I excused myself to the kitchen to get dinner started, but really I just needed some recovery time. Obviously, I was thrilled that J.J. had figured out a way for us to see each other again, but when I’d described the situation to Duane as complicated, I’d definitely not even thought of these possibilities.
Three nights later I found myself on my first date with J.J.
And Kimberly.
And Duane.
Even though it was only over Skype and I was on the third floor, the scream Duane had let out when I asked what his schedule was like because J.J. Kennerly wanted to hang out with us was loud enough for Buck to call up from the living room couch asking if I wanted him to call NYPD for a rape kit.
We eventually all settled on Thursday, and that night Duane showed up at my place an hour early. Although he was totally in his guy-mode hip-hop wear, he said he’d tried on twelve different pairs of tennis shoes, and did I think he’d picked the right ones? When I said I couldn’t believe he had twelve pairs of tennis shoes, he gave me a withering look and said, “Child, those are just the ones that went with this outfit.” I was about to ask how many pairs of shoes he had, and where did he keep them if his family of six lived in a two-bedroom apartment, but Kimberly called from upstairs.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I can’t decide if I’m wearing the right thing. Help!”
Duane pushed me aside without missing a beat, saying, “Out of my way, amateur.” He did have the good manners to stop at the foot of the stairs and call up to Kimberly, asking if it was okay for him to come up. She eagerly granted him permission, and I had the next forty-five minutes to myself. I’m not saying I hadn’t changed my own mind about what to wear a couple times over the last few days, but once I put on my jeans and the button-down navy blue shirt that I fancied brought out my eyes, I was good to go. Part of me felt like I should go upstairs in case I was needed to run interference, but I was too much on edge to try to pretend that I cared, and I had a feeling that they were not the audience to whom to say, “They’re just clothes.”
I tried reading some of my homework as I sat on the couch, my knees and hands jittery from nerves, but to say my focus was less than optimal would be an understatement. At about quarter to seven, Buck came home, dropping his gym bag loudly by the front door, and waved me to make room for him to stretch out on the couch.
“You know Iris doesn’t like you on the furniture when you’re sweaty,” I said.
“You mean you don’t like me on it.”
“Well, I am the one who has to keep getting more Febreeze.”
He kicked his shoes off and put his smelly feet in my lap. “Give me a foot massage. Please.”
Pushing his feet off, I stood up. “You know if Iris hears you made a bad impression when J.J. gets here, she’s going to lose her shit all over you.”
“Oh, is that tonight?”
Iris had been in such a state since the news of the date that Kimberly told me she’d finally slipped two Xanax into Iris’s after-lunch vitamin supplements, and she was passed out in her room. Although I don’t know if I would have actually had the nerve to do it, I will say that I was a little ashamed of myself for not thinking of it first.
“Your dinner is in the fridge,” I said to Buck. “Just heat it for three minutes in the microwave.”
He put on his most pathetic face. “I worked out too hard, and my muscles are all burned out.”
“You managed to walk home,” I said.
“Barely. Those front steps were like Everest. Trying to lift that plate would make me like Sisyphus with his rock.” (See what I mean about the smart-stupid thing? Buck knew I almost always rewarded him when he said something that hinted at hidden depths. I guess Kimberly wasn’t the only one I was guilty of spoiling.)
I went to warm up his food, but I was stopped by the sight of Kimberly and Duane descending the stairway. They’d decided on one of those light, loose, flowy halter dresses that still managed to show off her great body, with a light, cashmere shrug and ballet slippers. It was the perfect blend of casual, girly, and super, super flattering. It suddenly occurred to me in a very big way that if J.J. were bi and not gay, I was in serious trouble. I realized that there was so much I didn’t know about him, and I began to feel it overwhelm me, almost like a panic attack or something, and barely managing to mumble something about Buck’s dinner, I raced for the kitchen.
Once there, I forced myself to take long, deep breaths, and while the food heated up, I first tried to figure out an excuse to get out of going, then I beat myself up for giving up too easily, and by the time the bell on the microwave dinged, I think I’d changed sides of the argument about fifty times. As I told myself I had a future in politics with that much flip-flopping, I grabbed a lap tray, poured a large glass of milk, and lifted Buck’s supper.
Forcing my best attempt at a calm smile, I entered the living room to find Kimberly standing by the mirror checking her makeup, Buck still lying on the couch with his feet now in Duane’s lap, and Duane looking at Buck adoringly as he massaged said feet. I almost dropped the tray.
“Careful!” Buck said as he sat up quickly. He didn’t actually get up or anything, but he did reach out his arms, as if that would help from ten or fifteen feet away. Duane just looked pissed at me for a second, before he caught himself.
“Pardon my interruption,” I said.
Duane rolled his eyes, then smiled at Buck, “casually” patting him on his admittedly beefy shoulder. “This man needs to eat to keep him big and strong.”
Buck made some sort of Neanderthal noise, and Duane acted like that was just about the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
The absurdity of it all finally turned my forced smile into a real one, and as I chuckled, a world of dark stress lifted right up off of me. I even managed to tell Kimberly she looked beautiful, but when she said thank you, she was looking with concern at Duane and Buck. She waved me over to her discreetly, and once I got there, asked me, “Doesn’t that bother you?”
“What?” I asked, really not a hundred percent sure what she was objecting to and not willing to risk a guess.
But before she could continue, her cell phone rang, and it was J.J. Naturally, she answered it, and although I was, of course, dying to listen, I stepped away to give her privacy. As soon as I did, Duane stood up and steered me into the hallway.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Still peering around the doorway to watch Buck eat, he said, “Sookie sookie now! Seriously, he is one piece of Grade A beef.”
“He’s straight.”
“You never know. Sexuality is genetic. It might run in the family.”
“He’s my stepbrother, remember?”
“Then maybe it is environmental. Who’s to say?”
“Uh, science.”
“If the Fundamentalists can ignore science, then why can’t I? ‘Cause right now I feel like praying. Or at least dropping to my knees.”
“This is making me uncomfortable,” I said.
Duane finally tore his eyes away from Buck, turned his head to me, and knowingly responded, “The truth makes most people uncomfortable.”
I began to laugh, but Kimberly interrupted me.
“That was J.J. He says that some paparazzi are hiding across the street, and I told him that wasn’t a problem for me, but he doesn’t want them to follow us all night, which, again, I told him wasn’t a problem for me, but he wants us to meet him at the subway. Do you guys mind?”
Once we’d gotten outside, we didn’t see any photographers at first, but then one of them moved in the shadows, and Kimberly, Duane, and I exchanged looks, feeling oddly exposed. I mumbled that none of us should say anything, and when I looked over my shoulder at the end of the block, the coast appeared to be clear.
J.J. was waiting for us inside the station, and after she’d given him a kiss on the cheek (although I’m not sure that’s what she’d been aiming for), he shook Duane’s hand, then gave me a casual hug. E
ven with all of those people around, just feeling him close for that brief embrace was the second-best moment of my life up till then. (Number one being the kiss, of course.)
“So what are we doing for our double date?” Kimberly asked J.J. perkily.
Was that why she’d asked if Duane’s attentiveness to Buck had bothered me?
Duane and I shared split-second looks that combined surprise, confusion, and panic, then I looked at J.J. and saw his own doubt register, and then I saw him look unsurely at Duane.
“This is going to be so much fun!” Kimberly exclaimed as she clutched J.J.’s elbow.
CHAPTER 7
PAPARAZZI
The word “awkward” comes to mind to describe the lengthy silence between us as we all stood on the platform waiting for the train headed downtown. Well, Kimberly was chattering at an impressive clip, but J.J., Duane, and I all seemed to be momentarily stumped for conversation.
Once Kimberly had put out the notion that we were all on a double date, not just hanging out, suddenly everything gained an unanticipated weight and meaning. I ran through my mind everything that Duane and I had said to each other, and especially given his behavior with Buck, I was pretty sure he wasn’t thinking of this as a date between the two of us. Unless he was trying to make me jealous? Could my visit to see him at work the other day have been misconstrued? I mean, I guess it was okay if Kimberly had interpreted it that way, but that had never been my intention. Although, since I’d decided I wasn’t ready to confide in him about what had happened between J.J. and me, it wasn’t impossible for him to have misunderstood my visit.
I kept darting my eyes over to see if I could tell what Duane might be thinking, but he looked as perplexed as I felt, although he did seem to focus on the way Kimberly was holding on to J.J. Oh god, did that mean he was wondering if he and I should also be holding hands?
As the train arrived, and J.J. and Kimberly queued up with a group of people at one of the car doors, Duane tugged my elbow towards the group waiting for the other door of that same car. As we waited to board, he whispered into my ear, “I thought you said your family didn’t know you were gay.”
“They don’t,” I said. “Or, at least, I don’t think they do. Or didn’t think they do. Did? I don’t know.”
“Sometimes girls have better gaydar?”
I craned my neck to see Kimberly looking up at J.J. and immediately discounted this argument. I briefly met Duane’s eyes for the first time since Kimberly had used the “date” word and shrugged. Passengers had finished getting off the train, and as our group surged on, Duane kept whispering to me as we were pressed together by the crowd. “Because I thought you said we were just going to be hanging out tonight.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“So this is not a date?”
He was behind me, so I couldn’t see his face to tell if he wanted it to be or not. “Uh, I guess for them it might be, but I didn’t—for us—it wasn’t—I thought we were just hanging out.”
“Okay, good, because, no offense, you’re adorable and all that, but you’re a bit clean cut and boyish for Coco Chanel Jones.”
As we took our places standing in the aisle, reaching up to hold onto the bar near the top of the subway car, I was finally able to see his face, and he looked concerned and apologetic. I suppressed a laugh. “No offense taken. You’re a good-looking guy and all, but …”
“Too much of a woman for you?” Duane said, rearing back slightly as if taking mock offense.
“Without a doubt,” I said with a laugh.
Then letting out a sigh, relieved that at least one thing was now clear, I had just the slightest wonder at the back of my head—I know this is stupid, but just tell me you’ve never done the same and I’ll call you a liar—well, wait, why wouldn’t he want this to be a date? That unproductive thought quickly took a dive into more troublesome self-doubt as I caught sight of J.J. a little further down the car and couldn’t help thinking to myself, well, hell, if a twinkish drag queen isn’t interested in dating me, how in the world can I imagine that someone as gorgeous and amazing as J.J. Kennerly would ever want to? I started getting a slightly sick feeling in my stomach as I realized I’d committed myself to spend the evening as one of the main ingredients in a recipe for self-torture.
“Why does he keep looking at us?” Duane asked.
“Who?” I looked around, glad for the distraction.
“Kennerly. Freaking homophobic, patriarchal asshole. We have as much right to be on a date as he does, the fucker.”
“But I thought we just established that we’re not on a date.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
And then, just as I caught J.J.’s eye, Duane leaned in and kissed me.
By the time we arrived to the “fresh” air of Bleecker Street, I’d had to twist my hand out of Duane’s four times, back away from three kisses, and twice had him pinch my ass as we were walking up the stairs, each and every time only when J.J. was looking, of course. And J.J. was looking over at us more and more, no doubt just as Duane intended. I kept mouthing “I’m sorry” to J.J., but it didn’t seem to do much good at removing the darkness from his brow.
Duane had been the one to suggest the East Village, but once we realized that only he and Kimberly had fake IDs, the bar he’d had in mind wasn’t going to work. (Although I had a heck of a time stopping myself from shouting out that they should go get a drink, and J.J. and I would just go find someplace else by ourselves.) We found a cafe, and as soon as we’d ordered beverages and desserts, Kimberly announced she needed to visit the powder room, and I suggested to Duane that maybe he needed to go, too.
“Nah, I’m good,” he said, dashing my hopes at a moment alone with J.J.
But then he changed his mind, and I felt such relief I almost wanted to cry. He and Kimberly stood up … and didn’t take a single step away from the table for at least two minutes, which felt, to me, like two hours. They’d spent forty-five minutes alone together in her room, so did he really need to keep telling her how fabulous she looked—and getting confirmation from J.J.—while I was waiting for just a few seconds alone with the only person in the world that mattered?
But just as they began to step away from the table, a guy seated closer to the bathroom got up, entered the men’s room, and locked the door. Kimberly made a face and whispered to Duane that she really had to go and the ladies’ was empty. He shrugged, saying he could wait and sat back down as she walked off. Argh.
He turned his head to find a vaguely annoyed look on J.J.’s face (and I can only imagine how obvious my annoyance must have looked). “What’s the matter, J.J.?” Duane asked as he put his hand on top of the one I had resting on top of my paper placemat. I yanked back my hand, but Duane grabbed it, putting it firmly back on top of the table. “Don’t be shy, puddin’. We have every bit as much right to show public affection as anyone else.”
I wanted to die, or for the ground to swallow me up, or some form of Biblical distraction to occur. But, of course, those things never happen when you need them to, do they?
J.J. gave a slight shrug. “Do whatever you like.” But his eyes flicked briefly towards me, as if asking me if that was what I really wanted.
“But I don’t like to hold hands,” I said to Duane, then turned back to J.J. and blustered, “I mean, in public. I mean, I guess I would under certain circumstances, maybe, if, you know, the circumstances were right.”
Duane leaned in, looking deeply into my eyes, and said in a way that sounded like an attempted seduction, “You’re so eloquent.” He still firmly held my hand on top of the table, so I brought up my free hand and roughly pinched the skin on the back of his as soon as J.J. looked away.
“Ow!” Duane mouthed, looking peevishly at me, but I looked back at him with at least equal irritation. Then he smiled towards J.J., and I made the naive decision to take a sip of my water.
“Then again, J.J., I guess as good-looking as you are, I’m sure you’re us
ed to girls—and guys—throwing themselves at you all the time.”
In the nanosecond I realized I was about to spit the water in my mouth across the table, I managed to sort of suck it back it with a gasp, which led to me coughing convulsively as I’d almost managed to drown myself right there in the dry flats of the East Village.
Finally, the door to the men’s room opened. “Bathroom’s free!” I practically shouted through my coughs, pointing so emphatically I almost hit Duane with my thrusting finger.
With a look that suggested I was acting oddly, he moved towards the bathroom, and as soon as I was sure he was out of earshot, I leaned over the table and told J.J., “He’s just doing all of that to piss you off.”
“Doing what?” J.J. asked.
“Making it look like he and I are on a date.”
J.J. looked panicked as he sat forward. “What did you tell him?”
I backed away, not expecting that. “Nothing.”
“Then why would he think that would make me jealous?”
“No, he thinks you’re homophobic. He said you kept watching us, so he thinks he’s freaking you out by being all over me.”
Looking slightly offended, J.J. said, “Does he know anything about my family’s support for the LGBTQ community?”
“Seriously? Is that what you guys call it in your house?”
J.J. smiled guiltily. “Pretty much. It’s a very PC atmosphere.”
“Well, you might want to let him know that before he feels the need to molest me again for your benefit.”
J.J. shook him head, amused. “Kimberly definitely thinks it’s hysterical.”
As little as I expected from Kimberly in the way of kindness, I have to admit it still hurt to hear she was laughing at me. “She does?”
I guess my expression revealed something of what I was feeling, because J.J. clarified, “No, I mean, she thinks it’s adorable.”
“She does?” And now I was kind of touched.
“Mm-hm,” J.J. grumbled.
As I tried to get by mind around the fact that Kimberly seemed to not only know that I was gay, she also accepted it, another thought dawned on me. J.J. had asked if Duane thought I was making him jealous. I had never used that word. Did that mean it was making him jealous? Was it possible that the idea of another guy touching me was making J.J. jealous?
My Fairy Godmother is a Drag Queen Page 8
