Boy Queen

by George Lester

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want to start something with Seth?’

  ‘We don’t even know Seth! Period. And he’s way out of my league,’ I say. ‘Our leagues aren’t even next to one another. His league is a dot to my league.’

  ‘That is the most polluted Friends reference I’ve ever heard in my life,’ Greg groans.

  ‘But it wasn’t a no,’ Natalie says. ‘What’s going on? Come on, Robin, he’s bad news.’

  ‘What’s going on is I don’t want to talk about it,’ I say. My brain is fuzzy with too many things. ‘New subject, please?’ I’m practically on my knees.

  ‘Fine,’ Natalie says, linking her arm in mine. ‘Let’s talk about you wanting to be Kaye Bye.’

  And there’s a sort of overwhelming pressure in my chest that is something like suffocating and having too much air at the same time. It’s a sensation that is so familiar to me that I’m taken back to the exact time I last experienced it. When I was sitting out on the field with Natalie at the height of summer almost five years ago and I told her that I thought I was gay. I actually knew for sure that I was gay as heck, but that’s how I worded it at the time. For some reason, the drag-queen thing feels like coming out all over again.

  We make it to the common room and sit down around one of the tables. I can barely meet their eyes.

  ‘Maybe it’s weird, but I want to do it.’

  ‘Drag?’ Greg asks.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say as plainly as I can. ‘I felt something when I was watching her.’

  ‘Like what?’ Natalie says.

  ‘It was the same as when I went to see Singin’ in the Rain in the West End. Like, I loved it so much, like the rest of the audience did, but then there was that extra little something that had me wanting to be up there, to be doing it,’ I reply, the words tumbling out of my mouth. This was pretty much how I answered questions during the interview portion of my drama-school auditions. ‘When I saw that show, I could see myself doing it and it filled me with this sort of need. And I got that same feeling when I was watching Kaye Bye on Friday night. There was something about her, the way she performed, that made me want to get up there and do it.’

  The performance had been like a window into gays gone by: of Kylie when she did her homecoming tour after she had cancer. That was a huge moment for her and it meant a lot to a lot of people, the gay community included. It was like a little time capsule of a truly powerful and influential gay icon.

  ‘Haven’t you ever thought about doing it before?’ Natalie asks, hardly able to contain herself. ‘Like, didn’t Drag Race ever do that?’

  I shrug. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I mean, I’ve watched them lipsyncing and walking the runway and thought, “Wow, I’d love to do that,” or even that I could do that, maybe, but seeing it happen two metres from your face is different. Like, I want to do that. I think.’

  My face is red, my eyes feeling like they could fill up with tears at any moment. After what Mum said about making myself a target, maybe the idea of doing drag is scaring me a little more than I thought it would.

  ‘OK,’ Greg says. ‘So, you want to do it, but where do you even start?’

  ‘You think I know?’ I reply with a laugh. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘I do.’

  We both turn to Natalie, who is practically bouncing in her seat at this point.

  ‘I know exactly what we need to do.’

  THIRTEEN

  Natalie had a cunning plan, one that she went over for the rest of the day between classes and was determined we should put into motion straight away. So, when school let out at three thirty, she walked me over to my bike because she didn’t want to waste any more time before starting my journey to becoming ‘Essex’s Next Drag Superstar’. Her words, not mine.

  ‘High-street stuff should be fine,’ she says as we walk out of school.

  ‘I’m really not sure about this, you know,’ I say. It suddenly feels like it’s moving too fast. Wanting to be a drag queen is such a new thing in my head that I’m not even fully on board with it yet.

  ‘The sooner you get started, the sooner you figure out if you really want to do it,’ she says.

  ‘So I’ve gotta jump in heels first.’

  ‘Purse first.’

  I suddenly feel like I’m going to throw up. ‘Can we not talk about it until we get there?’

  ‘Are you requesting a new subject?’ she asks with a careful cock of her eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, I’m requesting a new subject.’ I stop abruptly as I see Connor walking by. He’s with his friends so barely looks my way before keeping his gaze fixed forward. I feel my heart sink.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘With Connor – are you two OK?’

  I laugh. ‘Probably, I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know?’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘Christ, Robin, come on, it’s your relationship—’

  ‘Not a relationship,’ I say. ‘I don’t think.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘We were meant to hang out yesterday,’ I say. ‘And we didn’t.’

  ‘I’m going to need a little more.’

  ‘Well, I spent the whole day waiting for him to message me and he didn’t until the evening,’ I say. ‘But I got all my homework done, so . . .’

  ‘Robin, that’s messed up,’ she says.

  ‘I mean, his parents didn’t end up going out like he thought,’ I say. ‘He couldn’t do anything about it.’

  ‘He could have messaged you,’ she says.

  And of course I freaking know that but I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t have another thing in my life falling apart right now.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I preferred the old subject.’

  I start to push my bike, the two of us falling into step. We knock arms every now and again, needing the closeness.

  ‘OK, then,’ she says. ‘But I’m going to start throwing out words like “eyeshadow palette” and “translucent setting powder” and I need you to be prepared to take that on.’

  We head towards town, our conversation drifting to her sister being home, which she loves, and how great her sister’s girlfriend is. She talks about uni things, how her dad is still on her back about Durham and her mum is piling on the pressure with exams coming up. When we make it into town, I lock my bike up to a nearby railing and stand with Natalie, staring at the shop. It’s brightly lit inside, girls with high ponytails and full faces of make-up wandering up and down the aisles, weaving between counters, every one of them immaculate in their form-fitting black outfits.

  There is a shifting in my stomach, the butterflies waking up again as Natalie moves to walk inside. I hold her steady, keeping our arms linked together. If I’m not going anywhere, she certainly isn’t.

  ‘What?’ she says.

  ‘I’m nervous,’ I reply.

  ‘Robin,’ Natalie says, unable to stop herself from chuckling. ‘You honestly look like you’re about to throw up.’

  ‘I feel like I am.’

  ‘In the words of the late, great Taylor Swift, you need to calm down.’

  ‘You know Taylor Swift is alive, right?’

  ‘Just trying to take your mind off your worries,’ she says with a smile. But I’m not smiling. ‘Come on, Robin, cheer up or you can figure out how to drag up your life by yourself.’ She’s being deadly serious. I know that tone. But I can’t get Mum out of my head, talking about making myself a target. When I got attacked, I wasn’t doing anything but tapping my feet, now I’m buying make-up. What if someone from school sees us? I must be out of my mind. It’s times like this I wish Natalie knew what happened.

  ‘Maybe I could just buy it online—’

  ‘We need to get your shades.’

  ‘I’ll guess!’

  ‘I’m not being funny, Robin, but how the heck are you supposed to be a drag queen if you can’t even buy makeup? What’s happened to you? You’re the boy who played Lady Macbeth when you
were fourteen! You’ve done drag – what’s happening?’

  And I almost tell her. I almost just come out with the whole thing . . . but I want to put it behind me. And putting it behind me means walking into that shop and moving on, right?

  ‘OK,’ I manage. I start towards the shop, opening the door and immediately being hit by the heady scent of several hundred different perfumes. It is obnoxiously bright and I’m so far out of my depth I’m pretty sure I’m drowning.

  ‘Can I help you at all?’ A woman with a high ponytail is looking directly at me, her eyes sparkling, glittery eyeshadow around them, false eyelashes so big every blink practically sends a gust of wind my way. But she’s smiling and she seems friendly enough.

  ‘I think we just need to take a look around,’ Natalie says, pulling me off to one side.

  ‘How did she know we were in here for me?’

  ‘Because you look like you’re about to pass out.’ She takes in the shop like an expert. There is no way on this planet I would be able to do this by myself. ‘OK. Let’s start with base.’

  ‘Base?’

  ‘Foundation,’ she groans. ‘How can you be this clueless? You watch as many tutorials as I do.’

  ‘I know, but they say these words and it’s in one ear and out the other. I’ve never watched them thinking about doing it to myself.

  She guides me over to one of the fixtures on the wall, the whole unit filled to bursting with make-up. She grabs a beige tube from the testers and opens it, holding it close to my face. I flinch. She groans. We repeat this process until she finds something that looks about right.

  ‘OK, you need to not freak out right now,’ she says. ‘But I’m going to need to put this on your face.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said not freak out,’ she repeats. ‘It’s a bit of foundation. If you’re scared of foundation, we haven’t got a hope in hell.’

  And that about shuts me up. I present my cheek to her and she swipes the stick across. It’s sort of wet, and she dabs it into my skin a little with her fingers. I can see a couple of girls down the aisle looking at me, watching as Natalie tests another shade on my skin. I avert my gaze.

  Natalie smiles. ‘What?’ I ask defensively.

  ‘It’s not you,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘I’m just really good at this. This is your base.’ She hands the stick foundation to me and turns back to the wall, picking out a much lighter one. ‘This will do for a highlight.’

  ‘And something darker for contour?’ I offer, grabbing a rich brown shade.

  She smiles at me. ‘Look at you, getting into this,’ she says. ‘You know more than you think you do.’

  ‘Do you need a basket?’ The woman with the large eyelashes has returned, a basket hanging from the crook of her arm.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I say, taking it from her and dumping the foundation sticks into it. I take a deep breath. I can do this. It doesn’t need to be embarrassing or difficult, it’s just make-up. It’s paint.

  I start looking at the station we’re currently standing at, reading the labels, looking at the pictures, trying to decide where to go next. I already have an eyeliner pencil I can use, so I won’t need one of those, but I grab a white one just in case. I pick out an eyeshadow palette, swatching a couple of the colours on my hand before I pick out one that is a little more vibrant-looking instead.

  ‘Lips,’ Natalie says. ‘I don’t think they have what we need here,’ she adds, looking the station up and down. ‘You’ll need—’

  ‘A lipstick and a pencil,’ I interrupt. ‘Right?’

  She clutches at imaginary pearls round her neck. ‘By RuPaul I think he’s got it.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I groan as she drags me over to an entire bay of lipsticks and lipliners.

  ‘So what colour?’ she asks. ‘Do you feel like more of a red or a black or what?’

  There are so many options I feel more than a little overwhelmed. The choice is honestly ridiculous. There are at least three shades of black and probably around a hundred shades of red, all with names that don’t really tell me anything about them.

  ‘Um . . .’ is all I can manage.

  ‘I think you look like more of a red to me.’ The voice comes from behind us and I jump. It’s the woman again. I check her name badge to see her name – Ally – and look back up at her face. She is smiling. ‘But they’re buy one get one free,’ she adds. ‘So maybe you can try both.’ She then reaches into a little pouch around her waist and pulls out a packet of make-up wipes. ‘You’ve got swatches all over your arm and foundation on your cheek,’ she says in response to my no doubt totally confused look. ‘Trust me when I say you need this.’

  I laugh. ‘Thanks.’

  I scrub at my face and then at my forearm which is currently a rainbow of different shades, all of which look brilliant, all of which I want to try out, and this is exciting. It’s actually exciting. There are possibilities in every single one of those colours. I could transform into anything at all.

  ‘Look at you,’ Natalie says, nudging me.

  ‘What? Talking to the sales girl?’ I ask. ‘She offered me a make-up wipe – I’m hardly in a position to say no.’

  ‘No, not that, you complete and total fool,’ she says. ‘You’re smiling.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She nods. ‘You were smiling like that on Friday night and you’re smiling now. And it makes me happy to see you happy.’

  We pick out two lipsticks and lipliners, a setting powder, a white powder, beauty blenders, brushes, cotton pads, micellar water, a primer and contouring powders. When I look down at the basket I’m suddenly panicking about how much this is going to cost. It’s definitely not what my mum thought I’d be spending my birthday money on, but there we go.

  Ally is waiting for us at the main counter, eagerly beckoning us over. She takes the basket and starts putting everything through.

  ‘Did you find everything you were looking for?’ she asks.

  ‘I think so?’ I reply.

  She starts going through my basket. ‘You seem pretty well stocked to me,’ she says. But then her face twists a little. She leans over the counter and grabs a small, rectangular box. ‘You need these.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Lashes!’ Ally and Natalie say in unison, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

  ‘Crap, I should have thought of that,’ Natalie says.

  Ally looks at Natalie and smiles. ‘You had everything else covered,’ she says. ‘I wouldn’t worry.’ She doesn’t scan the box, she just puts it in the bag. I open my mouth to speak, but she stops me by holding up her hands. ‘Just let me know how it goes,’ she says.

  We pay and leave, my heart pounding hard in my chest as I walk out with the black bag, the logo emblazoned on it suddenly feeling like a neon light. I shove the bag into my rucksack. Buying the make-up was bravery enough for today.

  ‘See?’ Natalie says, squeezing my arm. ‘You did it! How are you feeling?’

  I take a breath. ‘I’m OK.’ But I’m still sort of freaking out and I wish I could just tell my body to calm down.

  ‘In a weird way, that’s the easy part,’ she says.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You’ve got to use it now,’ she says. ‘Is your mum home? We can try it now if you want?’

  ‘Really?’

  Natalie shrugs. ‘No time like the present. Plus I’m worried that if you don’t do it now you’ll lose your nerve. And it does take nerve.’

  Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel when I make it back to my house, Natalie in tow. Mum won’t be in until later on this evening, so I have the whole place to myself. It’s the perfect opportunity to try some of this out and then get it off my face before she gets home. The last thing I want is for her to see me in make-up. She panicked at the very idea of me going to a drag night, how would she react if she knew I was actually doing drag?

  We grab drinks and head upstairs. I immediately boot up my la
ptop in the hope of finding a make-up tutorial that we can follow.

  ‘Do you want to do it yourself, or should I do it for you?’ Natalie asks. ‘Like, what is the best way to do this?’

  ‘I think I should do it myself,’ I say. I want to at least try, even if it’s going to be a disaster.

  The video starts and I realize what an error we’ve made.

  ‘We don’t have any glue,’ I say, pausing the video.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Natalie asks.

  ‘Look, she’s glueing down her eyebrows with that purple glue stuff. I don’t have any purple glue stuff,’ I say. I’m annoyed. I shouldn’t be annoyed but I’m totally annoyed.

  ‘Do you have a Pritt Stick?’

  ‘I am not putting Pritt Stick on my eyebrows!’

  ‘But you’ll put some random purple glue you’ve never even heard of on there?’ Natalie raises an eyebrow to a perfect arch. ‘Come on, Robin, are you kidding me?’

  I sigh. ‘Well, no, I don’t have any Pritt Stick because, I mean, I haven’t glued anything since I was, like, seven.’

  ‘OK, OK, we don’t need to panic about this. We can do without.’

  ‘So I’ll be a queen with these giant caterpillars on my face?’ I don’t know why I’m getting so bent out of shape about this. I think I’m looking for a way out. I feel stupid.

  ‘We’ll figure out the glue thing later – this is hardly going to be the last time you put make-up on,’ she says. ‘I mean, it won’t be if you actually want to do this thing, so let’s just calm down and focus on doing the rest of your face, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And can we maybe breathe a little?’ she suggests.

  I nod and do as the tutorial suggests, apart from the eyebrow part. I’m still annoyed about the eyebrows. I should have thought about the eyebrows. I don’t know how this queen has managed to do it but hers are lying so flat, you cannot see them. It’s like freaking magic.

  I wet my make-up sponge and, just like the queen on the video, swipe the foundation on to my face before bouncing the sponge on it. I add the highlight, the contour, setting the face with powder, and it doesn’t look horrible. I mean, for a first try, it isn’t all that bad. Once the powder is on the contour is sort of gone, but you can see the shadow of it; there is a base there, even if it is a little rough around the edges.