He laughs, holding up a hand. “Touché. The preparations must have been hell on both of you.”
“Pretty sure I did all the hard work,” I grumble.
“I’m just saying because King took a vacation to Atlantic City,” he says, trying to appease me.
“What? He didn’t say anything to me about leaving town.”
Jack’s brows go up. “Yeah, he went with Ace to some tournament… Why would he tell you?”
I have to think on my feet before I shove a foot in my mouth.
“It might only be temporary, but I am his manager. Shouldn’t I know if he’s going to be flying across the country? You’d think I’d know his general whereabouts, at least.”
Jack seems unperturbed. “If you’re worried about him being back in time for his next show, I wouldn’t. He visits his grandma every week if he can, so he’ll be back.”
“Yeah, but—” I stop myself. If I tell Jack that King already visited his grandma this week, that’s going to raise a lot of questions. Questions I’m not ready to answer.
“It doesn’t matter.” I sigh. “This is why I deserve a raise for wrangling rock stars.”
Jack grins. “We can discuss it at your performance review.”
I manage to divert the conversation away from King after that, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped thinking about him.
Is his vacation to Atlantic City why he hasn’t talked to me? Maybe he’s worried about Ace finding out.
Or maybe he doesn’t care anymore, says a mean voice in my head.
I don’t want to listen to that one, but it’s always the loudest.
Why else would he even be in New Jersey if it wasn’t because of what happened between us the last time we saw each other? He didn’t mention anything about a trip before.
Ellie’s tipsy by dessert, laughing a little too loud, but Jack doesn’t care. He’s so in love with her that it hurts to watch.
“Really glad to have you back,” Jack says, hugging me before we go our separate ways. “But you’re allowed to take more days off,” he adds.
“Especially for dates,” Ellie teases, hanging onto him.
“Yes,” Jack agrees with a chuckle. “How are things going in that department?” he asks, still hopeful. Bless him.
“I don’t think they are anymore,” I admit, making them both frown.
“Boo,” Ellie says, pouting.
Jack’s clearly disappointed too. “That’s too bad,” he says, holding Ellie a little tighter. “You seemed to be really happy for a change.”
For a change?
I don’t even know what to say to that. Do I really seem that miserable? People keep trying to convince me to have fun and live a little. Do they assume I’m living the life of a nun?
Before King came along, that wasn’t too far from the truth. Now, who knows how long it’ll be before there’s another man who can deal with my intensity and work schedule.
“Yeah… Well… You know me,” I mutter, shrugging. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean, but Jack nods sagely.
“I do. That’s why I worry,” he teases.
“I’ll be all right,” I assure him. “I know how to land on my feet. Can’t keep me down for long.”
He nods again, but he still doesn’t look convinced. It’s going to have to be good enough for now because I’ve spent all the energy I can spare on this.
“Thanks for dinner,” I add, hugging him one more time. “You two have a good night.”
“You too,” Ellie calls, exchanging a pitying look with my brother.
Great. Now they feel sorry for me.
Why did I ever let King talk me into this?
Because I wanted it as much as he did.
I still do.
When I leave Panaca, I finally let myself check my phone.
Nothing from King. Of course. There are a couple of messages from Graham, telling me about a show he’s doing tonight, trying to get me out of the house as usual.
I’m not sure if I’m ready to stop feeling sorry for myself yet. Going out and trying to have fun sounds like too much effort.
Instead, I head home, make myself a drink, and surf through YouTube videos, looking for something to take my mind off of things.
Somehow, I wind up watching one of King’s music videos, then another. It’s weird, but he doesn’t look like the King I know up there on the TV. He looks like the famous rock star, but there’s an unreal quality about him, something that feels manufactured, when the King I know is so sincere and genuine.
These videos are probably done in dozens of takes, edited all to hell. A live recording would probably do him more justice.
Why am I torturing myself like this? Do I really just want to see him that badly that I’m willing to resort to watching videos of him online?
Apparently.
I find a concert video of Live Wave and curl my feet up under me as I hit play, a lump already in my throat as the shaky camera zooms in on him.
His charisma shines through better in the concert recording, but it’s still a pale representation of seeing him in person. In the video, he’s clearly having a good time, working the crowd, making eyes at a girl in the front row who keeps screaming I love you!
He smiles at her, sings directly to her, and I can tell by the way they’re looking at each other that he fucked her after the show.
He probably fucks a girl from the front row after every show. He’s probably fucking his way through half of New Jersey while I’m watching this. That’s just how guys like him are. A different woman every night kind of comes with the territory of being a world-famous musician. He’s a player, a complete man-whore, and not at all the kind of guy I should be getting jealous and heartsick over.
But I was stupid enough to catch feelings. I was stupid enough to let him in, even though I knew I shouldn’t.
I pick up my phone with King singing in the background. Graham’s text is still on top, and instead of scrolling down to all the unanswered texts I’ve sent to King, I open up the link Graham sent me.
Maybe I should get out and try to pretend human. I have to move on at some point, right?
I can’t let King be another Alejandro. I won’t.
Am I too late? I text Graham.
Graham: No! I don’t go on until 1:30. Are you coming?!?!
Graham: Okay. Told Petty to hold a seat for you.
I guess it’s no longer a question of if I’m going. He’ll never let me live it down if I skip it now.
“This is good for you, Piper,” I say out loud, forcing myself to stand, turn off King’s videos, and go to the bedroom.
I can’t show up to a drag show in anything less than my absolute best. Those ladies won’t hesitate to read me.
“Go out, have fun, and forget King,” I tell myself. I repeat the mantra over and over again while I dig through every single thing in my closet. I finally land on a sexy little black Christian Siriano that fits me like a second skin. The dress retails for more than three grand and always makes me feel invincible.
I put big waves in my hair, make my eyes extra smoky, and pick out a wine-colored lipstick that plays well with my skin tone.
Graham will never suspect anything’s off. I don’t look like a girl who’s been wallowing over heartache for the better part of a week.
I look good.
Too bad King isn’t here to see it.
“Bad Piper,” I scold myself. It feels good to get all dolled up for my sake. No one else’s. I already feel more myself after putting on my armor.
The bouncer at Wurstfabrik spends too long looking at my ID. He clocks my Dolce heels, and I’m starting to lose my patience.
“I’m a friend of Gra—Anita’s. She said Petty is saving me a seat?” I offer. He doesn’t look impressed or anything, but he gives my ID back and waves me in.
I was worried about finding the right person and the right seat, but the club is packed, and there’s a tiny table near the stage with a conspicuou
sly empty chair. There’s a large drag queen on the other side of it, her hair a huge 50s bouffant, overdrawn pink lips, and an apron over her sweet housewife ensemble.
“Petty?” I ask over the noise of the crowd. There’s still twenty minutes until Graham goes on, and it seems there’s a break for music and dancing.
“Petty Crocker, that’s me! You must be Piper,” she says, standing up to air kiss both cheeks.
“Thanks for saving me a seat. I had no idea it would be so busy.”
Petty smiles. “We have a great community,” she says. “And there’s a killer line-up tonight. I’m not just saying that because all my drag babies are in one place.”
My eyes widen, jaw dropping.
“Oh. Oh shit, I can’t believe I didn’t realize you’re Graham’s drag mom. He talks about you all the time, but usually he uses your other name.”
“My boy name, honey. You can say it. You’re not outing me. Everyone knows I have a twig and berries, not a peach,” she says with a wink.
I laugh it off, but I’m definitely out of my depth here. I’ve gone to a couple of Graham’s shows in the past, but it’s been a long time, and I’ve never really spent time with any other queens.
“So who broke your heart?” Petty asks.
I’m so shocked by the question that I’m not sure I heard her right. “What?”
She rolls her eyes, giving me a scalding side-eye.
“Baby, you come to a drag show in a black dress—it’s a very nice black dress, don’t get me wrong, but this is the time to bust out the neon and the sequins, neon sequins, even. And you don’t normally come to these shows, so you’re stepping out of your comfort zone because something’s made it not-so-comfortable anymore. I’m guessing a man—it’s always a man. So tell Mama Crocker what happened. Who is he?”
I’m stunned speechless, trying to catch up. I glance up, then back, just making sure I don’t have some dark cloud hanging over me. Everyone seems to know I’m miserable, no matter how hard I try to cover it up.
Maybe I should stop trying to cover it up. Keeping this secret is eating away at me. Not having anyone to talk to about it is even worse.
I sigh. What the hell? Petty doesn’t know anything about me or King, so she could never put the pieces together if I don’t get too specific.
“Someone I never should’ve gotten involved with,” I say.
She has the same glint in her eyes that Graham gets when he smells gossip. She gestures at the bar, then holds up two fingers, ordering a drink for me too.
“He’s kind of off-limits, and we both got into this knowing it could never go anywhere, but then things changed—”
“You fell for him?”
“No. Well… Yes, but I didn’t realize that I guess. He was the one who wanted to get more serious. But we can’t do that, and he knows it—”
“He’s married,” she says with an understanding nod.
“What? No—”
“You are?” she asks, shocked.
“No. No one’s married.”
Now she’s impatient. “What’s the problem then?”
“I rejected him before I realized how I felt.”
“Oooh,” she says, still nodding. Our drinks have arrived, and she’s back to being intrigued.
“And now I think it’s too late. He’s been ignoring me all week… It’s probably for the best, though, right? If we can’t be together, we should just nip this in the bud before he falls any harder.” And before I’m too hopelessly attached to him.
“Is that really what you want to do?” she asks, skeptical.
“It’s what I have to do. If it got out that we’re together…”
“What?” she prompts. “What’s the worst that will happen? Is it worse than this feeling? Because it seems to me like you’re already putting yourself through hell.”
Shit. Is she right?
This isn’t just about me and King fooling around behind Jack’s back. This is about the possibility of me and King being together. In love?
Would Jack be so against it then?
Would we care if he is? If we have each other?
Maybe that’s enough.
I down my cocktail in one long gulp. I don’t know the answers, but I know I don’t want to think about it anymore.
Lucky for me, the emcee comes on stage, talking into a mic that’s not turned on.
“Can you hear me now? Okay, good. Shut up, bitches! Like the 1993 animated classic starring John Goodman: We’re back! Our next performer has been around the block a few times, and she still can’t find anyone to give her a pity-lay. Give it up for Anita Shagg!”
The name takes me a second, but then I start laughing with the rest of the crowd, cheering on my friend.
All traces of Graham are gone. I would never in a million years guess that Anita Shagg is someone I know, let alone someone I’ve told things I’d never tell anyone else.
The first bars of Single Ladies has the whole club erupting again, and then Anita rips off her dress to reveal an impressively fitted body suit. There are catcalls, whistles, and dollar bills all over the place. Anita doesn’t even break time as she dances her way around the room, working the crowd, drinking their shots and stuffing their money into all kinds of unmentionable places.
Graham was born for this kind of performing. I’ve never seen him come alive and be so animated—and that’s saying something. And the make-up is perfect—just the right balance of outrageous and gorgeous.
Even I pull out a few bills and stuff them down Anita’s cleavage.
For a few minutes, I’m back to my old self, living in the moment, enjoying myself, and not thinking about King or all the bullshit between us.
For a few minutes, it’s bliss. Glitter-covered, foam-padded bliss.
“Do you want to come backstage?” Petty asks, standing from the table. In five-inch heels, she’s easily six-and-a-half feet, but somehow, she still manages to pull off the feminine daintiness her persona embodies.
“Definitely,” I say, jumping up to follow her. I’ve been backstage for a lot of different shows, but never a drag show. I’m dying to see the magic coming together—or more like coming undone, considering the hour.
I spot Anita’s bright copper hair from across the room, and I rush right over, nearly colliding with a half-naked queen in a wig cap.
“Shit, I’m sorry. Sorry!” I wave, still hurrying over to Graham. “Oh my gosh! You were amazing.”
Anita raises her already-high eyebrows even higher, glancing sideways at Petty. “How many twisters did you give her?”
“Is that any way to talk to your mother?” Petty counters.
“I’m not drunk,” I protest. “Not super drunk,” I amend with a little wobble. I’m pretty sure I only had two of those drinks. I have been awake for almost a full day, though, so that could be contributing.
“We should get pancakes,” Anita/Graham says, still in a full face and wig, but street clothes.
“We should?” I ask. “Is it breakfast time?” That doesn’t seem right.
“It’s drunk o’clock. Let’s get a cab and go.” It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten drunk with Graham, and I’ve never done it with Graham in drag. I feel like I should. I think that’s a good thing for me right now.
I might’ve had three of those twisters?
“Yes, okay. Let’s do it,” I say, draping my arm over Anita’s shoulders.
“You kids have fun,” Petty says, shaking her head. “Mama’s going to stay and watch her other babies.”
“Goodnight,” I say, stopping to hug her. I think I hug her too long, but I don’t want to let go.
She pats me on the back. She seems to know I need this hug. “Stop fighting it,” she says, kissing my forehead. “Remember to use a safe word!” she tosses over her shoulder as she passes through the curtain.
“So?” Graham asks, practically dancing on the way out the back door of the club.
“So what? Why are you in such a goo
d mood?”
“Girl, do you know how much money I just made? Pancakes are on me, is how much.”
“Damn. Point taken.”
“So, what did Petty say to you?”
“About what?” There’s no way she knows. There was no time for them to talk alone.
“About … anything. Life. You. The future? She’s psychic. You know, we all read people, but she really reads people.”
I roll my eyes. “You know I don’t believe in that nonsense.”
“But she said something, didn’t she? She always does.”
I’ve already told one person about my dilemma, and it did feel good to get it off my chest… But I don’t trust Graham; he’ll be able to put two and two together, and then I’ll have real trouble on my hands.
Then again, how angry can Jack be when it’s not happening anymore? Yes, I am wallowing a bit, but it’s nothing like how Alejandro destroyed me. This is manageable. This isn’t life-ruining, so he can just stop the overprotective brother act, and—
“Don’t tell me you’re going to hold out on me again,” Graham whines as we climb into the cab.
I sigh, look him in his beautifully over-the-top eyes, and decide to let him in.
“We talked about boy troubles…”
Two hours later, Graham is filled in on everything, and I’m filled up with pancakes.
“Okay, but ignoring your texts for a few days doesn’t mean it’s over. Lots of guys play head games like that. They make you wait a week or two before responding, make it look like they have more important things going on.”
“Yeah, but he probably does,” I point out.
He rolls his eyes. “Not more important than you. Trust me.”
“I don’t know, after the way things went the last time we spoke…” I’m queasy just thinking about the hurt in King’s eyes, and that long, silent ride back to my place.
“Was it really that bad?”
I scoff, “Oh yeah. I have limited experience with serious relationships, but I’m pretty sure when someone says they’re falling for you, the ideal response is pretty much anything other than ‘get back up’.”
Graham winces, then starts laughing. “Yeah, honey, that’s going to be a tough one.”
I sigh. “Tell me about it.”
King (Vegas Kings Book 2) Page 10
