“There’s a heat wave coming from the South,” Dorie said as The Weather Girl, a queen with comically overblown makeup and an umbrella hat, took the stage. Laughing at her hilarious performance, I realized I hadn’t stopped smiling yet. My face hurts, I thought, and I love it.
Then Dorie’s voice came over the speakers with the enthusiasm of a fútbol announcer. “And now, it’s time for our special guest this evening: the one, the only . . . Cassie Blanca!”
The crowd went bonkers at the name. Slowly, the curtain parted, revealing a tall, slender performer in a tan trench coat. She dangled a long cigarette holder between her fingers. Her face was obscured in the shadow cast by her matching fedora. A jazzy piano solo began to slink into the room over the speakers, and when Cassie Blanca tilted her head into the light, everyone started cheering—
And I gasped.
“Tío Billy!”
His face was painted to look like an old-school starlet in black and white, and his hair was covered by a curly half-black, half-white wig, but there was no mistaking: Tío Billy was Cassie Blanca.
No one heard me exclaim over all the applause as he slid out of his trench coat. He revealed a black and white suit with a skirt, the kind with shoulder pads and harsh lines I’ve seen Lois Lane wear in really old Superman comics. With a fabulous turn, he dropped the coat to the floor, and the beat dropped too, transforming the jazz piano into house music with a smoky swing. He bent his knees deep and bounced to the music, doing big movements with his hands and pouting elegantly.
This whole time, Tío Billy has had a whole other life, I thought, my mouth hanging open. A secret identity. Like a superhero. And he—she?—looked like one, spinning and strutting around the stage, hands on her hips. If Aida was confident, Cassie Blanca was the Grand Empress of Planet Confidence and All Its Inhabitants.
Tío Billy had always been that way (Mom calls him creído—conceited—even to his face sometimes!), but as Cassie he seemed . . . more. More himself, more self-assured, more. As Cassie, he was telling a different story about himself, a story that couldn’t be told with a bare face and street clothes. The outfits, the hair, the makeup—it unleashed the real Tío Billy somehow. Cassie Blanca knew exactly who she was and what she was about, and she didn’t care if you liked her or not. And she was Tío Billy, of all people!
At the end of the number, she caught my eye and winked at me, batting thick black lashes in my direction. The guys next to me cheered and ribbed me with their elbows. Cassie Blanca took her bow, and when the crowd stood, Dorie must have pressed a button from the sound booth, because glittering confetti came raining down from little pods on the ceiling that had opened up like Christmas crackers. Cassie Blanca laughed and took another bow, tossing her wig into the air. She looked so happy—and everyone else did too.
And all at once, I understood. I understood the cheering crowds and the giddy wave that swept over me as I watched the queens perform. I understood the feeling of family that radiated throughout the room. And I understood why Tío Billy brought me to the show: Because he knew I needed it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I cried as he came out from backstage in his street clothes after the show.
“I thought showing you would be even better,” he said, a big smile on his face. “What did you think?”
“It was amazing! Where did you learn to do that?”
“I started in college,” Tío Billy said, shrugging. “I had done musical theater before, so I knew my way around a song-and-dance number. Well, more the song than the dance, but still. And theater kids are always looking for an excuse to perform.”
“And you were no exception!” I heard Dorie’s voice from behind me. She put an arm around me. “I take it you enjoyed yourself?”
I nodded wildly, not caring that my eyes were probably wild with excitement.
“Yes,” I said. “I didn’t even know you did this here. I mean, I didn’t know there were drag queens in Bloomington.”
“He also didn’t know there were drag queens in his family,” Tío Billy said wryly. Dorie burst into a wonderful, distinct laugh.
“Oh, Lord,” she said, catching her breath. “They say you never forget your first show; I think for Martin here that might be doubly true.”
“No doubt,” Tío Billy agreed, ruffling my hair. “Thanks for having me out on such short notice, Dorie.”
“Girl, please. You’re a godsend. I’ve been having trouble packing the house lately, but a last-minute appearance by Miss Cassie Blanca seemed to do the trick. Everyone lost their minds when I posted about it,” she said. “I just hope we can keep up that kind of interest.”
“You know, I’ll be in town for a little while,” Tío Billy said slowly. “Probably through the first of the year . . .”
“You’re kidding!” Dorie exclaimed. “We’d love to have you anytime. Seriously, Billy, you’d be doing me a favor. I’m trying to drum up as much excitement as I can in advance of our big All-Ages Night.”
“Yeah?” Billy asked. “Is that a new one?”
Dorie nodded. “We’ve got a lot of college kids who want to come out, plus some old timers looking to bust out their stilettos one last time. Bloomington’s queer scene is as active as ever, but in order to keep the crowds coming, I’ve mostly been booking professionals. Better-known names bring in more folks—”
“Which means more ticket sales. I get it,” Tío Billy said, putting an arm on Dorie’s shoulder. “We have the same problem putting on shows in Miami. Everyone wants the done-to-death musicals; nobody wants to see a brand-new play.”
“Exactly,” Dorie said, with a sigh. “I’ve been saying for years that I want to book more amateurs, and All-Ages Night is our first step in doing that.”
“It sounds great, Dorie,” Tío Billy said. “I’m happy to help however I can.”
“Keep bringing Cassie Blanca through my door, and we’ll be in good shape!” Dorie laughed. “Gotta make that cash so I can offer our big All-Ages Night prize. We’re gonna give the winner a thousand bucks.”
“Wow,” Tío Billy said, nodding in approval. “You’re serious.”
“Seriously serious,” Dorie said. “Anyway, we’ve got time, the show isn’t until January 27th. That’s a couple of months’ worth of begging people to buy tickets, right?”
“It’s going to go fabulously,” Tío Billy said, pulling Dorie into a hug. “I’ll be in touch about booking, okay?”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Dorie said, wagging her finger at Tío Billy. Then she turned to me and hugged me tight against her chest. She smelled like a warm gingerbread latte. “You keep an eye on this uncle of yours, okay, Martin? He’s promised to come see me, and I need you to help make that happen. There’s a free muffin in it for you,” she said, winking at me.
In the car on the ride home, I was quiet, because my head was a radio that kept changing stations: the crowd! The music! The clothes! Tío Billy! Then I realized I had forgotten to ask him about something.
“Hey, Tío Billy?” I began. He tilted his chin up and met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Is—I mean—how—um, how do you . . . when someone’s in drag, are they a guy or a girl?” I asked, embarrassed that I had to ask. “Or both?”
“Well, that’s kind of a tough question,” Tío Billy said, flipping on his turn signal. “A lot of drag queens prefer to be called by their drag names while they’re performing or at a gig, so they use ‘her’ or ‘she.’ Some don’t mind if you call them ‘him’ or ‘he’ while they’re in drag. Others are transgender women, so they might go by female pronouns all the time.”
“Trans women can do drag?” I asked. “Even though they’re girls?”
“Sure,” Tío Billy said. “Some people even identify as genderfluid, meaning they have different gender identities at different times, or non-binary, which means they don’t necessarily identify as male or female. Some people use male or female pronouns, some use both, and some use ‘they’ or ‘them.’ Anyone can do drag. I
t doesn’t matter what you identify as, but it is important that you be respectful when it comes to correct pronouns,” he added.
“But how do you know who goes by what?” I asked. The whole thing sounded very complicated to me, and I was scared I might offend someone by not knowing what to say.
“You just ask,” Tío Billy shrugged. That made me nervous. I’m not very good at asking personal questions of people I’ve only just met. Tío Billy sensed my anxiety. “I think it’s always okay to ask, as long as you do it politely. It lets people know that you care about their identity and want to be considerate.”
“What do you like to be called?” I wasn’t sure if I could get used to calling him Cassie Blanca all the time, but if that’s what he preferred, I wanted to try.
“I like to go by RuPaul’s rules of engagement,” Tío Billy said.
“Who’s that?”
“She’s the original drag superstar, one of the first drag performers to make a name for herself,” he explained. “She said, ‘You can call me he, you can call me she, you can call me Regis and Kathie Lee! I don’t care, just as long as you call me.’”
I giggled. Whoever this RuPaul is, she’s funny.
“I think I’ll still call you Tío Billy, if that’s okay,” I said.
“That’s just fine, león,” he replied. “And I have to tell you, I’m pretty relieved you liked the show.”
“Yeah?” Tío Billy sounded serious, which he almost never is.
“Yeah,” he said. “Drag is an important part of who I am, even when I haven’t done it in a while. The queer community in this town raised me, in a way, especially after your abuelita died.”
“Did Mom ever come to your shows?” I asked.
“She did once or twice, when we were both living here,” he said, turning into our neighborhood. “She liked the scene a lot, liked being around all these creative people. But you know her, she’s always busy. Painting, teaching, bringing you up all by herself . . .” Tío Billy trailed off, then met my eye. “It means a lot to share this part of my life with you, leoncito.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled at Tío Billy in the mirror. I thought about Mom, and how he must have been sad not to have her at his shows, and then I thought about me. Mom does her best to make it to my Mathletes competitions when she can, but I’ve never had my dad at . . . well, at anything.
“What’s wrong?” Tío Billy asked. I was frowning, deep in thought.
“Did you know my dad?” I asked. “I mean, really know him?”
“Sure,” he said, “everybody knew Kevin McLean.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was popular. Charming, smart. Cute.” Tío Billy gave a wry smile. “Cute enough to get your mom’s attention in the middle of her master’s thesis, anyway. And he was always running around with that camera. Thought he was gonna be the next Spielberg or something.”
“Was he nice?”
“Nice? Nice,” he repeated, as though he had never heard the word before. “Yeah, he was nice enough. But it’s hard for me to like the guy who left my sister and her kid, you know?”
“Oh,” I said, my stomach sinking a little. Clearly, Tío Billy thought Dad was a jerk. I hate to think that’s in my genes somewhere, running through my veins, just waiting to manifest and turn me into jerk-spawn.
“Ah, león, I’m sorry,” Tío Billy said, reaching back to pat my knee.
“It’s okay,” I said, “I brought it up. Besides, I like hearing about my dad. I remember some stuff, but I don’t actually know that much about him.”
“Your mom never talks to you about him?” I shook my head. “Maybe that’s for the best. You know, it’s tough on her to remember too.”
“I know. I don’t blame her.”
“Well, that’s good of you, león. He wasn’t a bad guy, your dad. He just wanted different things.”
“Different than me?” I asked. Tío Billy’s face registered something I couldn’t name.
“No,” he said firmly as he pulled onto our street. “It has nothing to do with you. Nothing that happened with your mom and dad is your fault, okay? It’s no one’s fault but his.”
I was silent for a minute, just thinking. Talking about the divorce makes me feel like I’m a lost little kid in a grocery store, looking for my mom. It makes me feel sad and scared and like I don’t belong anywhere in the world.
But at the show tonight, I was Alice falling down the rabbit hole into Wonderland, where everything was sparkling and wonderful and new. There was a whole world I never knew existed, and it was right under my nose the whole time.
And I belonged there.
I knew it would sound strange to anyone on the outside looking in, but watching that show, I felt more at ease than I ever had before. Sure, I love Mom, and I’m comfortable around Pickle and Carmen, and I’m good at Mathletes. But I felt alive being around drag: every inch of me, from my head to my toes, was electrified.
All at once I knew. I wanted to do what the drag queens did, to be what they were: bold, confident, full of life. I wanted it all—even if getting it meant putting myself in the spotlight, the place I’ve always hidden from.
“Tío Billy?” I said, so quietly it was barely a whisper. “Can seventh graders do All-Ages Night?”
He parked the car in the driveway and turned around to face me.
“Are you serious, león?”
I nodded solemnly. “I loved it,” I said. “I really loved it.”
Tío Billy blinked, looking so surprised I thought he might fall over. Then he started smiling, wider and wider.
“Of course. Of course they can,” he said, “I told you: anyone can do drag.”
5
I could barely sleep at all that night. I stared at my glow-in-the-dark stars and wondered what it would be like to have that kind of confidence, that kind of poise. The thought of getting up on stage before a room full of people and performing made my stomach flip-flop, but in a good way. It was anticipation, not fear. Well, maybe a little fear. But who needed to know?
I was still awake when the birds started chirping, but I didn’t feel tired. I got out of bed as soon as I heard Tío Billy stirring downstairs.
“Hey, león,” he said when I appeared in the kitchen. He was scrambling eggs at the stove, the air rich with the smell of butter melting in the pan. “You’re up awfully early for a Sunday.”
“I’ve got a tournament today,” I said, heading to the fridge for orange juice. “Mathletes.”
“Ah,” he crooned, swirling the eggs around with his spatula. “Home or away?”
“It’s at Eastern Greene,” I said. “So only like twenty minutes from here.”
“They any good?”
I giggled and shook my head. Tío Billy hooted in amusement.
“Ha! ’Atta boy,” he said. “You want some breakfast?”
Tío Billy and I ate our eggs and toast together in relative silence, enjoying the shiny newness of the morning. But everything reminded me of drag: The glint of light off my fork was like a disco ball, a sprinkle of salt was glitter raining down onto the crowd. I was obsessed. How long am I supposed to wait before I bring this up again to Tío Billy? Is there drag etiquette? Protocol? Do I have to wait to be spirited away in the dead of the night by a bunch of drag queens before I can become one myself, or something? What would you call a group of drag queens anyway? A sparkle? A monarchy? A glamour?
“So,” Tío Billy said, interrupting my racing thoughts. “Have you given any more thought to what you said last night?” A little thrill went through me.
“You mean All-Ages Night,” I said. “Yeah, I have.”
“And?”
“And I still want to do it,” I said. “I thought about it all night.”
A smile danced across Tío Billy’s face, but then something in his expression changed. He put his fork down and cleared his throat.
“You know, león,” he began, “doing drag is a wonderful thing. It changed my li
fe and gave me a whole other family. A weird, kooky, colorful family,” he laughed, “but a family all the same. But I want you to go into this with your eyes wide open.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean there are people in this life who are going to try to put down anybody they perceive as different. And sometimes drag queens, and also the queer community in general, can fall into that category,” he said. “Now, there’s nothing wrong with being queer or doing drag. There’s something wrong with the people who think otherwise, if you ask me! But you might get nasty comments anyway for being a drag queen. You might get teased. You might find out that some of the people around you aren’t as accepting as you once believed. Do you know what I mean?”
I did, and I knew he was right. Middle schoolers could be especially vicious—just look at Nelson. And yes, I dreaded my classmates finding out I loved drag, but that was nothing compared to how badly I wanted to try it.
“I know,” I said. “But I want to anyway. I just . . . want to see if I can.”
“Well, I know you can,” Tío Billy said. “That goes without saying.”
“And if I won,” I reasoned, “a thousand dollars could buy me a really great telescope. Like a professional grade one!”
“That’s true,” chuckled. “With that kind of money you could buy yourself a whole fleet of telescopes.”
“So will you help me?” I asked, turning to him. “Will you help me learn drag?”
“You don’t even have to ask, león,” he said. I grinned. “First things first, you’re going to need a drag name.”
I hadn’t even thought about that. I’ve been Martin McLean my whole life. It was hard to imagine being anybody else.
“I’m not very good at coming up with names,” I admitted. “I think I’ve named every character in my creative writing assignments ‘Martin.’”
“You could just stay Martin,” he reasoned, taking a sip of juice. “Queens have definitely done that before. But most choose something different, something that they feel represents their inner, more fabulous self. Sometimes it’s a funny name, sometimes it’s very dramatic and glamorous.”
Martin McLean, Middle School Queen Page 5
