by T. J. Klune
“We’re not ready to order,” Paul said. “You can leave now.”
“Hmm?” Santiago asked, eyes never leaving Darren. “Vince, tell your father I’ll bring his bread in a moment.”
“Why does he still think you’re my dad?” Vince asked. “You don’t even look like me.”
“I’ll tell you when you’re grown up,” Paul said, patting his hand.
“You always say that,” Vince said. “And then by the time I think about it again, you don’t have pants on and your legs are over my shoulders and I always forget about everything else.”
“I think I might need new friends,” Corey said.
“Santiago,” I said. “I hate to be a bother, but you’re fingering Darren’s drink. I’m sure he’d like to take a sip.”
“Oops.” Santiago sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “My apologies. Sometimes, my fingers have minds of their own. Do you remember my fingers, Darren?” He wiggled them in Darren’s face. “I’m told I have magic hands.”
Darren just stared straight ahead, stone-faced and silent.
“Bae,” I said. “Don’t be rude. He asked you a question. Do you remember his fingers and magic hands?”
Darren glared at me.
I smiled back at him.
His face softened slightly. Like he was exasperated, but fondly so.
I tried not to be startled at that. Because he was good. Almost too good. He was Daniel Day-Lewising the shit out of me.
I needed to Meryl Streep him so hard.
I reached my hand out and cupped the back of his head, letting my fingers brush through his hair. I squeezed his neck gently and smiled at him. “You’re so special,” I told him. “And I can’t wait to spend my life with you.” Ha. Take that, asshole.
Paul choked on his tea.
Darren’s jaw tensed, but then he relaxed into my touch. “Back at you. We’re going to be so good together.”
“This is so nice,” Santiago said, sounding bored. “Are you going to sing to each other? Because it looks like you’re about to sing to each other.”
And then he left, having been signaled by another table, but not before trailing his fingers along Darren’s arm. Paul narrowed his eyes and glanced between the two of us, but before he could say anything, Corey beat him to it.
“So, I’m curious,” Corey said to Darren and me. “Which one of you made the first move?”
“Sandy did,” Darren said immediately before I could even finish processing the question.
“Really?” Paul said, sounding surprised. “I would’ve have thought you were going to need to wear him down a lot more.”
“Nah,” Darren said. “He just… well. Why don’t we let him tell the story? He was the one that initiated everything, after all.”
“No, please,” I said, my smile fixed on my face because I was going to win this Oscar. “I insist you tell it. You just have the most beautiful speaking voice.”
“But, boo,” he said, eyes twinkling with pure evil. “You’re the one that dragged me up to the Queen’s Lair, proclaiming that you couldn’t stand the thought of us being apart any longer. Remember? I think you should tell them everything that led up to that point. And then maybe we could tell the rest together.”
That. Mother. Fucker.
“You did what?” Paul said.
“Wow,” Corey said. “That is not something I would have expected.”
“That’s so sweet,” Vince said. “And it also made me five hundred dollars. So. Go me.”
“Well,” I said because I was Mamma Mia! Meryl, or quite possibly Bridges of Madison County Meryl. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that. I mean, you’re the one who admitted to pining after me first.”
“You did what?” Paul said.
“I knew there was pining involved,” Corey said.
“This is just so wonderful,” Vince said. “I am so happy to be a part of this.”
“Right,” Darren said. “The pining. I’d totally forgotten about that part.”
“Well.” I smiled brightly. “Looking back, it was rather obvious.”
“Was it?” he asked.
“Sure. I mean, you’ve never missed one of my shows since you started coming. Ever.”
Something flickered across his face, something I couldn’t quite parse, some emotion I wasn’t used to seeing on him, that was for sure. His eyes widened slightly, and there was an honest to goodness flush to his cheeks that made me feel warm and uncomfortable. But then it was gone, buried underneath the ego. “What can I say? You caught me.”
“Okay, okay,” Paul said. “Tell the story.”
“Oh, I’ll start,” I said.
“You sure?” Darren asked. “I can do it.”
“No, bae. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You insisted, remember?”
“Okay, boo. Just make sure you don’t embellish anything. I’d sure hate to have to correct you.”
“Embellish?” I exclaimed. “Me? Never.” I looked back to the others. “Once upon a time, there was the most beautiful of drag queens—”
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Darren muttered as I began my completely made-up true story of love and stuff.
Chapter 11: A Completely Made-up True Story of Love and Stuff
ONCE UPON a time, there was the most beautiful of drag queens. People came from far and wide to see her perform. Most thought they were in the presence of true beauty and greatness when they had the chance to stand before her. And this much was true, because the drag queen was unlike anyone else in the world. There were sheikhs from the Far East that begged the Queen to move to their palaces made of gold and dance for them forever, but she refused, because she was waiting for her one true love.
(“Sheikhs?” Corey said. “Palaces. Really. That’s what you’re going with.”
“Okay,” I said with a glare, “it might not have been a sheikh, per se, but his name was Muhammad and he said he owned a condo. It’s almost the same thing.”
“That’s Sandy for you,” Paul said. “Always reaching for the stars.”)
Anyway. The Queen was well sought out by many, many people and yeah, maybe they weren’t sheikhs specifically, Corey, but they still traveled to see the wonderment that was Helena Handbasket. Because she was beauty and grace personified, bringing to the world of drag an elegance that had never before been witnessed. In fact, one might even say she was the Drag Queen, but since she never was one to brag about herself, she just let everyone else say it. Which they did. All the time. Because it was true.
(“This isn’t self-indulgent at all,” Paul said.
I rolled my eyes at him. “Our lives are self-indulgent. Shut the fuck up. I’m just getting started.”)
She was in high demand, this queen. Everyone wanted a piece of her. Life was hard that way, sometimes. It could grow to be lonely quite quickly. Sure, the Queen had her friends and family, but sometimes she’d sit high in her tower and sigh, wondering if one day her true love would come and save her.
(“Um,” Vince said. “Not to interrupt, but you didn’t really sit in your tower and sigh. You more, like, stood on the balcony and bitched. But it’s almost the same thing. And you always looked really pretty doing so.”
“You’re my favorite,” I decided.
Vince looked smug. “I’m a lot of people’s favorites. It’s sort of my thing.”
“That’s pretty much true,” Paul sighed.
Darren didn’t look too pleased at that.)
Not that the Queen knew who her true love was or anything. She really had no particular person in mind. In fact, if she were being honest with herself, the list of people she didn’t want it to be was far longer than the list of people it could be. By quite a significant margin.
But one day, the Queen was watching from her tower down upon her minions that moved below her. The music wasn’t that loud yet as it was still early, so she could hear the voices of her people. They waved up at her, rejoicing that they were able to see her, because she looke
d wonderful. And there she saw a man she knew and could see was aesthetically pleasing but really didn’t have a whole lot more going for him than that.
(“You’re talking about me, aren’t you,” Darren said.
“You’ll just have to wait to find out,” I said. “Who knows, it could be a twist that you don’t see coming.”)
It was Darren.
(“Ooh,” Darren said. “Twist. M. Night Handbasket does it again.”
“You’re just jealous because it was awesome.”
“I’m not really sure jealous is the word I want to use to describe my feelings toward you.”)
Now, the Queen didn’t necessarily care about the man below her one way or another. She could see what others saw in him, but since the Queen was long past puberty, she figured that he would never be interested in someone like her. Not that she cared about that. In any way, shape, or form. Just to be clear so there are no misunderstandings. No, the Queen had better things to do than worry about Homo Jock Kings. Many, many better things, such as learning how to make the perfect pot roast or working on a new Lady Gaga routine. There were probably at least four hundred and fifty-seven things in her life more important than Darren Mayne.
(“This… doesn’t feel like a love story,” Corey said.
“It is,” I said. “I just have to set up the scene so we know our heroine wasn’t pining, that it was only Darren.”
“I don’t think this is exactly right,” Darren said.
“Shut up.”)
But something this day had caught the Queen’s eye. The Homo Jock King was staring up at her with a look of pure longing and loneliness and anguish and sadness and was really just overall pathetic. Sort of like how you might think a wet dog would look as it sat outside in the rain, wanting to come inside where it’s nice and cozy, but it can’t figure out a way to get in, so it just sits at the window, staring. Pathetically, in case that point was not stressed enough. A wet, pathetic dog that was totally sad and wanting to bone the Queen. That was what the Homo Jock King looked like.
When their eyes met, the Homo Jock King looked away, blushing, because he was nervous that a creature as magnificent as the Queen would even think to be looking his way.
But it wasn’t long before he looked back up. Their eyes locked again and Darren put his hand over his mouth, kissing his palm. And then he blew the kiss up to the Queen.
(“Aw,” Corey said. “How adorable.”
“Isn’t he?” I said, my voice sticky sweet. I gazed in what I hoped was a loving manner toward Darren. He smiled in return, but the skin under his left eye was twitching and I wondered how much I could push before he snapped.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure none of this happened,” Darren said.
“Aw, bae,” I said. “This is totally what happened. You just aren’t remembering right. Probably one too many hits on the head from when you were playing Ultimate Frisbee or whatever it is homo jocks do when they congregate. Rugby? Is that a thing Americans do? I can’t even be sure. All I can remember is seeing all those men in the scrums and thinking how they were all wearing jockstraps.”
“You know what, boo,” Darren said, squeezing my hand again. “Why don’t I take over telling the story from here?”
“If you must,” I said. “Just make sure you tell it right. I would just hate to think what would happen if you got it wrong. Why, the repercussions alone would be devastating.”
“Are they threatening each other?” Corey whispered to Paul.
“Yes,” Paul whispered back. “But that’s just how they flirt. It’s endearing. And also scary.”)
I went—
(“You have to tell it in third person!” I hissed at him.
“That’s stupid.”
“It’s a story.”
“Goddammit.”)
Darren went to the bar that night because he always went on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Not because of anyone performing or doing anything else, but that was his routine. He went because he’d always gone. It most certainly didn’t have anything to do with drag queens. Especially annoying ones who thought they were god’s gift to the world.
(“I don’t think that,” I said. “I know that. There’s a difference.”
“This story is never going to end, is it?” Corey said.)
Sure, maybe Darren had to go for a different reason this night. His brother and his brother’s boyfriend were getting married and he wanted to talk to the other best man, just to bounce some ideas around, given that they were both in charge of the grooms. He had no other reason he needed to see the Queen whatsoever. In fact, he wouldn’t even be there if it wasn’t required. Or, rather, that’s what he told himself.
(“Ooh,” Paul said. “A cover story to mask true love.”
“That’s really not what this is,” I said. “It’s not masking anything.”
“It totally is,” Darren said, overriding me. “In fact, it’s exactly what this was.”
“Ooh,” Corey, Vince, and Paul all said.
That asshole.)
So he arrived at the bar and went looking for the drag queen. She wasn’t in the balcony as someone else might claim. In fact, she wasn’t in the Queen’s Lair at all. As soon as Darren rounded the corner, the Queen smashed right into him. Darren looked down and the drag queen looked up and their eyes connected and the drag queen gasped in pleasured shock, her body arching and—
(“Pleasured shock?” I said. “That’s gross. And not a real thing. Your prose is purple and you should be ashamed of yourself. I didn’t arch my body, you jackhole.”
“Love knows no restraints of language,” Darren said.
“Oh my god,” Corey said. “I think I almost just swooned at that. Purple me with your prose. Just purple it all over me.”)
Now, Darren knew who the Queen was, and knew her biting tongue and rapier wit was a shield she’d built up around her to protect her heart and soul from ever being hurt by another. The Queen was fierce, and he knew that maybe she’d gotten the wrong impression of him. After all, Darren was somewhat kind and mostly loving and really good in bed. He had nice abs and didn’t chew his fingernails. He also had a diversified stock portfolio, a 401(k), and 1500-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets bought at Macy’s when they weren’t even on sale. So yes, Darren was a catch and it wasn’t his fault that the Queen couldn’t see that.
(“Oh, bae,” I said. “None of that stuff matters to me.” Because I didn’t give two shits about anything he had.
“I know,” he said. “Because all that matters is what’s in my heart.”
I wanted to fucking punch him in the dick for that one. Because it almost hurt.)
So he held the drag queen in his arms and said, “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
The drag queen said, “Oh, Darren. It’s you! It’s really you! How I have longed to be in your arms just like this.”
“I know,” Darren said. Because he did.
(“What,” I said flatly.
“You know,” Paul said. “That actually sounds like something Sandy would say.”
“It does not,” I snapped.
“I could see it,” Vince said.
“Me too,” Corey said.
“You know what?” I said. “Fine. It’s my turn to pick up the story again.”
“I didn’t even get to the best part!” Darren said.
“Which is?”
“Where you squeezed my biceps and giggled like a little girl.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I muttered.)
The drag queen most certainly did not giggle like a little—
(“Are we all ready to order?” Santiago said, appearing out of nowhere and interrupting my story. “Vince? Darren? The rest of you who I don’t know nor do I care about?”
“You know, that should hurt my feelings more than it did,” Corey said. “I don’t know what that says about me that it didn’t.”
“It means you’re immune to twinks,” I said. “That’s a good place to be. Darren woul
dn’t know anything about that. He’s just rife with twinks.”
“Not anymore.” Darren gazed into my eyes. “Because of love. The love I have for you.”
I almost threw up a little bit in my mouth, but the others bought it completely if their sighs had anything to say about it. I couldn’t believe he was Daniel Day-Lewising everyone. It seemed impossible in the face of my Meryl, but he was quickly gaining the upper hand.
“I have lots of love to give,” Santiago said. “Darren probably remembers all about that. Right, Darren? Do you remember it? You ate peanut butter off my ass.”
“It’s like he has no shame,” Corey said. “It has to be a medical condition. Like, a thyroid issue or something. There has to be a medical explanation for the way he exists.”
“You ate peanut butter off his ass?” I said to Darren. “My god. You classy bitch. I treasure all our moments together. Our future is going to be lovely. You are not putting peanut butter on me at any point, you weirdo.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” Darren said, sounding grumpy as all hell. “Do I need to remind you again of the thread count of my very expensive sheets? And I didn’t actually do it. He picked up chunky peanut butter, put it on his ass, and it looked disgusting so I made him wash it off and leave.”
“With a promise to call him,” I said.
He rolled his eyes.
“You’ll never eat anything off my ass,” I said.
“Won’t matter as long as I can eat your ass instead.” He grinned widely.
“Hup,” Paul gagged. “Hup. Hup.”
“Bae, you’re making Paul sick,” I said.
“He just doesn’t understand our love.”
“I don’t think anyone would understand it,” I agreed.
“So, ordering?” Santiago asked. “Not ordering? Sexual favors? Anyone?”
“Come back later,” I said. “I was in the middle of a story about how Darren was in love with me and pining and couldn’t let me go without confessing. He even cried a little.”
