JayJay shook his head.
“Here,” Pepper said. “I already came loaded with four accessories—y’all know me.” Pepper rolled her head back to make eyes with all her children around the table. “I am the reigning queen of accessories.”
“Yes,” said the young LaBeija, “tell it like it is.”
Pepper grabbed Lana Turner with both hands and put her on Juanito’s neck. Juanito froze, as if even one inch of a body movement would be enough to get his little ass choked to death.
“Pepper, no,” Juanito whispered so softly, even he could barely hear the words come out of his mouth.
“I am feeling this,” Pepper said, clapping her hands. “From this angle, I’m seeing Ziegfeld Girl, but from this angle—” Pepper moved to the other side of Juanito, but he was too scared to shift his neck to follow her “—I’m seeing The Bad and the Beautiful.”
Lana Turner didn’t feel like what Juanito would’ve expected. She didn’t feel wet or gross, pero more like a leather bag or a garden hose wrapped in a satin swatch. Lana Turner was all muscle, he thought, and as he focused on this, he breathed and relaxed his shoulders. Maybe he could rock Miss Turner for the catwalk. Wouldn’t that be daring? Hell fucking yes, and then he’d have a story that would make Daniel say, Daaaamn girl.
“What do you think, Miss Thang?” Pepper said. She got close to Juanito’s ear, close enough that Lana could’ve licked Pepper’s golden hoop earring that made her earlobe sag down. “Sorry to pull a stunt like this in front of all the children. If you don’t wanna wear her, I’ll take her off and there’ll be no tea and no shade about it.”
Juanito turned to face Pepper, whose face was studying his. Pepper’s face was worn and he wondered how many years she had been here, walking these same balls, constantly coming up with new outfits and accessories. How many years had it taken her to figure out that a snake could be worn like a scarf? Juanito wanted to know how many children Pepper had taken off the streets, how many had walked in balls, how many had run away, how many had the virus, how many had died, and, most of all, how Pepper could take it all on. It was just like when he started to think of all the things that Angel had done for him and for their house. He wanted to know what kind of impulse made a young queen want to take in her own kind and help them through. He wondered if, one day, he would be like them.
“I’ll do it,” he told Pepper.
“You sure now?”
Juanito said yes, and stuck out his fingers to pet Lana Turner.
“Only with your nails,” Pepper said. “She only likes to be scratched with one finger at a time.”
* * *
The category was FEM REALNESS QUEEN: FIRST TIME IN DRAGS AT A BALL, ONE THROUGH SEVENTEEN. Though Juanito took this all very seriously, the name of the category always made him giggle because the age bracket was like some kind of kiddie gymnastics competition. He tried to imagine a four-year-old queen walking down the runway in a baptism dress, slaying baby bitches with a bottle in hand, maybe a clean diaper, throwing so much shade, she could mop the floor with it. Imagine! Their parents would simply die of shock.
He stood at the back of the room and faced the judges. As “You Give Good Love” by Whitney Houston came over the speakers, he slowly stepped forward. Whitney was his cue. Unlike the other categories, which required house beats and freestyle turntables, Juanito wanted to make his debut with something slower than usual—at least at first. He walked out with Lana Turner on his damn neck—Yes, queens, he wanted to shout, she’s a real snake—his arms out to the sides, fingers splayed out fresh. He kept his eyes on the judges table and on the golden glints of the trophies behind them. What a dream.
But then bam, just as Juanito had instructed the DJ turning the tunes, Whitney morphed into Rochelle’s “Love Me Tonight” and the crowd lost their shit. I’m not here to dance, I’m here for romance. “Is that bitch wearing a snake?” someone screamed from the mezzanine. “Yes, mamacita, take that floor,” another screamed. I want you to love me, ooo-aaah. He walked one foot in front of the other, like there was an invisible line and he was walking in Paris or Milan. He matched the rhythms of the song to his body—with each one-two, with each whoa-whoa, he rocked his hips and shoulders in opposing directions so that his body could look like an S in motion. Right before the steps up to the stage, he grabbed Lana Turner with both his hands, and lifted her above his head like a weight lifter making a final display of fuerza with the bar. And then, por fin, with Lana above his head, he shimmied his ass down to the floor and popped back up, walked up the stairs to be face-to-face with the judges who had looks like wow. And he was doing it all in heels, imagine.
Now it was a matter of silent communication, that was what a good vogue was all about. He put Lana Turner back on his neck. He glided his right hand over his left arm, like he was applying lotion over his skin. Smooth, look how smooth my skin is. He made eye contact with the judges. He winked. Confidence. He rolled his head back as if he were reaching orgasm and ruffled his hair with his right hand. The queens at the tables and on the mezzanine were losing it fast, practically convulsing with oohs and ahhs and screams of yessss-bitch-get-it. I’m not here to dance . . . I just need to believe. And then he snapped his fingers and turned around in one single, solitary beat.
Then the problem came, and it all went down just as quickly as it had come up. On the third step down, he overstepped and fell forward until his chest was flat on the floor. The music kept playing, but he froze. Lana Turner slid off his neck and slithered on the floor next to him. He put his palms down and pushed himself up, and as soon as he stood and wiped off the dust from the front and back of his silk dress, Pepper was standing in front of him.
Pepper picked up Lana Turner and held her out in front of her own body. Pepper started dancing around Juanito in a square formation. At first, Juanito didn’t know what was happening, but the song was about to end and he had ruined his chances. Pero then he figured it out. Pepper was offering him a save. Pepper’s hand was stretched out, and Juanito grabbed on. Pepper pulled him up. Juanito went with it: he mirrored Pepper’s movements, so it looked like they were doing a duet. He wondered how it would look to the crowd.
People must’ve been feeling forgiving that night because everyone was standing and stomping and it felt like the walls were vibrating and if they weren’t careful the entire building would collapse into a pretty little puddle of wooden beams and when everyone who walked in FEM REALNESS QUEEN: FIRST TIME IN DRAGS AT A BALL, ONE THROUGH SEVENTEEN got up there in a line waiting for the trophies to be announced and they said and the runner up is and the name wasn’t his name and that meant that he had won and he was crying then and holding his hands up to his eyes because he didn’t want anyone to see him cry and Pepper came up from behind him and held out the big trophy and the thing was huge he didn’t know how he would lug it home in one piece and Pepper hugged him and the whole room was love love love love love.
VENUS
The first time she walked a ball, she walked in RUNWAY. She wanted to win so badly, she would’ve made someone bleed if she had to. But she didn’t like to admit that to many people because she didn’t want to come across as too vicious.
Her accessory was a large silver ball that was the size of a globe. It was as reflective as a goddamn mirror, so when she first saw it, she knew she had to walk with it. She spent an entire fucking hour cleaning it to make sure that shit sparkled. It was autumn, so she wore a form-fitting camel-colored wool dress with a turtleneck. Sleeveless, of course. She wanted to be hot, but not too hot. That was the quandary. That was always the quandry with autumn. One had to follow the weather forecasts with an extra eye out, like a smooth cat watching for rain.
She didn’t just win that night. She swept the floor with those bitches. When Paris Dupree called out her name, it took both arms for her to lift the silver ball above her head in triumph. The bitch next to her passed out from heat exhaustion—the poor thing—and to think, in hindsight, maybe Venus should’ve
taken a pause to help the damsel up to her feet. But whatever. The past was in the past. Maybe the damsel shouldn’t’ve worn sleeves. It was a hot shame that time machines didn’t exist. Even with the best intentions, she couldn’t change what was already done.
So when Juanito came home that evening and wrapped his arms around Venus and announced that he had walked in a ball without them knowing, and then won his category, Venus sprang out of the chair and screamed like she was being murdered. The little puto didn’t even let them go see him walk! Yes, she was upset for a hot second that Juanito had kept it secret from them, but then she let that feeling pass. Angel reached out for the trophy and was all smiles. Venus turned to look at Daniel, who looked shocked and frozen. It seemed like he was trying to cover his upsetness, opening his mouth with an umm, ahh, every couple of seconds. Who could blame the poor thing, being kept out of the loop. But maybe Venus was reading him wrong.
She knew it wasn’t her place to control whether Juanito wanted them around or not. When it came to love and support, the small stuff like that did not matter. Juanito had the trophy now and Venus was happy for him. She could just imagine the happiness that must’ve been buzzing inside Juanito.
Angel was holding the trophy now, shining it with a baby wipe. Venus reached out to grab it. She wanted to take hold of it in her arms to feel that it was real.
When Angel passed it over to her, Venus reached out her neck and planted a wet kiss on Juanito’s cheek. It was like the rush was spreading from Juanito to Venus—and what a rush it was. Venus could search an entire lifetime for rushes like that. She never wanted the feeling, the buzz, the light, to ever fade away. Whatever law of the universe that said all highs must come to an end was a damn shame. If they came to end, well they wouldn’t be highs, would they?
* * *
It wasn’t an easy sell at first, but Venus told Juanito that she wanted to take him away so they could celebrate, just the two of them. She pegged it as a nice vacay, a time for the two of them to bond. She even busted out into a Go-Go’s tune about how this was their vacation, all they ever wanted, vacation, time to get away. She told Juanito that the place would be a lovely, beachside hotel. There’d be nothing tacky about it, the boys would be sexy as all fuck, the women would be fashion icons, and the salt water taffy would be fresh. As it turned out, the hotel was actually a motel, the two full beds had damp floral-print comforters that were dotted in brown-rimmed cigarette burns, the men were brutos, and the girls pulled their bubble gum with their fingers. Venus wanted to scream out to them, “Don’t you realize that’s how you get germs?” But she didn’t. She just sat on the wooden bench with her eyes looking out at the Jersey ocean, fuming.
The thing about Wildwood was that it was popping during the summer—chulos and chulas every-freakin’-where on the pier with the rides. But in October? Less so. At least there was a haunted pirate ship on the pier that they could go to. Halloween was a week away, so the crowd was kind of thin. No one out in costumes, but it was whatever. The goal was to have a weekend getaway with the newest reigning queen of their house. She could only hope that Juanito was going to enjoy himself. They couldn’t go out and swim, unless they wanted to freeze their toesies off. But Wildwood in early October was like her favorite secret in all of New Jersey: the hotels were cheap, the restaurants were looking to pack, the weather was still fairly warm, the beaches free to stand on.
When they checked into the motel, got the keys, and walked into the room, Juanito put his bag down on the bed and plopped down right next to it like he was going to make a snow angel on top of the sheets. “It feels so nice,” he said, “to lie down and rest.”
“Yes, papo,” Venus said. “I hear you.” She just wanted to sit in the chair, take off her heels, and press her thumb into her foot as hard as she could.
“We’re gonna have the best time,” Juanito said.
“From your mouth to the queen’s ears,” Venus said.
She walked into the bathroom and emptied an entire can of disinfectant all over the floor, the shower, and the sink. It was a trick that Angel had shown her. She popped her head back into the bedroom and was about to ask Juanito what they should wear that night, but she saw that his head was buried in the pillow. Aw, he looked so peaceful when he was napping.
She tiptoed closer to the bed and put the blanket over Juanito’s body, so he wouldn’t be cold if he woke up during the night. Even though she had never known Juanito when he was a little boy, and even though she had never seen pictures of him from that time, whenever she saw him napping, it was like she could envision a younger Juanito was right there, in front of her very eyes.
* * *
“Oh,” Juanito said the next morning. He was smoking out on the balcony with the sliding door open. “You wanna go out there like that?”
“Like what, darling?” Venus said, trying her hardest not to gasp. Was he insulting her outfit? It wasn’t that outlandish: a lime green blouse with a gold chain belt set high on the waist with tight white pants and red espadrilles. She was pretty sure she had worn it before and Juanito had seen her wear it out on the town.
Juanito dragged on his cigarette and rested his knee on the sliding glass door. Venus could feel the cool air coming in off the beach, even though she couldn’t see the sand because the boardwalk buildings were blocking their view. “I didn’t mean it like that,” Juanito said. “It’s just that we’re in—New Jersey.”
“So what?” Venus said.
“Look,” Juanito said. “I know you’re all about passing. But I’m not all out-and-about like you. A boy can flirt with drag sometimes, or spend the day browsing a fabric store, and still want to live as a man.”
She stood in the middle of the room and she felt like maybe the outfit was all wrong. “I suppose,” she said. “But where’s the fun in that?” She didn’t know what to do with her hands.
“I’m just worried that all the machos are gonna see us,” Juanito said, “and we’ll get bashed. We’re not home right now. We are not in Kansas anymore. And I didn’t pack much in the fem department, if you know what I mean.”
“You don’t think we can pass?” Venus said, watching as Juanito stubbed out his cig and looked for an area where he could throw it out over the balcony.
“I think you can pass fine,” Juanito said, “but not me. Or maybe, I don’t know. It’s going to be bright out with the sun. It’s not like when we go around late at night at the piers or inside at the balls.”
Juanito had a point. The sun could be the most unforgiving type of light. The question was whether they had the confidence to do it anyway. If anything, they could turn their outfits into conversation pieces.
“I’m okay with it,” Venus said. “And if they mess with us, we’ll just kick their asses.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Juanito said.
“It really shouldn’t be that hard.”
“Passing?” Juanito said. “Or kicking their asses?”
Maybe she was wrong about it all. Maybe they should take the safer route and dress more masc, not push any buttons or push their luck too far.
“Both,” she said, thinking, Fuck it. She didn’t come to New Jersey to hide from anyone, not even herself. “I think we could take on whatever comes our way.”
Juanito took a deep breath and stepped inside the motel room again. “Okay, nena,” he said, sliding the glass door shut again. “I trust you.”
* * *
They made a list of rides they wanted to go on: roller coaster, spinny teacups, Ferris wheel, slingshot. Maybe they’d play one or two games, but not the game where the balloons fill up until they pop, because they both hated the sound of balloons popping. If Venus couldn’t tell when the balloon was going to explode, she didn’t know when to expect to flinch. She hated that her body didn’t know when and how to protect itself when the pop came.
As they got ready to leave the room, Juanito’s outfit was simple. Good thing Venus had packed some extra clothes, even if they were
a little tight on Juanito: white-washed denim poom-poom shorts with sneakers, a bright orange cami that made his olive skin look like a deep-set tan. He had brought his own fake-gold nameplate necklace that said JUANA, because that was the closest they could find to JUANITO when they were buying jewelry last month on 125th Street. Homeboy was going the fem route, indeed.
Venus double-checked her pockets to make sure they weren’t leaving anything behind and then she closed and locked the door. They had the passes, the ride tickets, a bottle of water, and keys. No sooner did they walk halfway down the hallway when she heard someone say, “Oh, my god, Janice.”
“What?” the other girl said.
“Would you look at them?” the first girl said.
“Oh, my god, Karen,” the other girl said. “Did you see that belt?”
“Es’cuse me.” The first girl popped her head out of the room. Their door was wide open and there were several other teens lying on the bed and the floor. “Where’d you get that friggin’ gold belt?” She was looking straight at Venus.
“Oh, thanks,” Venus said, wanting to call her darling, but thinking better of it. “I bought it somewhere in Manhattan.”
“Right on,” the other girl said. She was chomping on her gum like if she didn’t, her teeth would fall out of her mouth.
Venus could see into their entire room. The bathroom door was open and the tub was full of ice and handles of booze. These girls looked high school age and the room looked ready for a party alright. Juanito cleared his throat.
“Well, thanks,” Venus said to the girls. She waved at them with her fingers.
Once they were down the hall, Juanito said, “I can’t put a finger on why, but there’s something off about those girls.”
“Watch yourself,” Venus said, “because they could probably say the same thing about us. Judgments, judgments are no fun.”
“Unless you share with everyone?”
The House of Impossible Beauties Page 27
