Drag Teen

by Jeffery Self

  Before the curtain could even close, Lady Rooster was already back onstage, in a new costume to introduce the judges. As she called each of their names, they walked from the back of the theater and took seats at a table in the corner of the stage. Quentin Brock was the first to be introduced; he looked older than I imagined he would be, even though he had been a celebrated playwright and screenwriter since long before I was born. He was mostly a cult icon, having had only one major hit as far as movies were concerned, an unintentionally campy movie called Bad Girls with Good Hair that starred a young Kim Cattrall as a supermodel who opens up a beauty salon in a small town outside Minneapolis after being dumped by her boyfriend. Her aim? To give the women of the town a new look and a new outlook. Various gays in the audience shouted what was arguably the most famous quote from the movie as Quentin took his seat: “I’m not a wizard—they’re just good bangs!”

  Next came Nathan Leary, who was dressed so formally it was almost annoying. The audience went really wild for him; it was impossible not to. One glimpse of Nathan Leary in front of an audience and you couldn’t imagine him doing anything else. Also, he carried his Tony Award with him, just in case people needed a reminder.

  “Wow!” he cried. “I haven’t heard anyone that excited since I stopped wearing Speedos!”

  “Speedo your butt into that seat, you ham with a side of eggs,” Lady Rooster crowed. “Because last—but certainly not least—I’d like to introduce all of you to the newest board member here at the John Denton Foundation. He also happens to be one of the biggest movie stars in the world, and if he ever came into Lady Rooster’s coop, it ain’t eggs she’d be laying. Please give a barely legal welcome to … Samuel Deckman!”

  Samuel Deckman made his way across the stage, all of us contestants piling into the wings to get a peek of the gorgeous superstar in person. Photos and movie clips didn’t lie: Samuel Deckman was indeed the poster boy of handsome. He was taller than he looked on screen, with extremely broad shoulders, a perfect head of black hair, and the kind of clothes that would look expensive even next to someone with hundred-dollar bills taped all over him.

  The audience oohed and ahhed as he walked across the stage, waving, blushing, and grinning at the affection. He took his seat next to Nathan Leary, who did a funny bit that got progressively longer and more elaborate as the audience laughed. By the end of the bit, Nathan Leary had managed to slide himself onto the floor and “pass out.” Samuel Deckman got a big kick out of the whole thing; Lady Rooster, on the other hand, was far from enjoying the competition for laughs.

  “If you want to get him to polish your Tony, do it on your own time,” she interrupted. ”It’s time now to call ten of our contestants to the stage. Egg roll, please!”

  The atmosphere backstage changed in an instant, as Lady Rooster began calling names to the stage. It was unclear whether these were the contestants going home or the ones staying, and Lady Rooster was loving every second of our fear.

  “Sandra Buttock. Mimi Pick Me. Annie Body. Texas Alexus. Katy Hairy.”

  With each name, the corresponding trembling drag teen joined the line across the stage until Lady Rooster reached the tenth name, Dorothy Kale. The remaining ten of us backstage paced back and forth, waiting to find out if it was us or them going home.

  Finally, Lady Rooster spoke. “As you all know, we must cut ten contestants at this point. So will these remain? Or will these, sadly, have to go home? This is one of the toughest parts of the night. Before we go further, I want to say again that all twenty of these drag teens are stars. So let’s give them another round of applause.”

  After all the applause died down, Lady Rooster spoke slowly.

  “This group of ten, I’m sorry to say, is going home.”

  Various aws and boos came from all over the room as each of the ten contestants’ hopes were dashed. I could feel for them, but I was also incredibly relieved. The rest of us retreated to breathe and to change into our next outfits. We were all very quiet as we reentered our dressing room, a rarity for this group. It was as if we’d all just survived a plane crash and were processing it, slowly but surely.

  I was still late in the lineup, so I had some time before my talent portion. I changed into my outfit, a very flashy Western-style shirt that absolutely screamed Tina Travis, and not just because it belonged to her. I wore one of her big chunky belts at the waist across a short sequined skirt underneath, with the most dazzling high-heeled cowboy—or cowgirl—boots ever created. Dazzling might seem like a bit much when describing boots, but they were bright blue leather with orange stitching and what appeared to be diamonds on the toes. (With anyone else I’d have guessed them to be rhinestones, but with Tina there was no way to be sure.) They were way too small for me, and for a brief period in the process of squeezing my fat feet into them, I thought they might never come off again without calling in the Jaws of Life.

  I made my first attempt at walking in them as I took a test stroll around the dressing room; each step felt like someone was squeezing my feet and breaking them with their bare hands.

  “Ouch. Crap. Jesus. Ouch,” I was muttering to myself as I wandered around in circles, almost bumping into Milton as he walked in after finishing his talent, which was juggling three lit torches. “Whoops. Sorry. How’d it go?!” I looked over and saw that Milton was holding his wig, which was smoldering with smoke and ash. “I’m going to guess not well?”

  He tossed the ruined wig in the sink and turned on the faucet.

  “Eh. Whatever. It’s my own fault. Why didn’t I think about hair spray being so flammable?”

  This was a good question, but I didn’t think he needed me to reiterate it, so I refrained.

  “Well, did they at least like it?”

  “Oh yeah!” He brightened up. “Nathan Leary said it was the most flamingly perfect thing he’d encountered since the premiere of Mamma Mia! I need to go dig out my hat to wear for the rest of the pageant. Good luck, honey!”

  From onstage, I could hear the tail end of Roxanne Roll’s performance, which meant I was three performances away. Roxanne was playing what she called a song but what really sounded like a fatal car accident on an electric guitar. I hadn’t spoken to her much throughout the pageant—but besides the DEATH TO POP tattoo on her right forearm, she’d seemed perfectly nice.

  I hobbled into the alley to do a vocal warm-up, each step cutting off my circulation even more. The alley was quiet, except for the sounds of New York City traffic going by. I looked around to make sure no one was listening and then let out an enormous belt. My “Ahhhhhh” echoed off the fire escapes and Dumpsters.

  I did another long, loud scale, rubbing my jaw to loosen it like singers do when they want people to notice that they are singers. Then I started to run through the song.

  “I was never the type of girl, the type who knew what she wanted / I was never the type of girl, the type who didn’t listen when she was taunted / I always felt alone, and—”

  “SHUT UP! I’m trying to sleep!” a voice rang out from a window overlooking the alley. I stopped abruptly. And before I could shout back that I was sorry, another voice screamed from behind me, “No, YOU shut up! He’s rehearsing!”

  It was Tina, jogging down the alley toward me, zigzagging in her high heels on the uneven bricks.

  “I thought you were watching the show?” I said.

  “I am, silly. And you’re doing great. But I was sitting there watching that one fella whose wig caught on fire and thought about how I’d kill you if that happened to the one you’re wearing. Then I realized I forgot the most important part of your ensemble!”

  She plopped a sequined cowgirl hat on top of my head.

  “Now you look perfect.”

  I thanked her and hobbled back inside as she ran back down the alley, whooping the whole way.

  I took my place in the wings as Pip finished up his talent. He did an interpretive dance to “Colors of the Wind” in a purple unitard that he claimed was a commentary o
n global warming and “The Middle East.” The audience gave him a friendly round of applause but I could tell it had gone a bit over their heads. The judges tried to give him their best and shortest criticisms.

  “Innovative!” said Quentin Brock.

  “Beautiful,” said Samuel Deckman.

  “Funny, I don’t remember taking LSD,” Nathan Leary deadpanned.

  As Pip passed by me on his way off the stage, he squeezed my hand. “You’re going to be wonderful, dude.”

  I smiled at him as I heard my name being said and the crowd beginning to applaud.

  “All the way from Clearwater, Florida—where the hell is that?” Lady Rooster announced. “JT!”

  The interlude of “People Care” began as I nervously walked out onto the stage, slowly—and not for dramatic effect, but because that was just as fast as I could move in the too-small boots. I got to the microphone, to my fate, to another potential humiliation. I looked down at Linda Lambert at the piano, and she winked at me as she began to play the verse and I began to sing.

  I was never the type of girl,

  the type who knew what she wanted.

  I was never the type of girl,

  the type who didn’t listen when she was taunted.

  I always felt alone, and that was just all right with me,

  until one day, I looked around

  and realized how lovely life could be …

  The lights were still so bright it was hard to see, but I made a point to actually look around, and really take in my surroundings for the first time all night. What I was doing was extremely cool, and I was extremely lucky to be JT Barnett in that moment.

  Tried before and I failed.

  Thought I knew, but that boat sailed.

  Tried to find the real me

  and I just couldn’t see.

  Now every day is a blessing,

  every day a new try,

  a chance to find yourself,

  find the reason why.

  On the key change, I noticed the other contestants in the wings watching. It almost threw me off, but I stopped those tired old fears and used them, made them my fuel. I yanked the microphone out of the stand and walked down to the lip of the stage, like I’d seen famous singers do on TV.

  I saw Heather and Seth seated in the middle of the theater. Heather waved at me, like a mom watching her kid in a dance recital. Seth beamed. It was clear that in his eyes, I really was shining. I almost started to laugh. As I walked across the front of the stage, I felt like more of a diva than I’d ever felt before. I was so in it that my feet weren’t even hurting. Or maybe they had just completely lost all feeling—either way, I felt great!

  People care about me,

  which I sometimes forget.

  People care about me,

  and that’s as lucky as you get.

  Everybody!

  Suddenly, everyone was singing along, even people who didn’t know the words. It was amazing, everyone was focused on me, and not a single one of them was doing it to make me feel bad about myself. By the final chorus, the room was vibrating with the sound of everyone’s booming voices. I even spotted Lady Rooster mouthing along in the wings.

  People care about me,

  which I sometimes forget.

  People care about me,

  and that’s as lucky as you get!

  At the end, they leapt to their feet—like actually, they really did.

  They leapt to their freaking feet.

  It felt utterly spectacular.

  ONCE I GOT OFFSTAGE, EVERYONE was coming up to me and telling me congratulations. I was attempting to take it all in, but my mind wasn’t entirely clear just yet. I still had to do the speech I hadn’t written.

  I was soon busily changing into my next and final gown. I couldn’t believe just how fashion-forward Tina’s outdated wardrobe was coming across, the final gown being at least thirty years old. It had a really high collar, it was sleeveless (something I was NOT thrilled with), and it had this Southwestern-looking pattern, like a Navajo print, the kind of pattern you’d see on a throw pillow from Anthropologie. It was definitely the tightest of all three things I’d put on, and I thanked God I hadn’t tried to sing in it.

  “Could somebody help zip me?” I called out to the room. Red looked up from his mirror, where he was reapplying some eye makeup.

  “Over here, JT!” he called.

  I turned my back to Red and winced at a glimpse of my back fat pouring out. Red grabbed hold of the zipper.

  “Try not to breathe!”

  I took a final gasp and held my breath as he yanked once, then again, then again, then again.

  “Is it stuck?”

  “Um … you could say that.”

  I looked back in the mirror. It was stuck all right, but it wasn’t the zipper’s fault. It was the fault of all those Wendy’s fries. Or fries from McDonald’s. Or Arby’s. Or, if there was no other option, Burger King.

  “Crap. It’s not going to work, is it?”

  Red got an idea. “Hold on. I’m wearing something really loose for my speech. Unzip me.”

  I obliged, albeit very confusedly, as Red stepped out of his gown. He was wrapped in something that looked like an enormous and highly uncomfortable Ace bandage.

  “What the hell is that?”

  Red began shimmying the contraption over his head. “They’re Spanx. Duh.”

  “Oh,” I said, attempting to sound like I had any clue what he meant. He was in disbelief that I didn’t.

  “You don’t know what Spanx are? Come on. Everybody knows what Spanx are! Don’t you watch any daytime women’s talk shows?”

  I shook my head in understanding because I did. I’d just never seen the oft-discussed Spanx in person.

  “They’re the greatest invention ever made. Better than the lightbulb, better than the Internet, better than frozen yogurt. You slip this bad boy on and everything gets sucked up into one nice tight roll. Think of your body as a bunch of fatty beef and this as a sausage casing.”

  The image was less than appealing, but I took the Spanx anyway. Red helped me slide into it. Did you ever hear that story about the guy who passed out drunk in India and, while he was passed out, got swallowed by an enormous cobra? There was even a photo—it was all over Facebook and forever stopped me from going to India, and for a brief period, ever going on Facebook again. Anyway, that was what putting on these Spanx felt like.

  “Now let’s try the dress again.” Red helped me step into the dress and pull it back up around me. Then, as if I were a size zero in a size ten, the zipper went up without any struggle whatsoever.

  “Jesus Christ!” I shouted.

  “I know!”

  Red walked over to his rack of costumes, beaming with pride like a dad who’d just taught his son how to hit a baseball, and put on his gold blouse.

  “You ready for your speech?” he asked me.

  “We’ll see.” I spoke to him through the mirror as he finished changing. “I didn’t have time to write one, but I’m just trying to trust that I’ll get up there and know what to say. Speak from my heart and soul or whatever.”

  Red stepped beside me. We were both looking at each other in the mirror, each of us looking not just like drag teens but, honest to God, legit, glamorous drag queens.

  “Sounds good to me. After all, JT, isn’t your heart and soul the whole point?”

  Public speaking is basically the worst possible thing to put any human through unless they’re famous, in which case, people will listen to absolutely anything you say even if it makes literally no sense. This was evidenced by Samuel Beckman, who, while very, very handsome, was quickly proving himself not to be the sharpest tool in the shed. He’d asked one performer, after they finished lip-synching to Cher’s “Believe,” who had originated the song. He was met with a cacophony of boos and actual hisses.

  The judges had been all around really kind throughout the evening, aside from a few snide jokes from Nathan Leary, but even then it w
as clear it was in good fun. Lady Rooster and Nathan Leary had officially had enough of each other, both exhausted from competing for the attention of the audience.

  For this final part of the evening, they had chosen a new order. At the moment, Roxanne Roll was finishing up her speech, which basically consisted of her screaming “rock ’n’ roll!” at the audience a lot, and bragging about how she wasn’t part of the “gay system,” whatever that was.

  I’d gotten to hear a few snippets throughout the speeches. Milton had given a long speech about hoping to follow in RuPaul’s footsteps as a fashion icon, and had even added a joke about how proud he was to be a flamer. Pip had spoken briefly, and poetically, about how drag is like being a flower.

  Tash was waiting on the other side of the stage, ready to go on, as Roxanne Roll finished. The audience clapped politely, and I could see more than a few of them actually scratch their heads.

  “Wow! Well, that was something, huh?” Lady Rooster joked as she came back to the stage. “I can’t say that I mind she’s not a part of my gay system. Up next, we’ve got somebody I’ve seen on the drag scene since she was a tiny little drag preteen—hey, that rhymed! I should be writing the Broadway musicals! Right, Linda?” Linda, still seated at the piano, smiled politely, obviously as exhausted by Lady Rooster as the rest of us were. “Anyway, please make some room for our next little bitch, Natasha!”