by Greg Howard
“I think a hundred thousand dollars would do it,” I say confidently.
Lyla looks up with wide eyes. “Then you could pay me, right? And I could hire an assistant. Oh, I could hire Gabby to be my assistant. That would be so awesome.”
Mom and Dad share a look. I don’t know what it means, but Mom’s lips are curling up, so maybe she agrees with me.
“One hundred thousand is kind of steep, bud,” Dad says, also kind of smiling. “How about forty dollars. And you pay it back from the first forty you make in commission. Sound fair?”
I activate my pouty face. “I guess.”
Michael Pruitt Business Tip #357: Always ask for way, way more capital than you need. You might get more than you expected in the first place. But still act disappointed.
I only thought I’d get, like, twenty bucks, so I made out big with forty even though it’s just a loan. Lyla slumps down in the booth, I guess realizing that Anything, Inc., won’t be hiring an assistant to the junior talent coordinator anytime soon. You know, like, ever.
“So what about the phone?” I know I’m pushing my luck, but I might as well go in for the kill while the board is still wounded from my amazing negotiating tactics.
Mom and Dad exchange another look. He whispers something in her ear, and she nods.
“I think I can help you with that, son. We’ll work it out when we get home. So what’s next on your action plan?”
Pap Pruitt taught me that every good businessperson needs an action plan, so of course I have one for the Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency.
“Well, first I need to have business cards made,” I say, sitting up straighter.
Mom and Dad nod. Lyla draws super-long claws on Purple Pooty.
Is he holding an ax?
“And then . . .” I make them wait for it.
“Hope y’all are hungry!”
And—OMG!—Rude Server Girl Caitlyn appears out of thin air again, holding a large tray of food and ruining my big announcement. It smells really good, though, as she sets the plates down in front of us.
“I’ll be right back with some ketchup,” she says, resting the tray on her hip. “Do y’all want regular ketchup, chipotle ketchup, tomatillo ketchup, bacon ketchup, taco ketchup, sweet-and-spicy ketchup, or barbecue ketchup?”
I tune her out because I’d forgotten how hungry I am. Before I go on with the meeting, I pick up my Rosepepper’s Jalapeño Southern Fried Chicken Sandwich, take a huge bite, and—OMG! Rude Server Girl Caitlyn will have to wait to hear what kind of ketchup I want. And the board will have to wait to hear about the open-call audition I’m planning for this Saturday. Because right now I’m running to the bathroom.
There really should be a warning label on all jalapeño-pepper-related menu items, because I can’t feel my face.
11
THE DIVA TAMER
Friday afternoon I stand in front of the stage in Julian’s garage with Dad’s old flip phone open and pressed to my ear like I’m on an important business call. It’s not an iPhone, not by a long shot, but it’s better than nothing, I guess. And no one has to know that Dad hasn’t taken it to the cell phone store to have it activated yet. After a few nods, rights, and okay sounds goods, and one let’s do lunch, I say goodbye to no one, snap the phone closed, and slide it into the front pocket of my shorts.
“All right, people,” I say, loud and clear. I clap one time because I guess that’s the person-in-charge thing to do. “Sorry about the delay. We have exactly two weeks until the talent show, so let’s take it from the top. And . . . five, six, seven, eight . . .”
I clap each number out, but nothing happens on eight. No music. No dancing. Nothing. Julian stands on the garage stage dressed in gray sweatpants and a white Lady Gaga T-shirt that barely covers his belly.
“Um, Michael. What are you doing?” he says, looking up from his starting pose with a hint of snippiness in his voice.
It’s only been four days since Julian’s audition, so this is our first official rehearsal together. He has to get used to my methods. He’ll learn eventually that I’m only hard on him to make him the best that he can be. That’s what Miss RuPaul sometimes says to the contestants on Drag Race and I think that’s a pretty smart thing to say when you’re judging someone.
“I was just counting you off,” I say.
Colton stands on the side of the stage holding his iPad like a clipboard, looking back and forth from me to Julian. I guess he’s wondering who the boss is around here. So am I. I thought it was me.
“Just say cue music, and Colton will start it,” Julian says, still holding his standing prayer pose. He looks like a statue in a church. Julian’s family is Catholic, so I guess that’s what he’s going for.
“We have to stay on schedule,” Lyla says to me. “His dad will be home from work in two hours and Mrs. Vasquez said to be sure we are all cleared out by then.”
Lyla stands beside me holding a real clipboard with some ruled notebook paper. Well, it’s a Hello Kitty clipboard. She keeps writing little notes and tearing them off. Gabby stands beside Lyla and giggles every time Lyla hands her one of them. It’s annoying. Distracting. Unprofessional. And I’m about ready to snatch one and read it out loud like Mom says she does when her high school students text each other in class. High schoolers must be the worst.
I brought my laptop so Lyla could work on my new business cards on QuickPrint, but she said she had already finished that at home last night. She didn’t even let me see them before she placed the order using Mom’s credit card, which I got onto her about. I told her that was strike one.
“What happens when you get to strike three?” she’d asked. I didn’t have a good answer ready, so I told her I’d get back to her on that. That seemed like the professional thing to say.
Michael Pruitt Business Tip #358: Never make hasty decisions when it comes to punishing an employee. You could get in trouble with the board. Or the employee might have a murderous cat. Plus, you never know what dark magic the employee has at their disposal. Especially when they’ve seen every Harry Potter movie five times, say they are House Slytherin, and always root for Voldemort.
Document everything. That’s what Pap Pruitt says. I remind myself to write Lyla up for placing the business cards order without my final and official approval on the wording and design.
“Hey, my dude.” Dinesh’s voice sounds behind me.
I turn and find Trey and Dinesh standing there, looking around the garage.
“Wow,” Trey says, checking out the stage. “This looks big-time.”
“Nothing but the best for the clients of Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency,” I say with a shrug. Like I built the stage myself and it’s no big deal. Fake it till you make it!
I asked the guys to come by this afternoon to see me in action. Plus, I wanted to get their opinion on Julian’s act because they’re my best friends and they’d never steer me wrong. I point them to the metal folding chairs lined up in front of the stage, where they sit.
“Excuse me,” Julian says, the snippiness in his voice a little sharper. “What are they doing here?”
He’s acting a little bit like a diva, just like some of the queens on RuPaul’s Drag Race. That’s not always a good thing in the drag world. There’s the good kind of diva and the bad kind. And Julian seems like he could turn into the bad kind superfast.
“Don’t worry,” I say in a calming voice, like I’m a lion tamer. More like a diva tamer, I guess. “I just wanted to get some feedback on your act from regular people.”
Colton’s eyes widen. I don’t know why. I guess because he knows Julian way better than I do and maybe I just said something not cool.
Julian breaks his starting pose and props a hand on his hip. “Regular people? What am I? Irregular people? And what do they know about drag? Who are they to judge Miss Coco Caliente, Mistress of Madness
and Mayhem?”
Okay. Wow. I did not see the bad kind of diva coming that fast. I don’t say anything at first because Julian looks kind of scary right now.
Trey stands like he’s in class and has been called upon. “Um, my mom’s best friend, Manny, is a drag queen. He’s good, too. I’ve seen him perform at Charleston Pride a few times. This one time he asked me to hold his wig for him.”
Trey nods and sits down, like he’s proud of his drag qualifications. I look over at Dinesh and give him the it’s-your- turn eyes.
He fidgets in his seat but finally stands. “Um, uh, I watched that Priscilla, Queen of the Desert movie with my sister one time when our parents were out. It was pretty funny, I guess. My sister laughed a lot. I didn’t get most of the jokes, though. I was probably too young to be watching a movie like that.”
“A movie like that, huh?” Julian says. “Ugh. Whatever.”
Julian waves us all away with a flick of his hand like he’s swatting at an annoying fly. He takes a deep breath and does one of his around-the-world snaps. He says it centers him before he performs. Then he resumes his starting pose.
“Let’s do this,” he says. “The clock is ticking.”
Lyla leans over and whispers, “He means his dad will be home in two hours, like I said.”
“I know what he means, Lyla,” I say. I don’t whisper like she did, though, because I’m her boss and I don’t have to.
Lyla scribbles something on her tattered sheet of paper, rips it off, and hands it to Gabby. They look at each other and giggle like whatever Lyla wrote is the funniest thing ever written. I sigh. Why wasn’t I enough for Mom and Dad?
I clear my throat real loud, trying to regain control of the rehearsal. “Is everyone ready?”
Nobody answers. So I look back at my two best friends. Trey gives me a thumbs-up and shoots me one of his JCPenney catalog–ready smiles. Dinesh nods real fast and his thick mop of dark hair nods right along with him.
“Okay, then,” I say. “Places, everyone.”
Julian looks up again with a frustrated shake of his head.
“I mean, cue music,” I say loud enough to fill the whole garage. I wish I had a wireless microphone—a headset one like Miss Beyoncé has.
Colton taps the iPad with his finger and music blares through the speakers. For the next few minutes we all watch in silence as Julian channels Coco Caliente, pretend singing and non-pretend dancing a routine he planned for the song “Like a Prayer” by Madonna. When I told him during lunch period today that I’d never heard of the song or the singer, he gasped so loud half the cafeteria turned to look at us. Google taught me later that it’s called a gay gasp. I guess I still have a lot to learn about being gay. I just thought it meant that I think about Colton Sanford a lot and I like looking at him. Like, more than anyone else at North Charleston Middle School. And that I wish Colton and I were best friends. But I guess there’s a lot more to being gay with all the special words, songs, and the snapping and such. I really hope the around-the-world snapping is optional. I’m not very good at it. I tried it while looking in the bathroom mirror this morning and knocked everything off the counter.
Julian twirls, shakes, points at us a lot, and walks from one side of the stage to the other and back while lip-synching the words to “Like a Prayer.” Julian’s pretty good today, but it’s not the same without the wig, the heels, and the makeup. He just looks like a big dude in sweatpants dancing around the stage. I don’t dare look at Trey and Dinesh, though. I’ll wait until the end to do that. Trey said he’s seen his mom’s friend Manny perform, but Dinesh’s parents won’t even let him watch the evening news because they say it’s too racy.
At the end of the song, Julian does the same split he did in his audition. Gabby and Lyla go crazy clapping beside me. I clap, too, because that seems like the polite thing to do. Finally I turn and look at Trey and Dinesh. They’re not clapping. Not until I give them the stink eye do they spark to life. Dinesh’s mouth hangs open, though, so I guess that’s something. After their applause dies down, I say to Trey and Dinesh, “So, what did you guys think?”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be listening to songs like that,” Dinesh says, his cheeks a little red.
“Your client has some pretty good dance moves,” Trey says. “But it didn’t look like he was mouthing all the words right.”
“Oh yeah,” Dinesh says. “I noticed that, too. Was he saying peas and carrots over and over? And I guess he could smile more. That would probably make it better.”
I glance over at Lyla. “Write that down. Peas and carrots and more smiling.”
Lyla scribbles something down on the clipboard, tears it off, and hands it to Gabby. When Gabby reads it, they giggle again. Ugh.
“So?” Julian says behind me.
I turn and find him and Colton there waiting for my notes.
“Do you think I should do it again in heels?” he says, shifting his weight from side to side. “Yeah, I should probably do it again in heels.”
Julian doesn’t look as sassy now as he did onstage. He actually looks nervous. His face is tight and he’s fidgeting with his hands. I guess super-crazy-talented people sometimes aren’t always as sure of themselves as you think.
“Yeah, so,” I say. “Just a few notes.”
But I know Lyla didn’t write down any of my notes, so I have to remember them off the top of my head.
“Nothing much,” I say in my soothing diva-tamer voice. “Let’s talk over by the stage.”
Julian nods and crosses his arms as we walk away from the group. Colton stays behind, talking with Trey and Dinesh.
“Was it that bad?” he says, leaning his butt against the edge of the stage.
I look at him, trying to choose my words carefully. His short dark hair and his skin glisten with sweat, and his eyes beg me not to say anything too critical.
“No, no,” I say reassuringly. “Just a few little things to work on.”
Julian hangs his head. “I wanted our first rehearsal to go well. I’ve been so worried about it. I guess I should have practiced more for today. I forgot the words to the song and everything. I’m sorry I let you down, Michael.”
It seems like something more than that is bothering him, but heck if I know what to say. But I guess as his agent, this is part of the job. So I just dive right in.
“Um, are you okay? I’m sorry I invited Trey and Dinesh without asking you first. That was super-crazy dumb of me.”
Julian looks up. “I guess that might be part of it. I mean, those guys never even talk to me at school, but here they are judging me in my own house.”
Crap. That’s a good point. I really screwed that one up.
Michael Pruitt Business Tip #359: Don’t surprise your drag-kid client with straight-boy judges from school during the first rehearsal. Especially if those straight boys don’t ever talk to your client at school.
I have to be careful with my coaching techniques. Sure, I have to be firm, and be the bad guy sometimes, as his agent, but I don’t want to hurt Julian’s feelings. Like, at all. Like, ever.
“I can ask them to leave right now if you want.” And I honestly do mean it.
Julian’s voice tightens as his eyes dart over to the garage door. “No, it’s fine. I guess I’m just worried about my dad finding out.”
I lean against the stage beside him. “Did you get into trouble after the audition on Monday?”
Julian’s shoulders sag. “He said he’d better not ever catch me in girl clothes again.”
“But you said your mom talked to him and everything was okay.” I cross my arms, because that’s what my dad does when I’m telling him something hard.
Julian’s eyes are moist and shiny. “My mom tried to talk to him, but my dad’s set in his ways. We used to be close and spend a lot of time together. But then he got busy with h
is car dealership and I got busy figuring out that I liked doing drag.”
He laughs a little.
“When did you start?” I ask.
Julian’s lips curl up on one side and his dark eyes instantly brighten as he thinks about that. “The first time I tried on my mom’s high heels a couple years ago—you know, just playing around with Gabby—it was just so fun. And then when I found RuPaul’s Drag Race, I was hooked. I studied what the queens did in every episode and tried to copy them. But Dad just doesn’t understand how it makes me feel.”
I nudge him with my elbow the way Dad does to me sometimes. “How does it make you feel?”
“I don’t know.” Julian kind of half-smiles at me. “Like I matter. Does that even make any sense?”
I think about all my business ventures and how they make me feel important. And like I matter. And wanting to matter doesn’t seem like too much to ask.
I nod. “Yeah, dude. It makes all kinds of sense.”
“I just wish my dad could be proud of me,” Julian says, his shoulders sagging. “Like he used to be—before Coco Caliente.”
We’re quiet for a moment, watching Trey and Dinesh talking to Colton, and our sisters giggle-whispering to each other.
“Has your dad ever seen you perform?” I ask cautiously.
Julian shakes his head. “No. But he’s caught me in drag a few times. I think he believes there’s something wrong with me, but I know there’s not. He’s afraid it means that I’m gay or trans or something.”
I’m not sure what to say because I’m kind of confused myself. “So, are you? Gay or trans?”
Julian grins. “Um, hello.” He waves a hand up and down his body. “Duh. Of course I’m gay.” He narrows his eyes at me. “You are, too, right?”
My face heats up from the inside out like it’s about to explode. Nobody’s ever just asked me like that before. And my first thought is to say no. Weird.
