by Tanya Boteju
“Nima freaking-Kumara-Clark. Smarten the eff up.”
I marched outside with new determination, and while the others gathered around Boyd and his watery moonwalk, I beelined straight to the bar and ordered with as much gusto as possible a double shot of rum. Badass.
“We only have beer and cider,” the girl behind the bar said, her eyes full of amusement.
Sheepish, but only momentarily put off, I asked for a can of cider and drank it as fast as I could, watching the crowd. My nose tingled from the fizz and I burped about twelve times, but I managed. Then I ordered another and drank about half of it. I bought a beer for Winnow—’cause that’s what badasses do—before sauntering over to the crowd.
I could definitely “feel the fizz” of my ciders, which gave me the idiotic confidence to place the cold beer can against Winnow’s bare neck. Smooth like butter.
She squealed and whipped around. When she saw it was me, she looked surprised and exclaimed, “Quite the entrance!”
I held the beer out to her, proud of myself.
“What’s this?”
“I got you a beer,” I said, carefully articulating each word, which proved somewhat difficult.
“Why, thank you. How gallant. And I see you got yourself another drink too. I guess they don’t ID at this joint,” she said, laughing.
Ignoring the references to my age and my beverage count, I gestured to Boyd’s exquisite performance and asked, “What exactly is happening over there?”
“Yes, well. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but Boyd happens to be one of the foremost queens in this neck of the woods.”
“Like, drag queen?”
“Yeah—why do you think we have queen-ish paraphernalia all over the house?”
“Oh—I wasn’t sure—I thought maybe it was yours.”
“Because Boyd is so gigantic and manly, you mean?”
I bit my lip. This felt like a faux pas.
She laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s an honest mistake. Boyd is definitely not your typical drag queen, to be sure.”
Whew.
“Does Devi do drag too, then?”
“God no, she thinks drag is for peasants. Gay peasants. Her words, not mine.”
“Oh.” My buzz and accompanying nerve faltered. I felt like such a newbie to all of this.
Winnow put her arm around my shoulders and clinked my can of cider with her can of beer. “Thanks for the drink, lady.”
I half smiled at her, but my bravado deflated. I tipped the can to my lips and chugged the rest of my cider, hoping to replenish my liquid courage.
Winnow watched me. “Whoa, chica. Careful with that stuff. It can hit you sideways when you’re least expecting it.” She had her arm around my waist now, and the heat of her hand on my hip filled me with both craving and terror.
My mouth responded to these feelings with, “I’m going to get another. Hey, Devi, you need a drink?” She was in front of us and I tapped her on the shoulder.
She turned toward me. “Hell yes, girl!” Then she looked at Winnow and raised her eyebrows.
Another look. They thought I couldn’t handle myself? Whatever. You guys share your little glances. I can handle myself. Watch me.
Boyd’s dance extravaganza came to an end, and the crowd dispersed to their individual pool parties. I practically jogged to the bar to get there ahead of everyone and ordered three beers and another cider. The bartender passed me the four icy cans, unopened. She’d already anticipated my predicament.
I had four cans and only two hands. I put two cans under my armpits, setting my jaw stiffly against their chill, and carried one in each hand.
Suddenly Winnow was in front of me. “Hey. Let me help you.” She took the beer out of my left armpit.
Ugh. “Sorry if your beer has my armpit on it,” I muttered.
Mother-effing marbles, Nima.
“Ha-ha . . . no worries. I love me some armpit beer. Of course, I still have the first beer that you bought me two minutes ago.” She held up said beer in her other hand.
Right. Damn.
“Boyd can drink it, though—he won’t complain,” she offered.
Her kindness made me feel even more infantile. Badasses don’t need anyone to make them feel better. Badasses don’t make dumb mistakes. Badasses can handle their own damn selves.
We walked back to a pool around the other side of the house. According to Winnow, this was the VIP pool, and we’d gained access because of Boyd’s magical dance routine.
The VIP pool turned out to be an actual hot tub, which I’d normally be super excited about. One problem: I didn’t have a bathing suit. I’d had no idea we’d be coming to a pool party, after all. But it didn’t seem to be an issue for Winnow. She stripped down to her aqua-blue panties and bra, causing a brief disruption to my already erratic heartbeat. Each curve, every visible inch of her skin drew my eyes in. The muscles in her thighs grew taut as she climbed into the tub. Before lowering herself into the water, she ran her thumbs along the waistband of her panties to adjust them, and my heart fluttered at the thought of touching her there too. I had to divert my attention to the others before my mind completely dissolved into mayhem.
Boyd was, of course, already in his underpants. Devi was in a sports bra and, from what I could tell through the swirling water, boxer shorts. I guess underwear was an acceptable substitute for bathing suits here.
I did a quick check-in with myself, which wasn’t easy after four drinks. Which underwear was I wearing? I must have thought of this before I left the house today. Sleeping over at Winnow’s equals decent underwear. Right? Right. I just had to trust that while I was sober, I chose the right undergarments. Here goes.
I handed Devi and Boyd their beers and placed my cider on the edge of the tub. Then I yanked off my shirt, revealing the one and only decent, non-sports bra I had: a black Calvin Klein.
Not terrible.
Then I pulled off my jeans to reveal: good old-fashioned Hanes Her Ways. Not exactly sexy, but not entirely embarrassing, either. I got into the hot tub as quickly as possible, which made for a less-than-graceful entrance. Losing my footing on the plastic seating, I fell sideways into Devi.
“Whoa, girl. We barely know each other!” she said, a glimmer in her eye. I couldn’t tell if it was a friendly glimmer or not.
“Sorry.” Snatching my cider off the tub edge, I slid away from her and took a few more swallows. I wasn’t sure whether I was drinking for courage or comfort now.
Winnow moved in closer to me. “Hey, sure you’re okay?”
I took another sip, looking as blasé as I could. “Yeah, totally—why?”
“I just want you to feel comfortable. Are you comfortable?”
Not. At. All.
“Yeah, for sure. I love this. You okay?” Smart, Nima. Turn it back on her.
“Yeah, I’m good. I’m a little thirsty, though. Do you want some water? I can get you some too.”
“No, I’m good with this.” I held up my cider like a pro. Steam from the bubbling water rose around me.
“Okay.” She got out of the tub in all her aqua glory and squeezed my shoulder.
Whatever. I’m just going to sit here and take in the scene, I thought, bobbing my head to the music.
“Hey, girl, what’s up with you?” Boyd was sitting directly across from me, his elbows propped up on the tub’s edge, each hand gripping a beer.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. All right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. What’s up with you?” I was getting sick of people asking me how I was.
“I’m good. Thanks again for the drinks.”
“No worries. That was some show.”
“Thanks. You know how it is.” He winked at me.
“Not really,” I said under my breath. Say something else, fool. “How long have you been draggin’ it up?” Draggin’ it up? Now words were just tumbling out of my face.
“Oh, I’ve been ‘draggin’ it up’ for about two years now.” H
e and Devi shared a laugh.
Yup, they think I’m ridiculous too. Trying to ignore the ever-creeping feeling of humiliation, I asked, “How did you get started?”
“Funny enough, I dated a girl whose brother did drag, and he got me into it. Rad, huh?”
Wait—Boyd dated girls? Drag queens can date girls?
Boyd continued, “What about you? Ever thought about getting onstage? Doing a little drag?”
“Me? No way!”
“Why not? You’re cute. You’d do well,” he said.
Cute as a baby pug. “Could you really see me doing drag?” I pictured myself in one of those plastic Groucho masks with the bushy eyebrows and mustache. The drag kings I’d seen were talented, smooth, sexy.
In other words, the opposite of me.
“I could picture it,” Devi interjected.
This time, I could tell the glimmer in her eye wasn’t a kind one.
“It’s obvious you’ve got a little butch in you just itching to let loose,” she continued. “I think you’re a perfect fit.”
Boyd nudged her and mouthed, “Stop.”
But she didn’t. “What? I’m not joking. You should try it sometime, Nima. I think you’d love it. You and Winnow could even do a number together. Maybe ‘Kiss’ by Prince? Or no—how about Usher—‘Can U Handle It?’ Or ‘I Want You to Want Me’?” She smiled over the rim of her beer can and took a sip, then leaned over to whisper something to Boyd, and he laughed.
My eyes instantly watered, so I looked away and gulped my cider. I felt like a twelve-year-old at a big kids’ party. I didn’t know what to make of all these whispers and glances, side remarks and laughter. What I did know was that everyone here could see what a fake I was.
Winnow appeared at my shoulder with a red plastic cup of water and set it on the ledge next to me. “I know you said you didn’t need any, but you can drink it later if you want to.” She climbed back into the tub with her own cup. Her geisha peered at me, daring me to look away, then sank into the foaming water.
I downed the rest of my cider. I wanted to go home. Climb into my warm pajamas. Sleep in my own bed. Call Charles. I didn’t fit here.
The cider didn’t fit either.
In the next moment, it erupted from my mouth in a peachy, frothy cascade. The hot tub’s churning water instantly carried the born-again liquor and all remnants of my beer-can chicken from dinner to every single inch of space around me and the others. Boyd, Devi, and Winnow moved so fast that they managed to make only momentary contact with the contaminants. Boyd somehow even managed to keep both his beers upright.
I, however, remained seated, embarrassed into immobility despite my utter revulsion at the bubbling mess around me. My brain conjured an image of a roast, stewing in its own juices. Here I was, again, barfing in front of a girl I liked.
“Nima, get out of there!” Winnow said, as she doused her torso with the water from her cup.
Everything around me seemed slow, blurry. . . . Boyd and Devi spraying themselves with the garden hose, their faces contorted in grossed-out laughter . . . a crowd of people wandering over to see what had happened . . . the two guys who ran the place turning off the jets and dipping a pool net in to catch as many chunks as possible . . . Winnow beckoning, from a safe distance, for me to get out.
The key clicked in the door. The night was a smudge of coal around me, and I had a hard time focusing. Devi and Boyd had escaped after the debacle, offering weak shoulder squeezes and sympathetic half smiles. Winnow had been left to contend with a drunk, pukey seventeen-year-old, and though she’d patiently helped me rinse off as I’d swayed dizzily against the prickling spray of the garden hose, her eyes never once met mine. Not that mine could focus on anything anyway. Our walk back to the house had been quiet, mostly, except for some mundane conversation I could barely remember.
Winnow got me to drink some water, even though my stomach felt like a giant knot, and we leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping in silence. My eyes sagged and time seemed to be hovering around us instead of moving forward.
Sorry I was such a freak tonight. The words tried to escape my mouth but sat heavy on my tongue instead.
It was like she heard them anyway, though, because she turned to me and said, “It’s okay if you’re a little . . . overwhelmed. It makes sense, I mean. We barely know each other, after all, and this must all seem pretty unfamiliar. Is it? Is that what’s been on your mind tonight?”
I couldn’t look at her, and my tongue felt like mud in my mouth. How to explain to her how terrifying this all was without seeming young, and ridiculous, and pathetic? To explain how much I wanted her to like me, despite my fear there wasn’t enough worth liking? Tears formed. Shit. Please don’t.
She put her water down and placed her hand against my chest. Tilting her head, she added, “Maybe this is all just too new.”
“Maybe too new” sounded like an ending of some sort, and a surge of emotion released right through my chest, like her hand was some sort of conductor. My entire body shook, my face crumpled. As the first tears left my eyes, Winnow tried to envelop me in her arms. Hating the thought of her having to absorb my slobbering, pitiful sobs, I pushed her hands away and turned toward the counter, managing to whimper, “Please just leave me alone. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Nima—”
“Please.”
After a few moments, Winnow placed her hand briefly on my arm and then slipped away to the washroom.
By the time I’d finally cried myself out, she’d made up the couch for me and, to my continued mortification, left a metal bowl on the floor. Then she gave me the same delicate squeeze and sympathetic look the others had given me before she left me to curl up on the couch, dizzy, exhausted, and alone.
When I woke up the next morning, a dull ache behind my eyes and a bitter, barfy feeling in my stomach, the first thing I did was peek over the edge of the couch to see whether the metal bowl Winnow had placed on the floor was empty. Thankfully, I could see my blurry reflection in the shiny bottom. The next thing I did was check my phone to see what time it was: 10:22. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept this late.
I slipped off the couch, still in my jeans and T-shirt from the night before, and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. Then I padded quietly down the hallway to the washroom to brush the sticky, foul taste out of my mouth and douse my face in cold water. I noticed Winnow’s bedroom door was open, but I couldn’t hear or see any sign of her.
Someone must have just showered, because the air in the washroom was steamy and hot and the cabinet mirror was partially fogged over. Through the fog, my puffy eyes gazed out at me. I splashed water over my face again and again, aggressively rubbing my fingers into my eyes and cheeks. If I could just refresh my face, maybe everything else would feel better too. I wiped my wet hands across my scalp to smooth back some of the escaping curls of my hair as well. I probably could have used a shower, but I didn’t want to have to ask for a towel. I was delaying seeing Winnow for as long as I could.
Feeling somewhat refreshed on the outside, but still horribly embarrassed everywhere else, I tiptoed back to the living room to put away my toiletries. The faint smell of toast permeated the air. I stripped the sheets off the couch and folded them neatly, hoping to leave the room as close to its original state as possible—the way it was before I got here and made a mess of everything.
As I replaced the pillows on the couch, I decided to leave right away. Winnow would probably prefer that anyway, and I couldn’t imagine passing another minute with her and the others after the act I’d put on last night. Peach cider wasn’t the boost I’d been looking for. Unfortunately, my storehouse of strategies for convincing people I was worth their time was near empty.
Bag packed, I took a few deep breaths and looked around. Only then did I notice that the front door stood open a crack. Peeking through, I could see Winnow sitting in the gazebo, reading. Feet propped up on another chair, she had a mug in one hand, a book in
the other. I hated to disturb her, she looked so content, but I figured I needed to rip this Band-Aid off at some point.
As I approached the gazebo, she turned her head and smiled at me. A pity smile. She lifted her feet off the chair and shifted toward me. “Morning.” I couldn’t read her tone. Maybe because it was so neutral. Not particularly a good thing.
Pausing just outside the entrance to the gazebo, I dropped my bag down on the lawn, then shoved my hands into my pockets. “Hey.”
“How ya feeling?”
“Like an ass.”
“Hey, it happens to the best of us.”
Bullshit. I looked down at my bag. “You’ve thrown up in a hot tub too, have you?” I said, like a sullen child.
“Well, not quite, but I’ve certainly had a few really good barfing sessions.”
I hated this conversation. “I’m not feeling great. I think I’m just going to catch the next bus back home.”
“Are you sure?”
No protests or pleas to stay, I noticed. “Yeah. But thanks for letting me stay and stuff. I’m really sorry about last night, Winnow.” I couldn’t look at her. My puffy eyes stung.
“Don’t worry about it, Nima. But I get it if you want to head home. Do you want some breakfast or something first? Coffee?”
The thought of consuming anything right now sent my stomach reeling. “No, thanks. I think I’m just going to head out.”
“Well, let me give you a ride to the bus stop at least. I can borrow Devi’s car. She won’t mind.”
“No, really, it’s okay. I can just call a cab.” I went to pull out my cell phone.
“Nima, that’s ridiculous. I’m going to grab the keys right now. Put your phone away.”
After a mostly silent and thankfully short car ride, Winnow pulled up in front of the bus stop. She put the car in park but didn’t turn off the engine. I couldn’t blame her for wanting a short goodbye. She did undo her seat belt, though, and to the irritating beeping sound a car makes when someone’s seat belt is unfastened, she leaned over to give me a hug. The moment her body touched mine, my chest tightened and my eyes grew moist. Before I got any messier, I cleared my throat, thanked her, and pulled out of her arms. As I opened the car door and got out, I said thanks one more time and “See ya.”
