by T. J. Klune
“I can turn around,” he said.
“Or you can leave. I don’t need your help anymore.” I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling uncomfortably bare.
He shook his head. “You can’t carry all this shit down to your car by yourself.”
“That’s what the bouncers are for,” I said. “They’ll help me. I don’t need you.”
“Finish changing,” he said through gritted teeth.
There was an old folding screen in the corner. It’d been Vaguyna’s, and like most of her stuff related to queendom, it’d passed to me after she’d died. She’d said it was from the Orient, the cherry blossoms adorning the screen handwoven by elderly Asian women, passed down for generations until she’d been given it by a queen in New York. Part of that was right, because the tag did say made in China, but it also said Bed Bath & Beyond, because at her heart, Vaguyna was a drag queen and drag queens could be full of shit. But I had allowed myself to believe her just because she believed, even if it wasn’t necessarily the truth.
And it was mine now, these little remnants of her.
Darren didn’t turn around.
I didn’t think he would.
I was taller than the screen, but barely, and I could stand on my tiptoes to see him. He hadn’t moved away from the vanity, but he didn’t look away, either. I knew he couldn’t see through the screen, but it was unnerving.
I peeled my way out of the unitard, flipping it up and over the top of the screen. The air conditioning above was cool on my heated skin. I stood there for a moment in nothing but thin, perfunctory underwear, trying to gather my thoughts.
Well, I tried anyway. It’s hard to gather your thoughts when you’re untaping your scrotum that has your penis wrapped in it and allowing your balls to descend again. Most people don’t understand how hard it is to be a queen. Most see a man in a dress. They don’t see the hours spent making sure the illusion is impeccable. The makeup. The shaving. Shoving your balls up inside you so there’s no hint of a bulge. Coupled with the hours spent rehearsing, it can be hell on a body.
We don’t do it for the money. Most of us don’t do it for any fame, because unless you’re nationally known, chances are you’ll always be one in a made-up face of thousands.
I rolled my shoulders and reached for a pair of sweats, pulling them up and over my hips. There was an old silk robe hanging behind the curtain that I wrapped around myself.
I peeked over the top of the screen.
Darren was still watching me like a fucking creeper.
I sighed. There was no harm in trying again. “You can go now.”
“Come out here.”
“Fuck you.”
“Sandy.”
I stepped out from around the screen. Because I wanted to, not because he told me to. In fact—
He took a step toward me and then another. He said, “I don’t want you to see Brian.” Like he had any right to say anything.
I glared at him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I know,” he said. “But I’m telling you anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Not good enough,” I snapped at him and then he was standing right in front of me. “Especially not because of your fucking double standard. You don’t want Brian to touch me yet you let that fucking twink rub up on your shit like it’s going out of style. You don’t get to be that person, Darren. Not when you’re a fucking hypocrite. Fuck him, don’t fuck him, I don’t give a shit.”
“Really,” he said. “Funny how you not caring looks exactly like someone who cares too fucking much. Did you ever stop and think about that?”
And didn’t that just irk me. What was it he’d said weeks ago with that smug look on his face? That he’d known I found him attractive, like it was a fucking given I’d want him, because how could I not. And of course, I did, even though it was bullshit. It was all fucking bullshit and I fell for it again. This wasn’t about him being jealous. No, this was about him being fucking butt hurt because I wasn’t collapsing onto him like everyone else did.
I stepped around him and made my way to the door, the silk robe trailing behind me. I reached the door and threw it open, turning and scowling at Darren. I nodded toward the open doorway. “Go.”
“Sandy,” he growled. “Why the hell do you insist on making things so fucking difficult?”
“Because that’s just who I am,” I said. “Now get out.”
“No.”
“I’ll call security up here, don’t think I won’t. I’ve had enough of your—”
“You won’t.”
“Try me, asshole. See what happens.”
He took a step toward me, hands raised like he was talking to a spooked animal. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said slowly.
I snorted derisively. “Well that’s certainly not true. There’s not enough time in the world to list all the things you’ve done wrong.”
“I don’t want him.” Another step.
“Not my business.”
“You don’t want Brian.” Another step.
“Not your business.” I was getting agitated and pissed off with myself that I wasn’t being more assertive. But the cockiness had faded quite drastically from his face, and he was looking slightly panicked again. Like he knew he’d done something. That I was getting fed up.
He said, “Sandy,” and he was standing right in front of me, our knees knocking together, both of us breathing heavily, my robe open, the sweats slung low on my hips. And I liked it. I liked him so close that he could reach out and touch me if he wanted to, the fucking bastard.
And just when I thought he was going to, his arm raised, hand reaching for me, he instead pressed against the door, the knob slipping in my fingers as he pushed it shut. He crowded me up against the wall and his chest was against mine, the door at my back, the knob digging into my ass. He brought his arms up, placing his hands against the wall, bracketing my face. I felt the long line of his body radiating heat against mine. His face was near mine, eyes wide and bright and searching for something. I looked away, unable to take the closeness. He leaned forward and trailed his nose along my cheek. I sighed a low sound, unable to bite it back before it spilled out.
“We’re not together,” he said, breath hot against me. “Not really.”
“I know,” I ground out. “I despise you.”
“No you don’t.”
“I do. I have. For the longest time. Everyone knows that.”
He chuckled near my ear. “The longest time.”
“We fight.”
“We flirt.” The bass shook the door at my back.
“I can’t stand you.”
“It’s funny how you still think that.” His lips pressed against my jaw.
“We want nothing to do with each other,” and I absolutely did not groan.
“The list of the things I want would astound you.” He pressed up against me, and he was hard.
I refused to look at him. “This is how you do it, isn’t it?” The sound that poured from me when he started grinding against me was filthy and I thought I would vibrate out of my skin.
“Do what?” he asked as he pushed harder.
“This is how you get them. Your fucks. You press them against walls and breathe shit in their ears and they just do whatever the hell you want.”
“No, I don’t do this.” He knocked my feet apart gently, spreading my legs, and pressed his thigh up against my dick. I was still looking away from him, my ear flat against the door, hands curled into fists at my sides. “I don’t do this,” he said. And he pushed into me, teeth scraping along my neck, a whine pouring from my throat. His hips rolled and I was fucking riding his goddamn thigh and the friction was good, so damn good and—
“Bullshit,” I panted. “Even I’ve seen it. Seen you with a different fucking guy, doing—”
“You don’t get it, do you? I want—”
“I don’t fucking care what you want,” I snarl
ed at him, turning to look at him. My nose hit his, and I felt the blatant scratch of barely there stubble on his chin. His pupils were dilated, and I knew he was turned on, and I knew I was turned on, and this could go one of two ways. I could close the minute gap between us and taste him, lick into his mouth, and just fucking take like I’d wanted to for years. Or I could remember my place, remember this wasn’t real, remember that not an hour ago, Darren had himself some fucking hipster twink pressed up against his side like it was old times, like these past weeks that had somehow meant the world to me meant absolutely nothing to him.
He pressed harder and his mouth drifted to mine.
I said, “Stop.”
He stilled. Whatever he was, he wouldn’t take something that wasn’t being offered. I knew that about him. Regardless of whatever else he was, he wasn’t that.
And I owed this to him, maybe. But more so, I owed it to myself.
I said, “Years ago, you made me feel like I was something beautiful. You made me think I was something special. And then you turned around minutes later and treated me like trash, like I was beneath you. I thought you were different, that you weren’t some meathead jock, the same ones that had been cruel. The ones that had called me a faggot and a queer and had laughed when they pushed me around. You didn’t hit me. You didn’t touch me. But you fucking cut me with your goddamn disdain, with your disgust at my hope that someone like me could ever stand a chance with someone like you. And you and your friends had a nice little laugh about it right in my face. So I turned and walked away. You fucking asshole.”
He had gone rigid against me, his breath ragged, shoulders tensed and drawn up.
“I’m doing this,” I said, “because I need you to save the bar. Nothing else. You don’t deserve anything more from me after the way you treated me. Because no one should ever be treated like they’re nothing when everyone is something.”
He took a step back.
I felt like I could finally breathe again.
He didn’t look at me, gaze resolutely downward.
It hurt to finally say this all out loud.
Especially to him.
After all that we’d gone through these past weeks, it fucking sucked. But I was nothing if not protective of my heart. And I couldn’t trust him to hold on to it. He was attracted to me. That much was obvious. And that was fine, because maybe I’d proven my point. It was the rest I worried about. And it was easier to push him away rather than pull him close.
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry. I never meant—”
“That’s good,” I said. “And thank you for saying so. You should probably leave. It’s late, and I have to get home.”
“Sandy,” he said.
“Please.”
And with that one word, he looked up at me. I don’t know what he saw, but he flinched, barely. He nodded at me and his hands twitched like he wanted to reach out to me, but was able to stop it.
I said, “We’ll finish this up. We’ll do the auction. We’ll save the club. And then we’ll go our separate ways. We stick with the plan like we should have and we’ll both get what we wanted out of this. Mostly. Okay?”
I thought that’d do it. I thought he’d hear those words and be out the door and gone and I would collapse against it dramatically as the music swelled upon my realization that I was alone and I would always be alone.
Darren, though.
Darren Mayne was a stubborn motherfucker.
He said, “No.”
“No,” I repeated.
He shook his head. “No, that’s not okay.”
“I don’t think you—”
He looked up at me. “It’s not okay because I don’t want that.”
“I don’t care what you—”
“Yes, you do.” He looked far more determined than I expected someone in his position to be. “But you have every right to not want me. And that’s fine. You have every right to tell me no. And you should, if that’s what you truly want. But I swear to god, Sandy, I’m going to show you every reason why you should say yes.”
I gaped at him because what the hell was going on?
“I was an asshole,” he said, reaching out and taking my hand in his. “I probably still am, to be honest. I can’t change the past. But I will apologize for it every day if that’s what’s needed. Because I know what I want. And I’m going to do everything I can to get it. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of not having what I want.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I demanded.
“Rule ten.” His lips quirked into that cocky grin that I both liked and hated at the same time. “The best rule out of all of them for this little game we’re playing. I’m going to make sure you know exactly what I want from you.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’ll see.”
And then he leaned forward and kissed me, swift and dirty, and I had no time to react one way or another. Somehow, he’d been able to spin us around, me with my back to the room, him at the door. He opened it, turned, and had the audacity to say “Besides, you still have to meet my mother at Thanksgiving” before winking and slamming the door behind him as he walked down the stairs.
“You overdramatic son of a bitch,” I breathed, rather impressed.
And still horribly, horribly aroused.
Goddammit.
Chapter 17: We Decimated the Native Americans. Happy Thanksgiving!
THANKSGIVING PROMISED to be loud and raucous, given that we were having it at Paul’s parents’ house. I was almost dreading meeting Darren’s mother, going further along with this charade, even though it now smacked of something completely different. I’d seen Darren a handful of times since then, but always around people that knew us, so he doted on me beautifully, his hand in mine, his kiss against my cheek.
I saw Caleb at the club a couple more times when I was performing, always standing with the homo jocks, eyeing Darren appreciatively. Darren, for his part, didn’t do anything as blatant as he’d done that first night. He always maintained a careful distance from Caleb, even while Caleb kept trying to insinuate himself into Darren’s social circle. I’d asked around a bit more about Caleb, but all anyone was able to tell me was that he was some kind of web developer and that he seemed to have a taste for large, muscular men. Which, okay. That was fine. Because I wouldn’t knock him for his taste. However, I would knock him into next fucking week if he didn’t stop his goddamned Pavlovian response anytime Darren was near.
Paul said he thought Darren had been trying to make me jealous and that I then tried to make him jealous by using Brian, which was completely ridiculous. And also was exactly what happened, though I didn’t understand why Darren was jealous in the first place. Paul said it probably had something to do with Brian, seeing as how I was a douchebag and using Brian in some kind of revenge plot. Paul was of the mind that Darren and I deserved each other, but redeemed himself when he accidentally tripped and spilled his entire vodka cranberry down the front of Caleb’s white dress shirt. He apologized profusely, saying he’d always been awkward and he would totally pay for the dry cleaning and maybe Caleb should just go clean up because cranberry juice could be so sticky. But then he’d caught my eye and winked at me and I knew I’d picked him as a best friend for a reason. Because he was a bitch. Just like me.
And he seemed so fucking earnest while doing so, like there was nothing more in the world he wanted more than making sure the twinky sharks stopped circling Darren’s chum. And that killed me, because I knew the moment he found out that this was all fake was going to hurt him. Or, rather, it would hurt me because he’d probably come after me with a baseball bat, accusing me of perpetrating the largest mass Freddie Prinze Junioring event in the known world.
Whatever that meant. I still wasn’t clear what Paul’s obsession with Freddie Prinze Junior was.
But since I was still Meryl Streeping the shit out of this, I was able to keep it hidden from him, waiting for the inevitable day whe
n it would all blow up in my face in an explosion of glitter and angst, just like the perfect gay storm finally coming down overhead.
THE BEGINNING of the end started with a group of texts.
Mom’s in town and excited to meet you
I told her you said that I’m the light of your life
And that you can’t imagine a world without me
Showed her a photo of you as Helena
She thinks you’re very pretty either way
She wants to bake something for Thanksgiving
I told her not to, that Matty and Larry had everything planned
She told me I was ridiculous
Because apparently you ALWAYS have to bring something
It’s only polite
Then she smacked me upside the head and made me go buy pies
I’m bringing pie
I told her about the drag bachelor auction
She laughed until she cried
So thanks for that
It was odd. My parents were dead, but I had my surrogates, thanks to Paul. Kori’s parents were only God knows where, but she had us. Vince had already been adopted by Larry and Matty because he belonged to them just as much as Paul and I did.
And Darren. Darren, whose mother thought I was very pretty as either Sandy or Helena. His mother who’d met a man named Andrew Taylor and gotten involved, not knowing he was married and had a kid out of it.
But Darren still had her. And he seemed to love her very much.
So I was going to make it my mission to impress the hell out of her. Granted, I’d have the safety net of being surrounded by everyone else, so I wouldn’t have to worry about any one-on-one time, at least not right away.
Me: Tell her thank you for me.
Darren: Already did. After I told her not to stroke your ego.
Me: Rude
Darren: Truth. But she’s going to love you. BTW, we’re coming to pick you up
Me: What?
Darren: She wants to meet you without everyone else around
Me: WHAT?
Darren: We’ll be there at one
Me: WHAT?!?!? DARREN!!!
Darren: I agree. It’ll be… quieter, that’s for sure
