Dumplin - Julie Murphy Page 0,60

capable of drinking the place dry. Well, Hannah might.

“Nope,” he says. “Sorry, kiddies. No can do.”

“But look at this email,” I tell him, like that will somehow make a difference.

He takes the paper from my hand and his gaze hovers at the top of the page before he says, “This isn’t your email address.”

I swallow. “It’s my aunt’s. Lucy.”

Carefully, he folds the paper and hands it back to me. He pulls four fluorescent orange wristbands from his vest pocket and fastens them around our wrists.

My mouth drops wide open.

“If any of you even look at the bar, you’re out.” He holds my elbow while the others file in. “Lucy was good people.”

I nod and silently thank her for this little bit of magic tonight.

Inside we find a small table off to the side of the stage and far, far away from the bar. The waiter walks by, glances at our wristbands, and brings back four waters.

Millie scoots her chair in close and smooths down her hair. “There’s a whole mess of men here, don’t y’all think?”

Hannah looks around for a moment, and the expression on her face shifts. “Give me that email.”

I lean away from her. “What? Why? No.”

She reaches for my pocket and despite me pushing at her hands, rips it out. Millie and Amanda are in their own worlds, absorbing their surroundings. Hannah takes a second to glance over the email. “Holy shit,” she says.

The lights begin to dim. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Oh my God. You don’t even know, do you?” She smacks her hand on the table, laughter spurting from her mouth. “Millie,” she says. “Your mama’s gonna make you wash your eyes out with soap when you get home tonight.”

Millie’s mouth forms an O, but that’s all I see before the club goes completely dark except for a few runner lights by the bar.

Over the speakers comes a low, sultry voice. “Tramps, vagabonds, ladies, and lords, welcome to Dolly Parton Night at the Hideaway!”

The crowd cheers.

“First to grace our stage tonight is the lovely Miss Candee Disch! Let’s make her feel welcome, y’all.”

A spotlight hits center stage on a tall woman with a huge blond wig. She wears a floor-length velvet gown in lime green. Her makeup is exaggerated and her lips are bubbly and drawn on. The music starts and I know the song within only a few notes. “Higher and Higher.”

“Your love has lifted me,” she sings. “Higher, higher, and higher.” Then the tempo speeds up and even though she’s straight and lean, her hips appear like magic and she’s shaking, working the stage with everything she’s got. I am totally taken. So much so that I don’t even think to watch for reactions from my friends. I sing along with the song, and not until she’s about to walk off the stage do I realize that Hannah is in absolute hysterics.

My eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Millie turns to me, her expression still in that same O shape it was in when the lights went down. “Willowdean,” she says. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that was a man. A very lovely man.”

I glance around. Men holding hands. Girls with their arms around each other.

“This is better than reality TV,” says Amanda.

The crowd applauds as Candee Disch curtsies. “Let’s hear it for the iconic Britney Swears!”

Another woman enters from offstage, and I see it now. The rough edge of her square jaw. Her broad shoulders. The stubble beneath her makeup despite her close shave.

This is a drag show.

I sit up straighter in my chair.

My stomach flurries with excitement. For the first time since that night when I sat in the back of Bo’s truck, watching the meteor shower, I feel like my life is happening.

“I’m almost impressed,” says Hannah.

We watch as drag queens every shape and size and color give it their all and leave everything they’ve got on that stage in this dingy little bar out in the middle of West Texas. They wear sparkling, elaborate costumes with incredible high heels and insane wigs. Each of them is their own brand of beauty. There’s even a duo with a woman cross-dressing as Kenny Rogers for a rendition of “Islands in the Stream.”

My favorite, though, is a short Asian queen named Lee Wei. She wears a baby-blue minidress with sequins so long that every time she moves, she’s a blur of motion. When the spotlight zeros in on her and the song begins, it only takes one note before the whole