by Misti Murphy
“Yes, well, if your brother were here people would think there is something wrong with you, dressed like that.” She wrinkles her nose as though my costume is giving off an unpleasant odor.
It could be. I spent several hours with grubby, sugared-up three-year-olds who had their hands on hot dogs and strawberry cake with buttercream frosting. I tuck my face in close to my chest and sniff. I get faint notes of deodorant and my perfume, but no fish market aroma.
It would be nice if just once we could have a dinner that didn’t start with how much of a letdown I am compared to my brother. Especially when he isn’t the golden child she thinks he is. Or maybe she knows and just doesn’t care. I’ve never been able to work out if she’s blind to his faults by choice or ignorance.
Either way, I’m not going to be the one to burst her bubble. She’d never believe me anyway.
“They wouldn’t see me,” I point out.
And if they did, they wouldn’t have a clue who I am.
The waiter returns with bread sticks and water. I snag one of those carbo-snacks before the basket hits the table. My stomach has been growling like a mini-thunderstorm, and I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I try to take care of myself, but some days things get away from me.
Nicole turns up her nose at the bread even though she ordered it. “I know you can’t live without your carbs, but please think about your waistline.”
“We’re not talking about this,” I say around a mouthful of crumbs. My phone beeps and a message from Adira shows up on my screen.
How’s the evil witch? Can you sneak away? I’m going to make your man look so pretty tonight.
“Can you please pay attention when I’m talking to you?” Nicole snaps, low enough that she doesn’t draw unwanted attention from the other diners. Even so, it makes me jump and my stomach squeeze.
“Sorry.” I clutch my phone in my lap. “Go on.”
“I gave you time to deal with your little issues. And to play at whatever this is…” She gestures at my costume again. “It’s time to get back to your real life. The life your father wanted you to have. The one we agreed to.”
“You also agreed not to pressure me while I worked out my options on my own,” I remind her. Not that I’d given her a choice. Not that she’s kept to our agreement. But after the party last summer I’ve been more forceful with my foot and putting it down.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ivy. Your brother doesn’t behave like an entitled brat. There’s no reason why you should.”
My phone beeps again. New message from Adira.
Help! It’s an emergency. If you don’t get over here I am going to turn your wet dream into my own personal sex slave. Hurry up, sister. You know I have the power.
I snort under my breath. I’d like to see him try. Actually, no, I wouldn’t because he probably could and then I would be devastated. But then I can’t talk to the man anyway so what does it matter… but I could see him one more time. If I hurry. It would certainly be better than spending another minute with Nicole.
Adira: Bet he’d look cute in whipped cream and sprinkles. I do like a banana boner sundae.
“You think this is funny?” My mother’s eyebrows attempt to shoot up her perfectly smooth forehead.
“N-no.” I press my lips together. Clutching my phone to my chest, I climb to my feet. Mojito Bar is only five minutes away. I can make it before Adira’s act. “Actually, I have to go. There’s an emergency.”
“You can’t keep running away, Ivy.” My mother throws down her napkin. “You and I have a deal.”
“Ivy, I didn’t know you were joining us tonight.” The masculine voice makes me jump as a man grips my elbow.
I spin around, pulling free of Nathaniel’s grip at the same time. His dark hair is gelled into place and he’s wearing a suit that’s probably Armani or Tom Ford. His dark blue eyes crinkle in the corners as he takes in what I’m wearing.
I haven’t seen him in almost two months. Not since the last time I gave into my mother’s demands. What a train wreck that was. But it gave me perspective and more reason than ever to keep my distance. “She didn’t tell me you’d be here,” I sputter.
I wouldn’t have come. I have no interest in the man my mother seems to want to throw in my path at every opportunity.
“Are you leaving?” He stares down at me over a strong nose and handsome enough features.
I catch a whiff of his familiar smoky cologne. It’s cloying. “There’s an emergency. With Adira. I have to go.”
“We should get together.” He grasps my wrist to keep me from leaving.
“Yes.” My mother claps her hands together like he’s just given her a million-dollar idea.
“I…I’m sure I’ll see you in the near future.” I certainly will if Nicole has anything to do with it. Twisting in my Converse, I jerk my wrist from his grip and almost trip over the waiter as I all but sprint from the dining room.
It takes a few minutes to get my car from the valet and then I am on my way to the happiest place on earth. No, not Disney Land. The Mojito Bar where Adira is turning the man of my dreams into a queen.
“How are you, Ivy?” the valet outside the bar says, leaning on my open window when I pull up.
The fact that he knows me from my habitual presence at the Mojito Bar is probably the only reason he doesn’t bat an eyelid at the costume I’m wearing. Or it could be because we’re at an event where all the acts are just as dressed up as I am.
He also dated Adira. I’ve seen him buck naked in my living room with nothing but some whipped, fat free dairy, sprinkles, and a maraschino cherry on his willy. Which is why he’s not so hard to talk to. Maybe scratch that bit about the dairy dick. I’m just used to him. “Hey, Julian. It’s been a rough day, but I’m good. How about yourself?”
“Good. Good. Are you part of the act tonight?” he asks as I climb out of the car.
“No. I’ve just been a little behind schedule all day and it was a last minute decision to come this evening.”
My stomach growls to put an exclamation point on my day so far. I’m bloated from that one breadstick I wolfed down before I bolted from dinner with Mom, and all I have is half a packet of So Very Cherry Nerds that I found down the side of my car seat. I lost them a week ago when God dropped Rogue Maddox into the middle of the road right in front of me.
Julian takes my seat behind the steering wheel and taps his fingers against the roof of my vehicle as it splutters and rattles. “She sounds like she’s on her deathbed.”
My heart dives at the thought. “Be careful with her.”
“Will do.” He closes the door when I step out of the way. Elbow resting on the open window, he asks, “Ever think about replacing it with a less beat-up model?”
“Shh,” I warn him. “Don’t talk like that. She can hear you.”
“You’re a special breed, Ivy.” He smiles at me.
He drives toward the parking lot and I traipse my weary way up the pavement and inside where the comedy is in full swing. Mariah Everhard has the audience eating out of the palm of his hand. Adira won’t be on for a little while yet.
“Hey, Ivy,” Ivanna Bey Yaluva smiles as I approach. “How are you? Adira said you were running late.”
“Just a little.” Considering I wasn’t planning on coming at all. But Adira knows me too well. I couldn’t stay away, knowing what he has in store for Rogue Maddox.
“We have a couple of celebrities in tonight,” Ivanna says. “But you probably know that, don’t you?”
“I have an inkling.”
“Adira roped the tall, dark, and tattooed one into her act. The blond one is still at the table, charming the panties off one of the drink girls.”
My heart thuds hard against my ribcage and shakes a whole heap of butterflies loose. “Is the guy already backstage?”
Can I see him from here? Can he see me? I almost dive under the ticket desk, but my thick braid spanks me on the ass and reminds me that I’m in costume. Phew. I can hi
de amongst all the drag queens and he’ll never even notice me.
“In Adira’s private dressing room.” Ivanna pats her dazzling green wig, which is brighter than a neon marker as I sneak a glance around the corner at the table anyway.
Ethan Stone is the blond guy in question. Normally at least one of Rogue’s brothers would be with him. They’re as thick as thieves or as some of the weaves around here, but Ethan is almost always there too. I rest my hands behind my lower back as I lean against the wall. Sometimes Rogue’s completely alone, and I don’t think that his brothers know. Or anyone for that matter. They don’t see him like I do. And I am not talking about being alone with whoever shot him. “Who’s back there with him?”
“Celeste Le-Coq and Ermine Beaverhousen are turning him into a drag queen-in-training as we speak,” he says.
“I can’t wait to see what they put him in,” I admit. Sequins? Feathers? A dress? A bikini? There are so many possibilities.
“Why don’t you go back, sweetheart? You know Adira would want your input.”
Do I dare? Out here with the drag queens and the people watching the show I can sort of blend in—even at 5-foot-6 I’m a lot shorter than most of the people in costume— but in the dressing room I usually stick out amongst all the nude guys with their full faces of makeup.
“Go.” He waves me off as a dapper couple enters the bar lobby.
Since I don’t want to be underfoot and I have to move anyway I enter the club’s main room and skirt around the wall toward the dressing rooms. Let’s face it, it was only a matter of time before I gravitated toward him.
I bump into Magnolia Clitterbean and Victoria Bendovaux who want to chat about their costumes, both what they’re wearing tonight and the ones I have in a pile at home to finish. It takes a few minutes to get to the side of the stage and take the hallway that leads to the dressing room.
Mariah introduces Adira to the crowd as Ermine Beaverhousen sashays out of the dressing room in a short tiger print play suit and black knee-high boots. A round of applause starts up. The floor and walls seem to shake with it.
“Honey, you missed it,” Ermine says. “He was a champ though. Really took it like a queen. Even when Celeste made him tuck.”
I gasp. “He didn’t.”
“He’s hung, hon. We had to put it somewhere.” Ermine leans in as though he’s imparting some huge gossip. His eyes widen and his eyebrows gesture like they’re another set of hands. “But he did it. And do you know why?”
“Why?” But I know why. Adira has a way of talking people into doing what he wants when they need his help.
“Uma Cookie.” Ermine fakes a gasp and presses his hand to his mouth. “What did you do to him, girl?”
“Nothing.”
He eyeballs me like he doesn’t believe me.
“Really,” I insist. I gave him a ride to the hospital. Any half decent human being would have done that.
“If you say so.” Ermine grabs my arm. “Now, come on. We have a show to watch.”
I follow him up the hallway and into the stage wing. There’s a dark little space behind Louis the audio guy where I can watch without being seen and I take full advantage of it.
Rogue Maddox takes my breath away. He struts the stage like he was born to perform. He probably came out of the womb prepared to put on a show. He’s that poised and comfortable.
Unlike me. I’m hiding behind Louis and I still feel too close to the audience. I wish I had an ounce of Rogue’s confidence. I’d settle on enough to leave my corner and stand up for myself. Or just enough to stand in front of my crush and say… hello.
Adira is fabulous. He always is. He flirts with the audience and with Rogue who is surprisingly comfortable in a thigh-length glitter red dress, teased up to the ceiling blonde hair, and the biggest-sparkliest eyelashes they probably had in the dressing room.
I watch while he and Adira sing a duet. Well, I sing along to the parts Adira does and pretend that I’m on that stage with Rogue Maddox. Until their act is over and suddenly he’s coming in my direction.
I scurry out of my hiding spot and back down the hallway to Adira’s dressing room. Probably not the wisest of choices, because I hear footsteps and they are not Adira’s.
Those footsteps enter the room as I dive into the nearest costume rack in this glorified closet. It’s rarely used as a changing room except when Adira is joined by guest stars like Rogue Maddox; my bestie preferring the comradery and absolute filthy talk of the communal dressing area better.
Peeking between the boas and leather, I catch sight of him as he crosses the floor. Rogue doesn’t see me though and that’s mostly because he’s busy undressing.
Shit. I squeeze my eyes shut because I should not be watching him undress. And yet… I cover my eyes with my hands. It would be wrong of me to look, wouldn’t it? To take one teensy tiny peek… from between my fingers… because that way I’m actually still hiding my eyes. Right? “Wow.”
His back is so wide and strong and naked. His shoulder blades shift as he peels the sequined red material down his body and steps out of it. Holy shit, that’s his butt. His buck naked ass. The tape over his wounds doesn’t detract from the hotness of his bounce-a-quarter-on-that-thing-and-it-would-probably-find-a-way-to-make-change heinie. Oh what am I talking about? Take all my money. Just let me, ungph, take a bite like it’s a succulent piece of southern fried chicken.
“Oh my God, you creep,” I whisper at myself. Clap a hand over my mouth and slam my eyes shut. What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be in here. I shouldn’t be invading his privacy like this. I’m a terrible excuse for a human being.
“Ah, that’s better,” he says, and I can only imagine he’s removed the tuck tape Celeste and Adira manipulated, no, encouraged him into.
When the rustling of material stops, I hazard another glimpse and pray this time he’ll be dressed so I won’t feel like such a creeper. I luck out or maybe that should be luck in, because he’s wearing slacks but no shirt. It’s like the good kind of naked where I’m not a complete perv for studying the way his muscles bulge and flex as he peers into one of the heart shaped vanities that are surrounded with lights. I push aside a pair of red sequin hot pants and a pink feather boa to get a better view.
He pulls off one of those ridiculous fake eyelashes. It looks like a big fat caterpillar as he puts it on the table. Reaching for the second eyelash monster, he peers into the looking glass and our gazes connect.
My heart threatens to come out of my mouth. It beats so damn hard I’m almost surprised I don’t take flight. I can’t blink, and he doesn’t.
“You.” He turns around and leans against the makeup table. His hands splay on the white tabletop and he frowns. “You’re not Elsa.”
Oh, that’s right. I’m in costume. I glance down at my purple Rapunzel dress with its puffy sleeves and flowing skirt. I clear my throat. “Um. No, I’m not.”
“What are you doing in the costume rack?” He crosses his arms against his chest, which really makes the bulges of his biceps stand out.
Watching you undress, you beautiful man. Revelling in breathing the same air you do. Imagining running my hands over your chiselled torso and pressing my nose to your throat so I can smell your cologne.
“Uh.” I push aside a leopard print playsuit and a lime green leather minidress and take a tentative step out from my hiding spot. “Re-evaluating my costume choice.”
He snorts under his breath and his chest flexes with it. “I don’t know that any of this stuff would fit you.”
“It won’t.” I should know. I’ve altered most of these pieces for the crew over the last couple of years. Designed some of them from scratch. They pay me and I get to be a part of something awesome.
I’ve also designed many of the pieces in Adira’s personal wardrobe. Though every time I make something for him he tries to pay me more than the work is worth, but I feel like he already supports me too much. I’d do it for free if it didn’t mean an argument
every time I finish an outfit.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” He straightens and pads toward me on the most beautiful bare feet.
I don’t have a foot fetish. It’s just that there isn’t a body part of his that I don’t think is stunning. And now that I’m not worrying about him dying on me, I’m able to revel in being near him.
“Me either,” I admit. Clearly Ivy Love has left the building, but Uma Cookie has this conversation under control. “I had other plans. They were…rearranged.”
“I’m glad.” Cupping my face with one hand, he peers into my eyes.
It’s almost unnerving. How blue his eyes are. They remind me of pretty blue flowers and cloudless days and pristine lakes. Staring into them makes me feel… happy and sad all at the same time. How can that be? Especially when he doesn’t really see me at all.
He smiles and holds my face between both hands. “You are so real.”
“I hope so.” I tremble. I’m torn between wishing I could be the kind of real that catches his attention without having to be in full costume, and wanting him to never find out who I am.
“Your eyes are green.” His brow furrows and I imagine smoothing it out for him with my fingertips, but I don’t dare move. His gaze flits from my eyes to my hair and those lines deepen. “And your hair… it’s different.”
I can barely breathe. He smells like cinnamon and balsam wood had a baby with a bar of expensive oatmeal soap. I lift a hand to my wig. My fingers sink into the golden strands. I’m Rapunzel tonight, not Elsa, but he said he wasn’t a Disney buff… though who doesn’t know the classic Disney princess lineup? They’re tales as old as time. I can only imagine his childhood must have been cold and lonely and gray. Oh, so gray. “It is a little.”
“I didn’t know if I dreamed you up while I was in surgery.” His gaze darts from my eyes to my lips and back again. “You were gone and your name…”
