Me, Myself and Someone Else

by Graeme Aitken

  ‘Shh, shh,’ I hushed Damon.

  But as I was trying to restrain Damon, this perky young blond popped up beside me. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Troy off ‘Sunnyside Street’?’ he beamed at me.

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ Damon exclaimed. ‘The resemblance is quite uncanny.’

  ‘I have the biggest crush on him,’ the boy sighed. ‘I cried when they wrote him out. I google his name all the time, trying to find out what he’s going to do next but he’s vanished. ’

  Finally, I had a fan who appreciated me and one that was actually quite cute. I could have talked to him all night, but instead, I had to brush him aside, saying I didn’t watch much TV. There were also a number of other guys hovering, and one or two phantom hands reached out for an assessing fondle of my prize-winning buttocks. I seized Damon by the elbow and steered him down the back of the bar. The Demon had to be silenced.

  ‘Okay, have the prize,’ I told him, once we were alone. ‘I wasn’t doing it for the prize anyway.’

  ‘Pray tell, why were you doing it? I mean, I know you’re living in fear, wondering how I’m going to retaliate over what you did to me. But is it really necessary to dress up in disguise when you come over to my side of town?’

  That made me snort. ‘Retaliate? You must be kidding? I was merely settling a score after being sorely provoked. I’d say that you got off rather lightly.’

  Damon pretended to give this great consideration. ‘Well, I beg to differ,’ he snarled. ‘What you did to me was absolutely disgusting and deserves repeated and relentless hostilities.’

  ‘Come on Damon,’ I said soothingly, ‘all you suffered was a few minutes of discomfort, whereas you led me a merry dance on Gaydar for practically two months. You toyed with my emotions when I was depressed and lonely after Blake. It was so mean and manipulative.’

  ‘I suppose it was a tad mischievous,’ Damon conceded, ‘but I just couldn’t resist. And then after a while, I began to see a different side of you. Despite all the years we’ve known each other, you were a lot more candid with me online than you’ve ever been face to face.’

  I began to protest, but Damon interrupted me. ‘It’s true and to be honest, even though they were conducted under false pretences, I rather miss our little tête à têtes on Gaydar.’

  It was odd but I also felt the same way. When I expressed that, Damon looked very dubious. ‘It’s true,’ I insisted. ‘Blake left me, my close friends are all overseas. This has been a lonely time for me and why I was so susceptible to your mischief ’

  ‘I haven’t seen you on Gaydar lately,’ Damon noted.

  ‘Are you surprised after what you did to me?’

  Damon gave a guilty smile. Then his expression changed as something occurred to him. ‘I have seen someone else on there. Someone you wouldn’t imagine, given the supposedly blissful nature of his new relationship.’

  ‘Who?’ I demanded. ‘Blake?’

  ‘His profile is very discrete,’ Damon continued, delighting in his revelation, ‘so clearly “his beloved” knows nothing. The photographs are anonymous. Nothing shown above the neck, but it’s like the fucking Louvre below the waist. Luckily, I had some insider knowledge and could identify the individual.’

  I really didn’t want to think about how Damon came by insider knowledge of what Blake’s cock looked like. I waved him away. ‘I don’t want to know.’

  ‘Oh, I think you do,’ Damon corrected me.

  ‘No, I don’t. It’s been five months. Really, I don’t want to think about Blake.’

  ‘But surely you’d want to know if things were going badly for him?’ Damon insisted, and I wavered momentarily.

  ‘Blake being on Gaydar doesn’t necessarily mean anything.’

  Damon gave a tinkling laugh. ‘No, no, my dear, you’ve got it all mixed up. It’s not Blake who’s cruising Gaydar,’ Damon corrected me, ‘it’s Rick.’

  That got my attention.

  ‘He’s on there constantly with a status of hook up now,’ Damon elaborated, with a few eyebrow acrobatics for emphasis.

  ‘And you’re sure it’s him? There’s no shortage of profiles on there with photos of big dicks.’

  ‘Oh it’s him, without a doubt. Back when they first got together, Blake was boasting about Rick and showed me his photo on Gaydar. Naturally, I committed his user name to memory. Then when I was alone, I investigated the private photos and bookmarked him. I’d actually forgotten all about it until a couple of weeks ago, when I logged into Gaydar and he popped up as one of my favourites. The face photos had been deleted and it took me a moment or two to realise who it was.’

  ‘Send me his profile,’ I insisted and Damon nodded.

  I wanted to see this for myself—not the photographs, though naturally I had an idle interest given all of the hype—but what Rick had written and what that implied about the state of his relationship with Blake.

  ‘He may just be taking a look at what he’s missing out on,’ I suggested, not that I really believed it.

  ‘No strings hook-ups? Discretion needed? Must have own place? And he’s only ever online during the day, when Blake’s at work. You don’t need to be Miss Marple to work that one out.’

  ‘And you haven’t told Blake?’

  ‘No,’ Damon said sniffily. ‘I have no inclination to do him any favours. He’s been such a lousy friend to me ever since he met Rick and I haven’t forgotten or forgiven. You know I haven’t even met this famous Rick properly yet. There was a fleeting introduction one night at The Colombian and Blake keeps saying he’ll have me over for dinner, but he never commits to a firm date. It seems our Blake moves in more exalted circles these days and doesn’t have any time for me. Maybe I’m not considered “hot” enough to mix with his new A-list buddies.’

  I was shocked that their friendship had lapsed. I’d assumed they were as tight as ever. ‘But you still see each other, don’t you? Talk on the phone?’

  ‘Oh initially we did, but it was always at my initiative, and after a while I got tired of chasing him. It all began to seem rather pointless listening to him gush about Rick and these other new friends, who it seemed I was destined to never meet. But the final straw was when he bailed out of my birthday dinner at the eleventh hour, claiming he had a cold sore and couldn’t be seen in public.’

  I recognised that excuse. It was one of mine and I was irritated that Blake had made use of it.

  ‘However,’ Damon continued grimly, ‘his seclusion was short-lived, as he was spotted by a friend later that same night at Arq, amidst a huddle of shirtless beefcake.’

  I grimaced my sympathy, noting that Damon’s eyebrows, always so perennially arched and perky, looked positively droopy after confiding this disappointment. ‘It was my thirtieth birthday. I’d planned that dinner for months in advance. He’d already ruined my night when he blew me off at the last minute, but then to discover I’d been ditched for a night out at Arq … well of course, I was livid. When he finally got around to ringing me a week later, suggesting a dinner to make up, I agreed. I didn’t say a word about what I knew. I wanted to look him in the eye when I confronted him. He took me to Café Sydney, so I decided to eat the dinner, and wait until he’d paid before I said anything.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, I asked him how he had enjoyed Arq and I’ve never seen anyone look more astonished and guilt ridden. He was changing colour like a fucking traffic light. At first he turned pale, then bright crimson, then a kind of bilious green, though he didn’t say a word. What could he say?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I suggested.

  ‘Yes, well he certainly didn’t say that. I’d barely got warmed up when the waiter came back with his credit card. And would you believe it? Bloody Blake scrawled his signature, grabbed his card, stood up and left. I haven’t heard from him since. You know, every time I think about Blake, I just feel very disappointed.’

  ‘Here, let me buy you a belated birthday drink to cheer you up,’ I offered an
d went to the bar and bought a couple of glasses of champagne.

  We toasted and then to my surprise Damon apologised for not inviting me to his birthday dinner. ‘Blake vetoed you coming.’

  ‘Really? You wanted to invite me?’

  ‘Of course, I mean, we’ve known each other for all these years. God knows I wish you had been there. You’re always so entertaining. You might have helped salvage what turned out to be a rather dismal affair.’

  I felt unexpectedly touched that Damon had thought of me.

  ‘Look, I know over the years we’ve sometimes been at odds,’ Damon continued, ‘but I did get the impression that you would spar with me just for the hell of it.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ I laughed.

  ‘I guess sometimes a little antagonism adds a certain sizzle to a friendship,’ Damon grinned, clinking glasses with me. ‘Okay, now that I’ve shared all of that about Blake, it’s your turn. What’s with this get-up and the fake name? I know we all need to butch it up to get hot trade, but that underwear is an eyesore.’

  I was cornered. I had to tell him the whole story: about Patrick and how I’d fallen into this masquerade, but found it kind of exciting and addictive.

  ‘Oh dress-ups, what fun,’ Damon declared, clapping his hands in excitement. ‘I want to do it too. What do you say to a double date? Both of us out on the prowl together, incognito.’

  Damon’s excitement was contagious. I laughed. It did sound like fun.

  We toasted to the prospect.

  3

  Chapter Three

  When I awoke the following morning, the events of the previous night began to run through my mind. It did feel slightly surreal that Damon and I had managed to overcome our antagonism and past grievances. We’d had a real conversation and I’d parted from him feeling that perhaps a friendship between us was possible. I actually felt optimistic and oddly elated about the prospect.

  There was one obstacle though: Damon wanted to get in on my act and I’d had second thoughts. I hoped it had just been a whim and he’d have lost interest by this morning? That it was just the booze talking and he might have forgotten? However, when I turned on my mobile, that hope was dashed. He’d already sent a text suggesting coffee so we could make plans for ‘our new lark’.

  Describing what I did as ‘a lark’ simply confirmed that his involvement would be a horrible mistake. I didn’t want him to spoil it or to realise how seriously I took it. The masquerade was mine but Damon would intrude, try to take it over, and tell me how to do things. The situation was delicate. Our friendship was at a very tentative stage—we were both still a little raw and suspicious. Would it survive me trying to back out of what we’d discussed in such high spirits only last night?

  I could recognise that it was infinitely preferable to have Damon as a friend than an enemy. But that made me start thinking: why had there always been this simmering friction between us? Blake used to insist that we didn’t get on because we were too alike—‘you’re both scheming bitches’—and perhaps there was something in that. But I was beginning to wonder if Blake had subtly fostered the antagonism between us. He certainly hadn’t liked it on those rare occasions when we’d agreed on something and ganged up on him.

  My phone beeped and I opened the message.

  Damon: Let’s do it in drag!

  I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. Damon’s eyebrows had been plucked and primed, ready for just such an excursion for years! Of course I thought he was joking. But when we met that evening and he started gushing about wigs and outfits and names, I realised he’d been in earnest. I must have looked quite affronted as Damon stopped mid-sentence and gave me a searching look. ‘You’re not into this? It infringes on your masculinity or something?’

  ‘No, no,’ I protested, though now that he mentioned it, I probably did have issues I hadn’t had time to consider. ‘I’ve just never done drag before.’

  ‘And that’s exactly why you should. It’ll be such a hoot.’

  ‘I don’t do this for “a hoot”,’ I retorted icily.

  Damon was surprised by my tone, then intrigued. ‘Really? Why do you do it then?’

  It was a question that I didn’t want to answer. I fobbed him off with something about being a frustrated actor, and that it wasn’t that different to the fanciful profiles some guys wrote about themselves on Gaydar.

  Damon frowned and I could tell he disagreed. ‘Okay, well you can dress up to express your frustrated artist within or whatever,’ he said, ‘and I’ll do it to see how many straight guys come onto me. You know, together, you and I could put on one hell of a sister act.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ I conceded and changed the topic, though in fact, all I was thinking about was possible excuses that would allow me to bow out and get rid of my eager new apprentice.

  My impersonations were serious and after my triumph—fooling a bar full of gay men in my guise as Trevor—I wanted a new challenge. Dressing up in drag would just be a frivolity. I decided to suggest that we do it for Mardi Gras instead.

  But when Damon phoned me the next day, he goaded me into agreeing to his plan. He was babbling away about how impossible it was to find high heels in large sizes and I wasn’t really listening, when he said something that got my full attention. ‘I don’t think there will be any doubt once we’re both frocked up,’ he gushed, ‘that I will be the prettier of the pair.’

  I don’t know if he did it deliberately but that provoked me. I’m competitive and I like to win. I’m also several grades above Damon in the looks department and I couldn’t see that changing, even if we did change gender for one night. ‘Damon, my dear,’ I replied coolly, ‘when we step out together, it’s me who will be Cinderella, whereas I’m afraid you …’

  That provoked howls of outrage from Damon and the next thing I knew we were making plans to meet that afternoon on Oxford Street to go to a wig shop. When I hung up, I felt flushed with excitement. Then gradually the reality of what I’d agreed to do began to seep in. My initial instinct was to ring Damon back and cancel. I picked up the phone to do so, when it began to ring in my hand, startling me. It was Damon. ‘We have to have proper characters,’ he insisted, ‘like the way you did with Trevor. We need to bring these girls to life, and so the first thing to work out is what our relationship to each other is. Are we best friends, sisters, cousins?

  ‘How about mother and daughter?’ I retorted. ‘In which case I’ll be the daughter.’

  Damon laughed. ‘Okay, we’ll argue that one out this afternoon.’

  We bantered some more and after I’d hung up, I couldn’t help grinning to myself. If chatting about it was such fun, was there any harm in giving it a try? I was also beginning to realise the potential of this double act. The two of us would play off one another superbly. In fact, Damon was probably the perfect person to team up with: he was witty, bitchy and a fast thinker. There would also be the satisfaction of sharing the moment with someone.

  When I met Damon at ‘The Grumpy Baker’, as soon as I sat down, he seized my hand. ‘I’ve got it all worked out,’ he declared. ‘We’re cousins, but there’s a twist, partly inspired by Trev. One of the girls is a sophisticated city dweller, a cynical, seen-it-all man-eater. The other is her country cousin, a sweet church-going girl whose hobbies are making jam, doing macramé, and riding horses. You like the sound of that?’

  I gave a cautious nod. I hadn’t given the characters serious thought but I could see the potential in being utterly different types. Damon eyed me warily. ‘Okay, then who do you want to be? I guess you should choose seeing as you’re a bit reluctant. I want you to be excited about your character.’

  Naturally, my initial instinct was that I wanted to be the glamorous city girl, not some frumpy hick. ‘Just because she’s from the country doesn’t mean she has to dress badly,’ Damon added quickly. ‘She wouldn’t have to wear the twin-set she knitted herself.’

  It was obvious who Damon wanted to be. I pursed my li
ps, thinking. Playing the innocent was something I rather enjoyed and there was perhaps more potential for developing a character. It would also be a challenge to see if I could actually outshine Damon in his flashier role. ‘Okay, I’ll be the country cousin,’ I agreed quietly, ‘but I’m not wearing knitwear, macramé or gingham.’

  Damon was thrilled and started spilling out all the ideas he’d had for his character. He already had his name picked out: Veronica. Then we started tossing around names for my character, something sweet, virtuous and feminine. Eventually we decided on Primrose. With that settled, Veronica and Primrose went off together to find hair. We spent a delightful half an hour in the wig shop, trying on different styles. Naturally, I was going to be a blonde and being a country girl, I decided upon the most voluminous blonde wig on display. I had to have big hair. For contrast, Damon tried the dark wigs. Eventually, he settled upon a long brunette wig which he insisted was ‘very Peyton’, a character from ‘Savannah’, a short-lived Aaron Spelling TV drama that he alone remembered and worshipped.

  That night, I rang Strauss in London and confided what I was up to with Damon. I wanted him to recommend someone to do our make-up, but Strauss was so put out, I couldn’t even pose the question. ‘How could you do this without me?’ he protested. ‘I’ve been trying to get you into drag for years. I can’t believe you’re doing this with Damon of all people. I thought you couldn’t stand each other.’

  ‘It’s a bit odd but we seem to get on now that I’m not with Blake.’

  Finally, after a great deal of placating, Strauss calmed down and promised to put me in touch with his friend who worked at MAC. ‘But just make sure your friend understands that I have to look better than Damon,’ I insisted.