“No one and I mean no one but Indy’s Hunk of Burning Love would be allowed to see me this way. You talk, you die.”
It was an empty threat and everyone knew it. Firstly, who was Lee going to tell? Secondly, Lee could kick anyone’s ass.
“Anyone want a drink?” Stevie, ever the good host, said into the void.
“I need makeup, my stuff is at Lee’s,” I told Tod.
Tod extracted his smoke from his mouth and gestured to the dining room table.
“What’s mine is yours.”
* * * * *
It took nearly an hour to get Burgundy to BJ’s Carousel. She was not only performing but MC-ing so she had several dress changes. Stevie and I carefully slid the dresses that Tod indicated into garment bags. We schlepped them, three wigs, six boxes of shoes, a Louis Vuitton tote-bag of emergency provisions (extra hose in case of runs, packets of cigarettes, lighters, smaller bags filled with bracelets, earrings, necklaces and other accessories, fingernail polish remover, etc.) and Tod’s enormous, steel-encased MAC tackle box filled with cosmetics into the CR-V.
Lee and I followed Tod and Stevie to BJ’s in the Crossfire. The bar was on Broadway, about a mile or so south of my store, just past the I-25 overpass. It was a small, dive bar but you couldn’t tell because it was dark and the Diva Queens on the tiny stage could make it come alive.
We went in the back way, all of us loaded down with Burgundy’s stuff and entered the small area set aside as a dressing room. It was so smoky you could barely see and it was chock full of drag queens, their partners, fag hags and other hangers on. The minute we walked in, everyone, man, woman or queen, turned and stared at Lee.
“Sweet Jesus,” a Shania Twain look-alike standing three feet away breathed, her hungry eyes riveted on Lee.
Burgundy forged ahead announcing, “He’s straight, he’s taken and if he turns, I have first dibs.”
Stevie dumped his load and Lee handed him the garment bag he was holding, then turned to me. “I’ll get you a drink.”
“Good idea. You don’t leave, they’ll jump and tear your clothes off.”
Lee winced. “That’s a pleasant thought.”
“Don’t think I’m kidding,” I told him. “If you wouldn’t mind getting me a…” I started to give him my drink order but he interrupted.
“I know what you drink, Indy.”
Panic overwhelmed me again, fast and fierce.
Lee smiled, it was The Smile except magnified, warm and intimate. All air was sucked out of the room as surreptitious watching turned obvious when people saw The Smile. My reaction included both a quivering in the nether regions and a swelling of the br**sts.
Lee’s arm slid around me and his lips found mine for a quick kiss.
“Don’t look so scared, I’m not gonna eat you,” he murmured and then his hand slid down my ass and pressed my h*ps against his in a promise that belied his words.
Holy shit, shit, shit.
He left and half of our audience were fanning themselves, the other half adjusting their trousers.
Stevie and I got Burgundy sorted. By the time I made it into the bar, it was a crush. The Savage/Nightingale contingent found a table front and center. Everyone was crammed into it, Andrea had forked her children off on a babysitter and forced her husband to come and he looked about as comfortable as a Republican at a Rainbow Gathering. For Tex, on the other hand, this was another day at the office. He sat relaxed, his feet on a chair that likely could be used to rest someone’s ass but no one would have had the balls to ask for it.
Two other seats were empty, one for Stevie, one for me, drinks in front of both.
Lee wasn’t at the table, he and Hank both had their backs against the wall by the entrance, both holding a beer bottle by its neck, their arms crossed on their chest, effortlessly and unconsciously exuding aggressive heterosexuality. Even in the crammed bar, they were given a wide berth.
The show started late and Burgundy came out giving some lip to someone who’d been imbibing too much, was getting impatient and yelled his thoughts about it.
Take my advice, never heckle a drag queen. They’ll make mincemeat out of you.
The show was great, the drinks kept coming and I’d scoot out when Stevie and I got the high sign it was time for a costume change. Backstage, we’d struggle Burgundy and her foam rubber h*ps out of one heavy, sequined extravaganza and into another and we’d return to the table. Our group was generous with tips during the performances, handing the queen a dollar for an air kiss on the cheek and we quickly became a favorite, and thus the focus of all the divas.
It was going well, I was relaxed, happy, enjoying myself and I was remembering a life that was fun and exciting without bullets flying. I was well into my fifth spiced rum and diet when Burgundy took the stage and made a surprise announcement.