My Fairy Godmother is a Drag Queen

by David Clawson

  J.J. raised my hands to his lips and kissed them. “I want our first time to be amazing.”

  “It will be. Everything’s amazing when I’m with you.”

  He let go of my hands so that he could use his to cup my face. “You are the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”

  And that’s when it made sense to me. I was the sweet guy. The one admired and respected, but that no one ever wanted to have sex with.

  I looked down at the buttons of his shirt, the ones he hadn’t let me undo, and something of what I was thinking must have shown in my face, because J.J. asked, “Wait a minute, what’s going on in there?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I just thought … you wanted to, too.”

  A deep hollow chuckle came from low in J.J.’s belly. “Okay, you cannot seriously think that I’m not dying to make love to you right now.”

  “You are?”

  He nodded.

  “Then … then why don’t you?”

  He blew air from between his lips, moving slightly away from me so that he could hoist himself up to sit on the countertop. “I’d been hoping to put this off a little longer, but things are maybe about to get a little weird.”

  Rather than say anything, some instinct told me to shut up, to get close to him, but to let him say what he needed to in his own way. I turned my back towards him, leaning back to rest in between his legs, putting the back of my head against his chest. Not only was I giving him the freedom to tell me whatever he needed to say without having to look me in the eye, I was giving myself the freedom not to have to cover up what I was feeling. If I couldn’t see his face, he couldn’t see mine.

  “Obviously, you know my life is not like most people’s. And that I have to be careful about everything I do—to a ridiculous level.” I nodded, and since I could feel the top of my head brushing against his chin, no matter where he might be looking, he knew I heard him. “I like you, Chris. In a way I’ve never liked anyone before. And I, oh my God, I want you. But because of what I’m feeling, I also want to protect you.”

  I reached for his hands and pulled them close to my chest. And maybe it was this gesture, but suddenly the words started flowing out of him. “I have every advantage a person could think of, but that doesn’t mean my life is always easy. You’ve seen it, how public it is, no matter what I may try to do to keep something private. And I don’t want you to get hurt by that. Or hurt by me if I realize I can’t … love another guy. I mean, publicly. I don’t have any doubts I can do it emotionally. But there are a lot of things expected of me. And I’ve been brought up to always consider the possible public consequences of my actions. Let’s say, even if I thought I could run for office as an out gay man, if it came out that I’d had sex with you while you were underage, it could ruin everything I’m supposed to accomplish. And I realize how incredibly fucked up and weird that sounds, but that’s my life. That’s how I’ve been brought up to think. If you want to run screaming, I get it. I really, really do.”

  Confession time. While I heard all of what he said on some level, on another level I was kind of distracted by the realization that he had clearly been thinking a lot about having sex with me. A lot. In a far more complex way than I’d been thinking about having sex with him. Another confession. This was a super-hot realization to have. J.J. Kennerly had been spending a lot of his time thinking about having sex. With. Me.

  “My birthday’s next month,” I said.

  “What?” He leaned forward, his chin resting on the crown of my head.

  “I turn eighteen next month. Legal adult.” I turned to face him, smiling, feeling a kind of confidence I don’t think I’d ever felt before. “No more excuses from you.”

  My smile spread onto J.J.’s face as we looked intensely into each other’s eyes.

  “So you have a month to decide if you want to deal with the many, many, many limitations of my life,” he said.

  “And you have a month to make sure you live up to your promise,” I said.

  “Which promise?” he asked.

  “That our first time will be amazing.”

  The kiss that followed sure was.

  CHAPTER 9

  KIMBERLYGATE

  So now we’re up to the incident which became known in the media as Kimberlygate. Although I didn’t actually have anything to do with the events of the scandal as they occurred that night, I do still feel partially responsible, because J.J. was supposed to have gone with her. But when he arrived that evening to pick her up, he was the only person who caught on that something was not quite right with me. J.J. was always like that, very attuned to peoples’ energies, and especially to mine.

  About a week before had been the fourth anniversary of my father’s death, and while Iris had marked it in her own way by never getting out of bed that day, I knew that keeping busy was always the best way to distract myself, so I had gone to school as usual. Although I’d said nothing about it to him, when I woke up that morning I’d found a subtly but encouragingly worded card slipped under my door from J.J. It wasn’t signed, of course, but I knew there was only one person in my life who would ever think of doing something that considerate. He and Kimberly had been out late the night before, so he must have figured out a way to get it to me when they got home.

  Anyway, even though it was a day I was prepared to soldier miserably through, the card had made it far less awful and had me feeling much less isolated than I usually felt on that anniversary. I guess maybe my guard was down a little bit because I was thinking about J.J. and the card when I exited the school building, when a guy around thirty years old called out, “Christopher!” I stupidly responded to him. All I said was, “Yes?” but that was enough for him to join me as I walked home and start asking all sorts of questions about Kimberly, and J.J., and how the family was observing the anniversary of “your father’s tragic suicide.” I felt trapped, because I figured if I ran he’d just run with me, and if I told him to eff off he’d have a quote that would be made to reflect badly on the family and therefore on J.J. I opted to keep my head down, staring hard at the sidewalk as I walked as quickly as I could while he kept asking me the same questions over and over again. Finally, he gave up, and not a moment too soon, because as hard as I’d been trying not to cry, I was on the verge of losing the battle. It was his saying, “Do you think your father would have tried to stay alive if he’d known the Kennerly fortune might be in your family’s future?” that had really gotten to me.

  I didn’t say anything about the reporter to anyone, because sometimes it’s just easier to keep pain to yourself. But a week later, the day of the night that would become known as Kimberlygate, I’d had another unsettling interaction with the media. This time it actually happened inside school, not while I was walking home.

  The first few days after the Autumnal Ball, when the news of Kimberly and J.J. had first made a splash, I’d gotten a lot of extra stares in the hallways and in class, but it quickly became old news. It was not all that surprising that someone associated with McVities Prep would be dating someone as high profile and powerful as a Kennerly, and by the end of the week I was blessedly allowed to sink back into the shadows. So it had immediately struck me as odd when this squirrelly-looking blond kid sat down in the lunch seat that Vibol had just vacated in order to go buy a second ice cream sandwich.

  “So, brah, what’s up with your sister and that Kennerly dude?”

  “Excuse me?” I asked, surprised to have a schoolmate I’d never noticed before being so nosy.

  “You’re Christopher Bellows, right?”

  It was the use of my full name that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Since only the press referred to me as Christopher, and anyone who actually knew me at all called me Chris, at the very least this kid’s only “close source” must be what he read online or in the papers. “Who wants to know?” I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on my Coke.

  “Shit, brah, it’s cool, you can trust me,” he said softly, almost in a w
hisper. “It’s not like I’m going to go tell anyone.”

  I looked up and into his eyes, and he fixed me with the most sympathetic and intimate expression that I totally would have fallen for … a month ago. Instead, I said, “You didn’t tell me your name.”

  “It’s Brandon.” He held out his hand to shake.

  I didn’t take it. “I’ve never seen you before.”

  “Yeah, I’m new.”

  “May I see your school I.D., please?”

  He laughed.

  “I’m serious,” I said.

  “Uh, they haven’t given it to me yet.”

  “They give everyone an I.D. first thing. If you don’t have one, you shouldn’t be in here.” I reached across the table, and he jerked back his arm.

  His pale skin growing pink, he said, “Relax, I’m just saying hello—”

  Standing up I looked around and yelled, “Someone call for a security guard! This kid’s not supposed to be in here!”

  Squirrelly, blond “Brandon” took off running around the table, racing for the door. I don’t know what got into me, but not seeing anyone from the Security Team close by, I took chase. He had a good lead and knew the fastest route from the lunch area to the front door, because by the time I reached it, he was saying something to the reporter standing on the sidewalk across from the school—the same reporter who had harassed me the week before. So now it looked like even school wasn’t going to be a safe place for me.

  And that’s why I was in the mood that J.J. noticed that evening. I kept telling him I was fine, and that Kimberly was really excited about their date, but he kept watching me. Trying to distract him, I asked how his European policy paper was going, and he said he had a first draft, but it needed editing and proofing.

  “Chris is really good at that, you know,” Kimberly said as she entered the room, looking amazing in an emerald green wrap-dress.

  “I’m not surprised,” J.J. said, winking at me.

  Kimberly sat on the couch beside him, resting her hand on his forearm. “Yeah, I had a paper due for my comp class, and he totally saved me. I, or should I say we, got an A.”

  Although she was only taking a single class at NYU, with the busy life of a media-star socialite, Kimberly would have failed on that paper if I hadn’t helped her out. But considering she didn’t know that her boyfriend and I were falling in love with each other, I figured it was the least I could do. I realize that might sound flippant, but it wasn’t something I took lightly, and J.J. and I had spent a good chunk of our alone time discussing how I felt bad about lying, and him agreeing but saying he didn’t know any other way for us to see each other. Some might say the solution was obvious, but a lot of things are obvious when you don’t actually have to live them.

  “Hey, Kimmy,” J.J. said, “Would you hate me if I said I was too tired to go to this thing tonight?”

  Kimberly and I both looked at him, she trying to cover up her disappointment, and me trying to see if he was doing this because he’d noticed my mood.

  “But you love Klimt,” I said.

  “Yep, that’s the guy,” Kimberly said. “You said he was one of your favorites.”

  “He is,” J.J. said. “And I’d love for you to see some of his paintings in person. I’m just worn out.”

  Kimberly looked torn, sort of motioning to herself as if to say that she’d gotten herself all dolled up, and while I think I was trying to encourage both of them to go, it’s also possible that I was really just trying to make her want to go more when I said, “That dress will photograph really well.”

  “It certainly will,” J.J. said.

  Kimberly sighed. “Oh, they won’t want just me.”

  “Are you kidding?” J.J. said, “They hardly even notice me anymore. You’re the one who’s selling papers these days.”

  Kimberly blushed, unable to suppress a smile for long, “You’re just saying that.”

  “I’m serious. If you want to go, you should totally go. Don’t stay because I’m tired and boring.”

  Kimberly stood and began to recite as if she were giving a report at school. “Gustav Klimt was a Symbolist painter from Vienna, Austria. He is most famous for,” she winked at J.J. suggestively, “The Kiss. Although that’s not at the exhibit tonight, I don’t think.”

  “Probably not,” J.J. said. “We saw it in Austria a few years ago, and it’s the Belvedere’s top draw, so I doubt they’d lend it out. It’s amazing.”

  Surprised to hear her so informed, I said, “You’ve been doing some research. I’m impressed.”

  She shrugged. “I only Googled it, but J.J. has been encouraging me to figure out what I’m interested in, so I figured getting a little more informed before we go to all of these cultural events was as good a place to start as any.”

  “You’re a good influence on her,” I said to J.J., trying to look merely admiring and not the full-on adoring that I felt.

  Kimberly nodded her agreement. “He says that privilege is a responsibility, and that good works are how we give back.”

  Burying his head in his hands, J.J. said, “That sounds so pretentious when I hear it said back to me.”

  “But you’re right.” Kimberly said, putting her hands on her hips with sassy determination. Then, with something of a pout, added, “I just haven’t figured out what I want to do yet.”

  J.J. said, “You will. Don’t worry.”

  She held out a hand to him and asked, “You sure you don’t want to go have our picture taken?”

  He first took her hand and kissed it, then shook his head. “I really just want to chill. Do you hate me?”

  “Of course not.” She leaned down to pick up her purse, and he gave her a quick peck on the lips.

  As soon as she was out the door, I let out a soft groan.

  “I know what you’re going to say, Chris, but I really don’t like it any better than you do, I swear.”

  “I just … couldn’t we at least let her know she’s acting as a beard?”

  “And what if she doesn’t want to, or worse yet, tells the whole world?”

  “Would that be so bad?” I asked. I knew that I still hadn’t even officially talked to my own family about being gay, but somehow knowing that I had J.J. to support me meant I finally felt like I could do it.

  “You know what’s expected of me.” By that he meant that basically the entire world expected him to be president of the United States someday, and while his own party supported the rights of gay Americans, that didn’t mean they were ready to elect a homosexual when a personal issue such as sexuality was still such a divisive issue. Not that anyone but me knew he was gay. But having grown up in a family expected to serve, it had been ingrained that self-sacrifice was part of their burden, and to him his own happiness was not a terribly important factor when he believed he could do so much good in the world. I’d told him I understood. Which I did. In theory. But that didn’t make it any easier emotionally.

  “Do you want me to leave?” he asked.

  “You know I don’t.”

  He looked around the room, empty of people other than the two of us. “Do you want to make out?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Always. But I’m not sure where Iris is.”

  He frowned exaggeratedly. “Maybe we could get her some sort of cow bell or something.”

  “Put it in a Tiffany box, and she’d probably wear it.”

  He laughed, then stood up, crossed to the chair I was sitting in, and bent down. “Kiss me.”

  I guess it was the conversation we’d just been having, because I suddenly flashed back on what had happened earlier that day at school with the undercover reporter, and the seriousness of J.J.’s position, our position, loomed over me darkly with intense immediacy. It must have shown on my face, because J.J. asked what was wrong, and after I told him about what had happened, he slumped back to his place on the couch.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “This is so unfair to you.”

  “Don’t w
orry about me.”

  He looked over at me pensively. “How can I not? I love you.”

  Although I’m pretty sure I appeared calm hearing this from him for the very first time, inside my head I did a major gasp. I couldn’t remember anyone other than my father ever saying those words to me with true intimacy and seriousness, and parental love was such a different thing, and I don’t know that anyone who hasn’t felt it themselves can ever understand the wave of joy that comes with hearing those words from someone for whom you feel the same thing. I’m not sure how long it took me to find the wherewithal to take in a halting breath and whisper back, “I love you.”

  We both stood up at the same moment, ready to throw caution to the wind for at least a brief kiss.

  But just then we heard the front door open. Buck was home from the gym.

  We ended up watching a Harold & Kumar movie that night (Buck’s selection), with Iris looking horrified by what was happening on the TV screen and saying to J.J. no less than fourteen times, “We can change this to something else.” But neither he nor I were really paying much attention to the movie, because we kept stealing glances and catching each other’s eye, and whenever our eyes locked, the goofiest smiles would blossom and we’d look away quickly to hide them. This love thing was a seriously stupid drug. Even when I thought of Kimberly—which I did numerous times—I can’t say I was capable of feeling bad for her right then, because I simply felt too good.

  That’s what we were all doing while she was out unlocking Kimberlygate. Not that she was aware of it that night. Because when she got home, she said it had been a fine night, only wrinkled slightly by one rude woman who had called her a bitch when she had offered some help. J.J. assured her sometimes that happened. No matter how good your intentions were, some people were simply determined to be jerks.

  The next morning we would all wake up to the other side of the story.

  CHAPTER 10

  SKINNY BITCH!

  I knew something was amiss when I woke up a little before seven a.m. and found I had eleven text messages from Duane. He’d been planning an all-nighter to finish an evening gown for his class at Parsons, and the first text had come at 3:17 in the morning. “OMG, have you seen the Post?! What was K thinking?!?!?!?!” The last text from 6:44 said, “Bitch, wake the fuck up! I’m on Skype. We must discuss!!”