Painted Faces

by L.H. Cosway

  “You still dreaming about that wig, Viv?” I shout to him over the music.

  His hand returns to my waist and he seems to hold me even tighter then. “No, I'm dreaming about all of this golden brown honey draped over my pillow.”

  For the life of me I cannot think up a response to that. No witty retorts spring to mind like they usually do. All I can think is that I'd love that too, to lie in his bed with him, the sheets all messed up, as though we were lovers in some arty French film.

  I can feel Nicholas' laughter against the back of my neck. “What, nothing to say to that Fred?” he asks huskily.

  “You got me. I'm completely speechless.”

  His mouth is close to my ear again, and it's hard to think straight when he does that. “I'd like to see you speechless, breathless, panting...”

  Embarrassed to the core by his words, I pull away from him and mouth “bathroom” before running off. In this moment I desperately need some distance between us. My inhibitions are so ingrained in me that even the most lethal brew of Poitín couldn't strip them away. Poitín (if you've never heard of it) is an Irish variety of moonshine that can contain as much as 95% alcohol. Needless to say, my insecurities are crippling; I'm just really good at hiding them. In the toilets I find Nora leaning against a cubicle door with her arms folded.

  I nod to the cubicle. “Who's in there?”

  Nora sighs. “Anny. She's getting sick. Too many vodkas and red bull.”

  “Ugh,” I bang on the door when I hear her heave into the bowl. “Anny you deserve to be sick after drinking that filth.” A glass is never the same again after it has played host to Red Bull. You can forever get a slight hint of the taste.

  She manages a whispered, “Piss off Fred,” and for a second I feel bad for her.

  I go over to the sink and splash some water on my face. “So, why are you being such an ice queen with Nicholas all of a sudden?” I ask Nora.

  Another sigh, but no answer.

  “If you sigh one more time I'm going to drag you into one of these cubicles and dunk your head in the toilet,” I warn her.

  “I just don't get it,” she finally replies, turning to check her reflection in the mirror.

  “What's to get? He's a straight guy with a penchant for dressing up as a woman. He's also got one hell of a singing voice.”

  “He's straight?” Nora asks, eyebrows almost disappearing into her hair line.

  “Yeah, he told me earlier that he was. Think Eddie Izzard and replace the comedy with singing.”

  “Oh.” She pauses, a thoughtful look on her face. “I still don't get the whole drag queen bit. He's so bloody handsome, why can't he just be normal?”

  I point a finger at her. “You have to get over your hang ups Nora. Human beings don't always fit into a perfect box the way you want them to.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You're just loving this, aren't you? People have to be weird for you to want to be their friend.”

  “Very true, and you're my best friend, which makes you the biggest weirdo of them all.”

  Just as I'm finished washing up I cup both my hands under the running tap and then splash the water right into Nora's face, before running out of the bathroom. She screams as the door slams behind me. A devious thrill runs through me. She can be so uptight. I love pissing her off sometimes, for entertainment purposes if nothing else.

  Needing some air, I go out to the smoking area where I'm greeted by a calming cloud of nicotine. I've got a bit of a habit for socially smoking. I'm about to ask some girl if she's got a spare cigarette when I spot Nicholas, Sean and Harry all puffing away like chimneys over in the corner.

  I march up to them and pluck Harry's smoke from his fingers, before shoving it between my own lips. “Give me that cancer stick,” I say. “I'm saving you from getting the black lung Harry, be thankful.”

  “I couldn't help myself, I haven't had one in months,” Harry admits guiltily.

  “You're welcome. I'll just finish this off for you, Good Samaritan that I am.”

  Harry rolls his eyes and smirks at Sean, who grins back. Oh I'm definitely sensing a vibe of attraction between these two.

  “And you Vivica,” I gesture at Nicholas, who looks cooler than a block of ice with a smoke dangling from his lips. “I expected better of you, leading these two young boys astray.”

  Nicholas pulls the smoke from his mouth, letting out a long draw. “I like to corrupt,” he replies, hidden meaning in his guarded expression. Is he pissed that I ran off on him when we'd been on the dance floor?

  I don't say anything, I just continue enjoying the cigarette I appropriated from Harry. I can feel Nicholas' eyes on me. When I look at him again he's not staring at me anymore. His eyes are trained on the dirty floor, a sort of sad expression on his face. A thin girl with long, silky black hair and perfect skin sidles up to our group, her sights quite clearly set on Nicholas. As you might expect, I take an instant disliking to her.

  “Hey, could I get a light from you?” she asks him.

  He lifts his eyes from the floor to look at her, and then pulls his lighter from his jeans pocket. “Sure you can,” he smiles. She leans forward, giving him a good look at her cleavage. Harry and Sean are deep in conversation, but my attention is riveted on the exchange between Nicholas and this girl.

  “I love your accent,” she says, with drunk unfocused eyes. “Where are you from?”

  His smile transforms into a smirk, and his mischievous baby blues glance at me for a brief second. “Australia, have you ever been?” he lies.

  “No, but I hear it's lovely,” she answers, sucking in a drag of her smoke.

  Nicholas touches her lightly on the elbow. “Excuse me for a moment, I'll be right back.”

  He walks over to me and whispers, “Do you think she's trying to make me her last chance saloon for the night?”

  “I would say that's a definite yes,” I answer him.

  “Shall we have a little fun with her?” he continues.

  “You really are the corrupting type,” I say to him with a holier than thou expression.

  “In or out Fred,” he states.

  “Oh, go on then, you've twisted my arm,” I grin.

  “Great,” he takes my hand and guides me over to the black haired girl, who gives me a blatant catty look and turns back to Nicholas.

  “So, I never quite caught your name, I'm Nicholas and this is my Irish cousin Freda. I'm here visiting her.”

  The girl loses the cat eyes with the false information that I'm Nicholas' relative and therefore not a threat. “I'm Niamh, it's nice to meet you Nicholas – and Freda.”

  “Likewise,” says Nicholas, before raising my hand to his mouth and giving my knuckles a lingering kiss. Niamh looks confused for a minute, but then she seems to shake it off.

  “Oh my God, so cool, are you wearing eye liner?” she asks, stepping up close to run her finger just below Nicholas' eye.

  “I am. Freda enjoys putting make-up on me. I'm like her little toy doll.”

  Niamh's nose crinkles as she glances at me. “You put this on him? Why?”

  Not so “cool” anymore then. I try to sound as mysterious as possible. “Oh, it's just a little game we like to play. I do his make-up for him and he does mine. It's a cousin thing.”

  “And then we do some French kissing,” Nicholas adds.

  “Eh, what?” says Niamh, stubbing her smoke out on the nearest ash tray.

  “Kissing cousins, have you never heard of it?” Nicholas asks her.

  “No I've heard of it, you two are a pair of freaks,” she says, taking a step back.

  “We were wondering if you'd like to join us for a ménage à trois?” Nicholas steps forward.

  “Fuck no, get away from me,” she says cuttingly and runs off.

  I burst out laughing. “She completely fell for that. You're an evil genius,” I tell him.

  “One of my many talents,” he brushes fake dust off his shoulder.

  “Why did you do that
though? She was hot and definitely up for a night of debauchery,” I eye him curiously.

  “I don't know, she smelled like stripper perfume. It put me off,” he replies.

  “What on earth is stripper perfume?”

  “You know, the stuff you get in the Euro shop for 2.99. Completely awful.”

  I feel a little self-conscious at the knowledge that he notices how girls smell. Has he caught a whiff of my sweaty self yet tonight? God I hope not.

  “It does sound awful. When I was a kid I had friend who would put rose petals in jars with water and sugar to make perfume. She'd get this rash on her neck because of it.”

  Nicholas laughs and shakes his head. “The ideas we come up with when we're young.”

  “Don't even talk to me. One Halloween I was obsessed with John Travolta in Grease and made my mum make me a T Bird's jacket so I could dress up as him. She ended up getting a black bag, cutting two holes for arms and writing “T Birds” on the back with Tipp-Ex. Then she found me an old black wig that one of my uncles used to impersonate Elvis at a fancy dress party. I thought I looked the shit.”

  Nicholas is holding onto his stomach he's laughing so much. “Oh God, you're killing me. Please tell me you have pictures.”

  I grin. “I think Mum might have some in a family album somewhere.”

  “I must see this evidence, it will make my life complete. You're the perfect friend for me Fred, you the drag king and me the drag queen.”

  “Hey, I haven't been in drag since I was ten. It was a gruelling business. I decided to go for early retirement.”

  When my eyes flick to the side I catch sight of Harry and Sean's “deep conversation” which has now transformed into furious snogging against the wall. I give a wolf whistle and go over to pat Harry on the shoulder.

  “Be sure to use protection,” I whisper loudly. He raises one hand to give me the finger, not once breaking the kiss.

  I step back and stand beside Nicholas, who's making a show of watching the two and stroking his chin ponderously. He makes his fingers into a square in front of him, creating a frame around Harry and Sean.

  “I think I'll call this one “Love in the Modern Environment”, hand me my camera would you darling?” he puts on a false Spanish photographer's voice.

  “Right away, Rodrigo,” I chirp.

  Nicholas peers over my shoulder. “Oh. Somebody looks pissed at you,” he whispers, just before Nora stomps up to me, dragging a recovering Anny along with her.

  “Did you have to pull that stunt with the water?” she asks. “Look at my top, it's soaked through.”

  “Sorry, I was caught up in the moment,” I explain, unable to hold in the touch of sarcasm.

  In the same way I don't think before I speak, sometimes I don't think before I do stupid things. It was only water, but as far as Nora's concerned her outfit is ruined for the night.

  “Well whatever, I'm sick of this place and Anny's just plain sick, so I'm going to stick her in a taxi and then head home.”

  “Yeah I think I'm ready for bed myself,” I reply with a big noisy yawn.

  Nicholas grins at me. “Can I join you?”

  “To go back to the apartments yes, in bed no,” I say, pointing a firm finger at him. I keep getting these little shocks of nerves every time he says something flirtatious, and my immediate reaction is to shoot him down for fear of him finding out that I fancy the pants off him.

  He smirks. “That's what I meant,” he looks at Nora and jokes, “she thinks a lot of herself, doesn't she.”

  Nora suddenly seems like a deer caught in the headlights with Nicholas talking to her. “Um, yeah.” She pauses and a cruel gleam comes into her eyes. “Unfortunately, she's often misguided.”

  And with that slam dunk she turns around and pulls Anny along with her. She's really snippy with me tonight. She's also taking a lot of her disappointment that Nicholas isn't the dream guy she thought he was out on me. I tap Harry on the shoulder and tell him that we're leaving. He waves me away without a care.

  “Well, that was a little bitchy,” says Nicholas, as we trail a couple of feet behind Nora and Anny.

  “Nora can be harsh at times. I like to look at it as her being brutally honest.”

  “Or brutally jealous,” he remarks.

  I snicker. “Oh yeah, she's got so much to be jealous of. I splashed a load of water on her in the bathroom, so she's still annoyed about it. She's mad anal about her appearance.”

  “Did you just suggest anal?” he asks, pretending he didn't hear all of what I said, the sly dog. “That's very forward of you Freddie, but I'll have to decline. I haven't got the conviction for such an endeavour tonight I'm afraid.”

  “Hardy har har,” I roll my eyes at him.

  When we finally get outside Nora's putting Anny into a taxi. Nicholas and I wait on her by the side of the road. There's no point in the three of us getting a cab back to our block since it's only a five minute walk away. Anny's taxi drives off and Nora approaches us. I'm not in the humour for her bad mood so I simply say, “Come on, let's get home.”

  Our walk to the apartment is quiet, with only one or two jokey remarks from me and Nicholas. Nora is as silent as the dead. The only saving grace is that it's not a long walk. Nora goes on ahead of us when we get to the building and hurries straight to our apartment. I stand outside Nicholas' door with him to say goodnight.

  “Well, thanks for a colourful evening. I can't wait to see you perform at the club again. I'm thinking I might make the place my new regular haunt. There's certainly something to be said about surrounding yourself with a bunch of men who are more interested in what dress you're wearing rather than what's underneath it.” I'm rambling, I don't know why. It's possibly due to the intense look on Nicholas' face right now.

  “There was at least one man who wanted to see what's underneath the dress,” he comments drily.

  “Oh you silver tongued devil!” I mock, in an effort to push away the tension that seems to be filling the air between us.

  Nicholas slots his key in the door. “Do you want to come inside and see my place?”

  He opens the door just slightly, and I really should be running straight to my own apartment, but my eyes land on something red and feathery looking, and like a child who's just caught sight of the ice cream van, I'm compelled to go after it.

  “I'd love to,” I say, stepping right inside. The feathery red thing turns out to be a cushion made entirely of the softest feathers I have ever laid my hands on. But the most fascinating thing is what the cushion is sitting on, a lime green velvet chaise longue. I feel like I've just stepped inside a boudoir that's decorated in a mix of outlandish psychedelic colours and old world vintage. The lounge area is a lot bigger than mine and Nora's place, I notice.

  I sit down on the lime green creation and plop the feathery cushion on my lap so that I can pet it. My tipsy self enjoys soothing textures.

  “I've never been in here before. None of our previous neighbours were the friendly type. It's fucking huge. I have to admit Viv, I think I've got apartment envy.”

  He smiles and pops the kettle on. Tea seems like a good idea. I need something to clear my foggy head. “Feel free to visit any time,” he says.

  The place might be bigger than ours, but it's also a whole lot messier. There are unpacked boxes all over. Most of them appear to have women's clothing in them. Show costumes I'm thinking. Over by one of the windows are three wigs sitting on those plastic manikin heads. Eyeing the ginger one I joke, “I can't wait to see you as a red head Viv, why didn't you go for a wig tonight?”

  He sighs as he pours boiling water into tea cups. He never asked me if I wanted tea, but I don't mind him assuming because I'm quite thirsty.

  There's a strange, almost calculating look in his eyes. Then his face goes blank and it takes him another few moments to answer me. “I had to go bare bones because I haven't yet hired a dresser.” He brings the cups over to the coffee table where I'm sitting and drops down beside me.
“I'll let you in on a little secret, I'm awful at choosing costumes and doing my own make-up. I've always had an assistant to do it for me.”

  “Wow, there must be money to be made in the drag queening business if you can afford an assistant.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Not really. I inherited a lot when my father passed away. It's caused me to accumulate expensive tastes. I should probably be more frugal.”

  “Is that what you're doing by living here? Any sane person with cash to splash would run a mile from this dump.”

  He glances around. “It's not so bad. I think it's got character. I've always tended to select my living spaces in older buildings, places that feel lived in are oddly reassuring to me.”

  “If by lived in you mean an aged whore with cracked skin and some sort of downstairs infection she can't get rid of, then you're right, this building has plenty of character.”

  Nicholas grins. “You have a wonderful way with words Fred, disgusting but wonderful.”

  “Why thank you. So tell me more about this assistant predicament. I thought you looked amazing tonight. You can dress and do your make-up fine, what's the problem?”

  “I've just gotten used to having somebody else do it over the years. I suppose you could call it a combination of habit and laziness. I'm also terribly disorganised, if you hadn't noticed.” He gestures around his apartment.

  “Ah, now we're getting to the crux of the matter. I think I should stage an intervention. No longer will Vivica Blue require the services of an assistant/dresser/make-up artist, from here on out she will do it all herself,” I laugh. “You need to learn to get organised if you want to survive in the cut throat business of gay night club performance. Harry tells me the gays can't abide by clutter.”

  He doesn't say anything, but he seems to be regarding me strangely.

  “What?” I ask.

  He sips on his tea. “You're something of a job collector,” he replies ponderously. “How would you feel about a third?”

  I look at him, incredulous. “Are you asking me to be your assistant?”

  “I might be,” he smirks. “How are you with make-up?”