I think I’m starting to see that.”

“Good,” she said. “Can you get the knife out of the—whose phone is that? Can you move it?”

There was a cell phone on the counter. It was Darren’s. He’d forgotten it when he’d come to save me from his mother’s smallpox love. I picked it up, meaning to pocket it until we went back out into the living room.

It vibrated in my hand. The screen lit up.

1 New Text Message
, it said.

I didn’t expect to see the name it’d come from, however.

Caleb
.

I stopped.

It was wrong. It was wrong to look through someone else’s phone. It was wrong to invade someone else’s privacy. There was a perfectly logical reason why Darren would have Caleb’s phone number. Why they would be texting back and forth. Why they would be talking to each other at all.

And I trusted him.

Right?

I swiped the screen.

The message history pulled up.

It was rather short.

And Darren initiated it.

Darren:
When can you meet up?

Caleb:
It’ll have to be after the holiday. Family coming to town

Darren:
That’s fine. Just make sure no one knows

Caleb:
So secretive. I like it!

Then, from tonight:

Caleb:
Family is staying a few days longer. Can’t meet yet

Darren:
That’s fine. Just let me know when. I’ll make time for this

Caleb:
And what are you going to tell your boyfriend?

Darren:
Nothing. He doesn’t need to know. This is between you and me

And the last message, the one just received.

Caleb:
You sure know how to make a boy feel special ;)

THE DAYS
leading up to the drag bachelor auction were busier than I’d been in a long while. Between helping Paul pick out flowers for the wedding (“You
have
to have flowers, Paul! We’re not some kind of uncultured
swine
who can’t fucking class up a joint!” “But Sandy, what if the horses
eat
them?”), meeting with my ten bachelors while studiously ignoring the strange looks Darren kept shooting me (“Yes, I understand you’re all men, but for one night, you are all going to be men dressed like
ladies
, so you
will
learn to walk in heels, so help me god!”), and making sure Darren understood I was far too busy to even sit still and have a conversation with him (“Sandy—” “Not right now!” “I need to—” “So busy!” “Can you just—” “Doing things!”).

I led a hard life, full of trials and tribulations.

Given that I was obviously not making any baseless assumptions about anything (there were texts
that
could not be misconstrued
) and that Darren was planning on fucking the hipster twink, it seemed wise that I go back to the start, where Darren Mayne was an asshole and I was using him solely to save Jack It without the detriment of
feelings
being involved. (If I was being honest with myself, I no longer really understood
why
the fake relationship thing still needed to happen. Who exactly were we trying to fool? Wasn’t the whole point of this to try and trick the mayor? Or Darren. Or someone. I wasn’t really sure anymore, if I’d ever been at all. While I was good at pretty much everything else, I was certain the evidence pointed to the fact that I was the worst fake boyfriend to ever fake boyfriend. It can be disheartening to find your life can’t be an eighties movie, no matter how hard you try. And since I no longer understood why I was doing what I was doing, I decided to just let it fall as it may. It seemed easier that way.)

And since feelings were no longer involved (it was preposterous that they’d even been there to begin with!), my life became extraordinarily simplified now that I had a specific goal in mind. Jack It would be saved, and I, Helena Handbasket, would be its savior. There would be parades in my honor with fireworks and hunky firemen, and in his concession speech to my victory, Andrew Taylor would announce that December would forever be known as Helena Handbasket Appreciation month and everyone would be required to buy me something and lay it at my feet while nearly nude musclemen cooled me with palm fronds and fed me peeled frozen grapes while occasionally begging to choke on my dick. And really, what else would the month of December need to be known for other than me?

I kept up appearances as best I could. Whenever we were surrounded by people at Jack It on Wednesdays or Saturdays, I smiled and stood close to Darren. His arm would go around my waist and he would cling to me more so than usual, muttering that I wasn’t fooling him and what the hell was wrong with me? We were going to talk about this, he said, even if he had to force it out of me. I laughed and told him I was busy.

Caleb was there, usually, having successfully insinuated himself into the homo jocks. Biff, Chet, and Xerxes often looked confused, the poor boys, at whether or not the hipster twink was one of them or if he was trying to become their queen. Brian, for his part, just smiled goofily and made sure he didn’t stand too close to me lest I grab him to make him a pawn in my evil scheme yet again.

I also made sure to give Caleb and Darren plenty of space whenever they were near each other so that their blossoming love could stoke the flames of passion. Darren looked confused anytime I made myself scarce without a word, but I couldn’t stand in the way of what was obviously a fated romance. It helped that I didn’t have a single fuck left to give, otherwise, that might have hurt just a little. But if Meryl Streep could smile even when she lost twelve straight Academy Awards to underserving mediocrity, then I could certainly Meryl Streep my way through Darren Mayne.

“Haven’t seen Darren around,” Corey said one evening as he poured over notes for his finals.

“Holidays,” I said. “Drag shows. Work. Schedules.”

Corey frowned at me. “Are you just… listing… things?”

“I love you,” I said.

“I… love you too?”

“Thanks. You should finish up there and I’ll bake you muffins.”

“What.”

“Exactly. I bought you your Christmas present. I hope you like fuzzy mittens.”

I pretended to ignore the whispered phone conversation Corey had with Paul later that night when words like “going crazy” and “twitchy meltdown” were used. Obviously they didn’t know that I was in the performance of my career, one that people would refer to as revelatory (if anyone could ever know about it, that was). I thought about bending him over my knee to spank the shit out of him for the
twitchy meltdown
comment, but abstained. Barely.

And since Paul and Corey were attempting to break me down, they could no longer be trusted in the Queen’s Lair. In fact, I refused to allow anyone at all to come up, aside from Charlie. I would have banned him too, but we needed him to record the shows so the queens could critique themselves later. Paul wasn’t too suspicious, as I sometimes wanted to be alone before my shows, but I knew he was getting there and I wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer.

“Do I even want to know what’s going on in that head of yours?” Charlie asked as he set up the tripod for the camera.

“Probably not,” I said. “I’m in a dark and mysterious place right now. The queen’s journey is often a lonely one. One foot in front of the other. Hold your head up high. Make love, not war. I want to take a ride on your discostick.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “I didn’t get any of that, except for the part at the end where you quoted Lady Gaga.”

“You’re so gay for knowing that,” I said.

THE DAY
of the drag bachelor auction came quicker than I thought it would. My alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. I shot up out of bed, opened the door, and bellowed for Corey to fucking rise and shine, because we had
work
to do. There was a low groan from somewhere in his room that I took as assent, given that he knew as well as I did what would happen if he didn’t get his ass out of bed. He’d tried to use the argument that he was a college student and deserved to sleep in. I’d laughed in his face and told him he shouldn’t have moved into a house with a drag queen when she was putting on a drag bachelor auction. He’d retorted and said that he wasn’t even aware there were such things as drag bachelor auctions, much less that I would have one. I’d reminded him that as a drag queen, I was spontaneous and that I might have him do things he never thought he’d do at the drop of a hat, up to and including midget fisting and watersports if the situation called for it. He’d mused out loud that he never wanted to know what situation called for midget fisting and watersports. I told him it was probably more common than he thought. We then had to go look it up on the Internet. Neither of us were ever going to be the same after that.

So it was with threats of peeing on fisted little people that he didn’t fight me and made his way to the kitchen to start the coffee. Paul and Vince were scheduled to be at my house no later than five thirty (Paul, at the very least, knowing he couldn’t fuck with me on the time, given that he’d had years of my demands to be conditioned to just say
Yes, Sandy, of course, Sandy
). And since Vince did whatever Paul did, we were golden there.