The Queen & the Homo Jock King (5 page)

“Oh dear god,” Paul gagged. “Please, not in front of me. If you’re going to have an emotional affair, at least wait until I’m out of the room, for fuck’s sake. It’s like watching a cat in heat. Please don’t get on your knees and present yourself.”

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “It wouldn’t be emotional in the slightest. Just physical. Sweaty, messy, and physical. And I’m not quite ready to show him my asshole yet. I have a performance tonight, after all. Maybe after.”

“Sandy,” Vince said to the wall. “I really love you. You’re like the big sister I never had. And Helena is like having a crazy aunt. I don’t want to see my crazy aunt’s asshole. Or my sister’s. Besides, Paul is the only man I need.”

“Yeah, I am,” Paul said with a leer. “And also, you’re the only person I know that can say something sweet while in the same breath talking about seeing your aunt’s asshole. I’m impressed. And weirdly turned on.”

“It’s my superpower.” Vince shrugged. “I say weird things and you get turned on. It happens all the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“One time, in college, I did a keg stand and my nipple piercing got caught in a corncob that a friend of mine was eating. We were drunk and couldn’t figure out how to get it off, so I kept it on until the next day when it fell off on its own while I was eating at McDonald’s. For, like, a week after, my buddies called me Corn Nips. I can’t eat corn to this day.”

“Okay, so it’s totally true. What the hell.”

Kori came over with a thin, strapless bra that was padded in the cups. I lifted my arms as she wrapped it around my chest, clasping it at my back. I adjusted the bra until it was snug and centered. “Thank you, kitten,” I said as she came around me again. “You’re a peach and I would eat you so.”

The catsuit came next. I stepped into it, the thin lining on the inside rasping against my skin. It kept the vinyl from sticking to my skin as the suit barely allowed any room to breathe, especially later on as the club grew hot with bodies writhing together. I wiggled it past my hips, putting my arms through the sleeves. Paul zipped me up as I told Vince he could turn back around.

“Well?” I asked him, eyebrow arched. “How do I look?”

“Fierce as all hell.” He eyed me appreciatively.

“Careful, there,” I murmured. “Wouldn’t want to see your aunt’s asshole.”

Paul might have pulled the zipper a little too tightly then.

“Oops,” he said cheerily. “That was my bad.”

The boots came last, chunky red things, cut low across the ankle so the vinyl leggings could stretch over the top. I stepped into each of them carefully and Paul bent down to one knee, clasping the silver buckles that ran up the front. I reached down and ran my fingers through his hair. “Just where I like you,” I said. “My little pet.”

He rolled his eyes as he stood back up. “Been there, done that.” His lips quirked slightly as he looked up at me.

“We did, didn’t we?” I said. “And then you found yourself a big, strong man and left me all by myself. What’s a girl to do?”

“Maybe find your own big, strong man,” Kori said, fixing her hair in the mirror on Vaguyna’s vanity. “Speaking of, I could have sworn I saw Darren downstairs. But then, he’s always here around this time, isn’t he? I wonder what
that’s
all about.”

I stiffened slightly. It meant absolutely nothing, I knew, aside from the fact that Darren apparently was put on this earth to annoy the fuck out of me. Granted, it was a freaking free country and he could go where he pleased, but I would rather him have been anywhere else but here. Like hell. Or the moon. Where he would quickly asphyxiate and the world would be rid of him once and for all.

Paul snorted. “Of course he’s here. Helena’s performing. He’s
always
here when Helena’s performing.”

“Not always,” I snapped, trying to not let it throw me. “He wasn’t here on Wednesday.”

“Yeah, he was,” Paul said. “I pointed him out and you told me it was rude to point out dog shit when in the presence of a lady as refined as yourself.”

“Last Saturday, then.”

“Standing against the wall,” Vince reminded me. “You were doing your slutty Disney Princess routine and almost kneed him in the balls while singing a dirty version of ‘I’ll Make a Man Out of You’ from
Mulan
.”

“That’s one of my better numbers,” I mused. “I’m a man playing a woman dressing like a man. It’s like the
Inception
of drag-queening. And I wasn’t
trying
to knee him in the balls. It’s not my fault if his balls were that close to my knees. Really, he should be more considerate.”

“Right,” Paul said dryly. “I’ll make sure to tell him you were talking about where to put his balls.”

“And I will fuck you up with my knife,” I told him sweetly.

“You don’t have a knife.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” I nudged Kori lightly and bent over to make sure everything looked perfect in the mirror. “Fine, so he shows up here every now and then. It’s not like I care either way. He’s free to do what he wants. Or who he wants, the slut.”

“Pot, kettle,” Kori muttered.

I flashed a dangerous smile at her. “What was that, now?”

She rolled her eyes. “What was the guy’s name last weekend?”

I shrugged. “Thai Phan? No. Maurice. Hmm. Something exotic.”

“Because Maurice is exotic,” Paul said. “And very close to Thai Phan.”

“It could be.” I bared my teeth to make sure they were free from lipstick.

“And the weekend before that?” Kori asked.

“Oh,” I said. “That was the weekend I had Mexican.”

“Like, a burrito?” Vince asked.

“Almost as big,” I agreed.

“I don’t get it,” Vince said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I did. Several times.”

“Slut,” Kori said.

“Not in the slightest.” I stood back up. “I just like to have sex with different people on a regular basis.”

“And that’s totally different than what Darren does,” Kori said.

“Of course it is. I’m not a douche about it. Or anything else.”

“Mostly,” Paul said.

I turned my glare toward him.

“Or at all,” he quickly amended.

“Better. Now, all of you tell me how pretty I look and how amazing I am and one thing you like about me and then get out of my sight. I need a moment to prepare before I grace the world with the magic of my body.”

“What I love most about you is that you’re so humble,” Kori said.

“I’m a drag queen,” I retorted. “I don’t have time to be humble. Now fake kiss me and get the fuck out.”

Kori air-kissed each of my cheeks. “You look very pretty and you’re amazing and I like when you make me pancakes when I feel sad.”

“That’s because I love you.” I pushed a lock of her hair away from her face. “Get out.”

She grinned and headed for the stairs.

Vince was next. “You are very pretty and amazing and I like your face and your eyebrows and also the way you watch cartoons with me even though I know you think they’re stupid.”

“It’s because they are,” I assured him. “I love you. Go the fuck downstairs.”

He kissed the back of my hand and followed Kori out of the Lair.

“You’re going to be kickass,” Paul said seriously.

“I usually am,” I said. “But it’s nice to know you think so.”

“I think you’re pretty.”

“Aren’t I?”

“And amazing.”

“Oh stop! Tell me more.”

“Your pre-crazy Britney ensemble is some of your finest work. Your makeup is flawless. Your boobs look so real, I want to motorboat them and then feel awkward about it afterward. You give good hugs and have evenly shaped nostrils. Also, I think it’s only a matter of time before you get discovered, have a rise to fame for doing absolutely nothing, somehow get your own reality TV show, get addicted to cocaine and plastic surgery, then get ridiculed in the tabloids before you disappear, only to have people recognize you ten years from now as that one chick who did that one thing that one time, but nobody really remembers what.”

To be honest, I was a little choked up at that. “You really think I can do all of that? That might possibly be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“That’s a little fucked up.”

“I know.” I sighed. “Isn’t it just wonderful? I love you.”

“Are we going to talk about this Darren thing ever?”

“I’m loving you a whole hell of a lot less. Get out, you bitch.”

He rolled his eyes and kissed me gently on the cheek, making sure to not smudge my makeup. I’d trained him well. He closed the door behind him as he headed down the stairs.

The noise from the crowd coming over the balcony was growing louder, meaning everyone was gathering around the dance floor and stage, waiting for me. We were a bit behind schedule, but it was fine. I drew in the crowds. The other little queens that performed in my show were good (after all, I demanded only the best), but I was the reason the people were gathered downstairs. Of course, that was my ego talking, but I’d worked hard to get where I was, and one could not be a queen if one was not full of themselves while also being full of shit. I was my greatest supporter, but I was also my biggest critic. I was hard on myself, which is why I was so good.

I was fiddling with the wig when Charlie spoke. “Paul’s right, you know.”

“Of course he is,” I said without thinking. Then, “About what?”

“The Darren thing.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “
What
Darren thing?”

“Honey.” He looked up from his camera. “I don’t take any bullshit from anyone, least of all you. You might be a queen—hell, you might even be
the
Queen—but I will smack that ass if you should even think of sassing me.”

I stalked toward him, rolling my hips with every step I took. He grinned at me, that sweet old-man smile that caused his whole face to wrinkle adorably. Well, it
would’ve
been adorable had he not been spouting crap from his mouth. I ran my hand along his shoulder, scratching my fingernails into the back of his neck gently in the way I knew he loved. My big puppy. “Why would I need him when you’re all the man I need?”

He sighed. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I’m not going to be around forever.” He patted my hand as it dug into his shoulder. “I just want to make sure you’re taken care of after I’m gone.”

I refused to allow the lump in my throat to grow any bigger. “You told me nothing was wrong.” And he had. I’d driven him to his doctor’s appointment just last week, and he’d told me that aside from hypertension (which had always been a problem), he was healthy as a horse. An aging leather cart horse, but a horse nonetheless.

“And that was the truth,” he said. “But I’m not getting any younger, Helena. I’m not going to be around forever.”

“You will,” I insisted. “I already am making plans to sell my soul in exchange for your immortality. You’re not going anywhere for a long, long time. I won’t allow it. And now that I’ve said something nice, who the hell do you think you are, saying I need someone to take care of me? I’m fucking Helena Handbasket, you motherfucker. I can take care of myself.”

He smiled quietly. “I know you can. But can you blame an old man who wants you to have something I never did?”

And that hurt, more than I thought it would. After Charlie had come out, the fallout had been rather devastating. His ex-wife had shamed him publicly and poisoned his kids against him. He’d never cheated on her, not even once, though the temptation was surely there, but he finally got tired of living a lie. And even though she took almost everything from him, Charlie was never one to begrudge his ex, saying that it was his fault he’d gone through with the marriage to begin with. That was just who he was.

And after he’d come out, he hadn’t been completely free of guilt, but his conscience was clearer and his heart wasn’t as heavy. He took every phone call from his kids, even when they called to berate him. As it was now, he hadn’t heard from them in a couple of years. He had grandchildren he’d never met. His ex-wife had died a decade before.

He never settled down again. Said it wasn’t his lot in life. Not anymore.

The hypocritical bastard. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“And what would that be?” he asked with an aura of innocence that any normal person would have fallen for. But I was most decidedly
not
normal and could see right through the façade.

“You’re trying to play the old-man card,” I said. “Sympathy and all that bullshit. But I won’t fall for it, Charles Danvers, I really will not.”

“Dammit,” he muttered. “I even practiced looking sad and pathetic in the mirror.”

“You
planned
this?” I said incredulously. “Oh my god, you evil manipulator! I
adore
you.” I leaned in and gave him a sticky kiss on his cheek.

“Learned from the best.” He winked at me. “But if you think you’ve heard the last of this, you’ve got another think coming. I already dealt with Paul, who is more neurotic than a pygmy goat with PTSD. You’re going to be a cakewalk, Helena.”

I frowned. “Wait. Why would a pygmy goat have—”

“So you may as well just give in now,” he said, overriding me. “Because come hell or high water, you’ll admit it.”

“There’s nothing to admit,” I snapped at him. “Darren Mayne is a fucking dick and I want absolutely nothing to do with him.”

“Why do you hate him so much?” he asked.

I had my reasons. Ones that might be petty, but they were still my reasons. I hadn’t shared them with anyone, not even Paul. It was too fucking embarrassing and it was my deal, not theirs. It didn’t matter, anyway. Darren didn’t even remember, or if he did, he just didn’t care. He lived to antagonize me. I lived to make him suffer.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, trying to sound bored. “He is a nonentity to me.”

“Huh,” Charlie said. “That’s odd. Well, tomorrow is sure to be embarrassing, then. Yikes.”

“What? Why is—” Then it hit me. Tomorrow was Sunday. On Sunday we… “You invited him to Sunday
brunch
?” I screeched.

“Of course not.” He looked offended. “I would never do that to you.”

“Oh,” I said, relieved. He’d only come once to brunch, last summer when Tyson and Dominic had been in town, and I’d spent the entire meal in a state of what-the-fuck, shooting daggers at him with my eyes and wishing I’d put arsenic in his frittata. But as a good hostess knows, frittata is often the cornerstone of a good brunch, and no matter how much I disliked him, I made a
damn
good frittata and wouldn’t want it to go to waste.