by Tanya Boteju
“Tip number two: use the stage. Don’t just stand there like dead drag-king weight. Three: point, fist-pump, snap, gyrate—anything to jazz up the crowd. And four: any form of naughtiness is always welcome.” Eyebrow bob.
Naughty Nima? What a laugh.
After this sage advice, my drink tasted decidedly less sweet, but thank God it still added to my buzz.
Now here I was, listening to Luce’s muffled voice through the wall as she chatted up the crowd, waiting to make my “drag debut.” The other two performers and I had drawn straws and I would perform second, after the girl dressed in the tuxedo shirt. I don’t think I’d ever been so nervous in my life, except for maybe the moments before I’d tried to tell Ginny how I felt about her.
No. That was pee-your-pants kind of nervous. This—this was shit-your-pants kind of nervous.
I took a colossal breath and went out to the bar to watch the performances. Tuxedo King and Platform Shoe Queen (all of us had been too nervous to introduce ourselves) were already out there, huddled by the three steps leading up to the stage. Tuxedo King’s hair stood coiffed high above her forehead, and she kept patting the sides with her palms. Platform Shoes fanned herself with extra-long press-on nails. At least they both looked as nervous as I felt.
Luce appeared born for the stage—she already had the audience laughing and cheering after cracking several jokes about the “baby royals” they were about to see.
Finally she introduced Tuxedo King as “Elvis’s favorite cousin, Pelvis,” which got another laugh from the crowd.
Pelvis did what I can only call an utterly nerdy, adorable version of “Runaway Baby” by Bruno Mars, complete with air guitar, for the entire two minutes she was up there.
I was minutely relieved to find the audience generous with their applause, hoots, and whistles. But my stomach had taken up residence in my throat, and it was a good thing I didn’t have to actually sing.
Tuxedo King (I just couldn’t embrace “Pelvis”) ran off the stage looking much more elated than she had going onto it. Her smile was enormous. I hoped I looked like that in two minutes.
Luce introduced me as “Bruce Springsteen’s lesser known but equally talented sidekick, ‘Brute Steenspring,’ ” and flashed me another wide grin as she bounced down the stage steps and gave me a nudge.
I ascended the stairs and shuffled to center stage. I was already sweating, but the strength of the stage lights flushed me with a surge of heat. The song struck out in its perky, eighties synthesizer and defiant drums. My body, neither perky nor defiant, remained listlessly stuck in some never-ending upbeat. Standing higher than before, I had a spectacular view of the whole bar. I could see just how many people were out there, waiting for me to do something.
Frozen in place, but face and neck on fire, I completely missed the first few lines of the song. I looked over at the monitor at the right side of the stage, just to get my bearings, and feebly began mouthing the next lines.
“Man I’m just tired and bored with myself
Hey there baby, I could use just a little help.”
That little help came in the sudden mental image of the Boss’s tight-jeaned thighs and rolled-up shirtsleeves, pumping along to the song in front of his adoring fans. I finally remembered that I had a body and started to bounce my knees and snap the fingers on my right hand, just like Bruce.
Maybe not quite like Bruce. But this was better than nothing, right? Okay, Nima, now do something else. I couldn’t play air guitar because Tuxedo King had just done that, so I just kept snapping and bouncing, and moving my mouth around. I don’t think I was even bouncing to the beat. I tried to look out at the crowd and make eye contact, like Luce said to, but when I did and saw all those faces, I actually almost shat my pants and had to look back at the screen. In place of meaningful eye contact, I threw in a few vigorous eyebrow thrusts as I read the lyrics, which, I’m sure, looked super cool.
Maybe it was in my head, but the crowd didn’t seem to be hooting and hollering as much as they had for Tuxedo King. You’re boring them, Nima. Stop. Boring. Everyone. My breathing quickened. My face felt shiny and wet with sweat, and even with the words right in front of me, my lips couldn’t seem to form around them. I looked to the left, where Luce was standing, and she made shooing motions with her hands, encouraging me to move.
I could feel my eyes begin to water and became furious with myself for choking under pressure. This crowd wanted something—someone—naughty and fun and exhilarating. So, in what I can only call a massively desperate attempt to incorporate crowd-pleasing “naughtiness” into my act, I willed my feet into staggering over to Luce and yanked her onto the stage. Pulling her close, I opened my eyes in a question. She responded with that eyebrow thing, and taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and laid a no-holds-barred, lip-smacking kiss on her. If I couldn’t sing, I might as well put these lips to some other use. Thankfully, she grabbed me around the waist and responded enthusiastically.
The crowd loved it. As the music died down just before the synthesizer interlude and our mouths drew apart, all I could hear were whoops and whistles.
Luce grabbed my hand and indicated that I should bow along with her, so I did, and then she pulled me past her body and smacked me on the butt as I walked offstage.
Tuxedo King high-fived me as I skipped down the stairs, and a couple of men close by gave me the thumbs-up sign. I turned to look at the crowd and some of them were still watching me and smiling broadly—ignoring Luce, who was introducing Platform Shoes as “Lady Blah Blah.” My stomach tumbled around in excitement and I felt the urge to run through the crowd, hugging everyone, allowing their admiration to wash over me. I wanted to bob my eyebrows up and down at every girl in the place, to rush right up to people and start serenading them with every eighties song I’d ever known. I wanted to—
Shrivel up and disappear.
At the far end of the stage from me, dressed in a gorgeous three-piece suit and elegant bow tie, was Winnow. Her hair was swept back into a tight, high ponytail, and from where I was standing, I could see hints of a trim mustache and delicate sideburns. My excitement burst into flames and reduced my heart to ashes.
Unlike the others, she wasn’t smiling. Instead she kind of bunched up one side of her mouth and gave me a curt wave.
My own smile faded as my brain connected what I’d just done onstage to what she must have thought when she saw it. I raised my hand to at least indicate I’d seen her, but I didn’t really know what else to do. Her eyes left mine to watch Lady Blah Blah perform, but my eyes remained fastened to Winnow. In fact, if Luce hadn’t bounded over to me and lifted me off the ground in a giant bear hug, I probably would have stood there, staring, all night.
“You nailed it with that kiss, girl!” she yelled over the music once she’d put me down. Then she leaned in and shout-whispered into my ear, “And don’t think that’s the last kiss of the night, either!”
But I barely registered her comment because I could see Winnow over Luce’s shoulder, looking at us. I wanted to somehow communicate to her that I wasn’t interested in Luce—that I still liked her. That I came here to find her. But I didn’t know how to do that from over here, with Luce’s hands on my hips and her lips in my ear.
After Lady Blah Blah’s performance, which hadn’t sunk in through my mortification, Luce hopped back onstage and asked the crowd to give the three amateurs another big round of applause.
“And to show our appreciation, the Lava Lounge would like to provide each of you with two drink tickets and one free drag lesson with the one and only Dee Dee La Bouche!”
Luce pulled three envelopes from her back pocket and signaled to the three of us to come onstage to get them. We did, and she gave us each high fives as she handed them to us. But when she handed me mine, a few people in the crowd started chanting, “Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!” and then more people joined in, and my face just about melted off my skull from embarrassment. Kissing Luce again wasn’t going to help the
Winnow situation, but what else could I do with everyone roaring for more? If I ran off, I’d just be dull Nima again—too scared to seize the moment. Luce was grinning and bouncing her eyebrows up and down at me.
Before I lost my nerve, I grabbed her and laid a big, fat kiss on her lips. The crowd erupted in cheers. I thought that would feel pretty good. But all I could think about was the one person who probably wasn’t cheering.
Luce led us offstage and someone else took over as emcee. “Thanks, all—you did great! You can leave anything you borrowed backstage. Enjoy those drinks and seriously, call Dee Dee. You’ll have a blast.” Tuxedo and Heels both said their thanks and wandered off, happily dazed. Luce turned to me and said, “All right, I gotta get ready for my own show. We go on in half an hour. But save me some more of those kisses, girly.” Wink.
I thought I’d had enough winks for the night. “Uh, well—” But before I could get any more words out, she’d disappeared into the crowd. I supposed the “professionals” had an actual dressing room somewhere.
After changing back into my own clothes and washing off the makeup as best I could, I tried to find Gordon. Even though I was dreading what he’d say, I figured I should at least see if he was all right.
I also may have been avoiding a certain someone else.
I couldn’t spot him anywhere in the bar, so I tried outside to see if he’d gone for a smoke and discovered him leaning against the wall next to the bouncer’s station. I got a stamp from the bouncer and leaned up against the wall too. “Hey,” I offered.
He exhaled a long plume of smoke. I noticed that he blew it away from me, which was an improvement, at least. “Hey,” he said, staring at a group of folks in various forms of dress and undress in the line. Then he surprised the hell out of me by adding, “You weren’t that good up there, but it was still pretty cool you did it.”
I lost my words for a second. He gave me a sideways glance, then asked, “How’d it feel?”
“Um . . . terrifying as hell, but . . . exhilarating.”
He nodded slowly. “Would you do it again?”
Would I? “Yeah . . . I think I would.”
He flicked the ash off his cigarette. “You should probably use those lessons first. And maybe keep your lezzie kisses to yourself.”
I looked at him. He smirked at me. That damn smirk. I kicked at his shoes. “Jackass.”
We both continued our half smiles, and for a moment, I forgot about the mess waiting for me inside.
While Gordon finished his cigarette, for lack of anything else to talk about I decided to fill him in on why I’d really wanted to come tonight, and about seeing Winnow, and about how I’d probably messed up everything by kissing Luce. Although he didn’t offer any helpful advice, and I didn’t really expect him to, he did seem to be listening, and he didn’t seem too pissed that I hadn’t told him about my ulterior motive.
The real show was about to begin when we went back inside, so we fought our way to a high-top table near the dance floor, about midway between the stage and the bar.
The show opened with a fanciful version of Britney Spears as a schoolgirl-turned-school-matron, then a Sonny and Cher number. I silently noted how the Britney Spears queen included a character shift of sorts, and how Sonny and Cher didn’t involve a lot of flash—they just sat on stools, lip-syncing into mics—but their lip-syncing was so tight and their facial expressions so in character that they still mesmerized the audience.
By the time Luce strode onto stage, as cocky as ever, I’d really started to enjoy myself, and the floppy feeling in my stomach was dissipating.
Luce had slicked her hair back and painted a bushy mustache across her upper lip. She wore a greaser outfit, and I noticed—admittedly with some childlike wonder—that from the crotch of her tight jeans, a massive bulge protruded. Like, a ridiculously massive bulge. And she definitely made the most of it throughout her act, pushing it out at the people in front of the stage, gyrating, grabbing it, etc. It was a lewd and crude performance, but somehow, she managed to keep it light and fun and not creepy at all—probably because she had an enormous, friendly grin on her face the entire time.
A few other acts stood out—a cheesy but super-fun group performance of “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction, a ridiculous Milli Vanilli number, and a Justin Timberlake bit that involved a lot of mingling with the audience. Audience participation definitely increased audience enjoyment, and I put that point in my back pocket as well.
After that, a performer crept on from one side of the stage to staticky electronic music. I realized as the person reached the center and faced out that it was Boyd! He looked androgynous—more androgynous than I thought possible from my limited experience of him. And he could move. Seeing Boyd’s enormous body shake out each magnificent motion with precision and seeming ease floored me. The dude was fierce.
I yanked at Gordon’s T-shirt sleeve and shouted to him, “I know that guy!” Then I added, “And just FYI, he likes girls too.”
Gordon rolled his eyes.
But it was the next and final number that really attracted my attention.
Winnow.
Her graceful form—I’d know it anywhere now—drifted onto the mostly darkened stage as if barely touching the ground. When she walked into the light, I could see that her suit jacket had coattails, like the ones on Josephine Baker in her bedroom. She began with her back to the audience in one focused beam of light that shone against the burnt-orange backdrop and then, as the music started, proceeded through a very meticulously lip-synced and beautifully choreographed version of “La Vie en Rose.” Lip-syncing in English seemed difficult enough, but lip-syncing in French must’ve been even more so. Winnow’s mouth seemed to form around each word with perfect mastery, however.
Gordon shouted down to me, “I don’t get it. Isn’t that a girl? How come she’s dressed like a guy and singing a chick song?”
I didn’t really have an answer for him. It wasn’t like I was an expert in drag, but I offered, “I dunno. I guess anything goes?”
He started chewing his bottom lip, and I could see by his rapt gaze that he was thinking hard about the implications of these flexible rules.
The crowd, especially a group of younger women up front, was equally rapt. Some hooting and whistling arose from here and there, but mostly people simply stood, spellbound. As Winnow floated around the stage, bowing to touch someone’s hand, or dropping to one knee to focus her attention on some individual, I couldn’t help but watch her extra closely, re-familiarizing myself with her features, her smooth movements, her sexy smile.
Crumble, crumble went my heart.
After Winnow brought her piece to a close, and the crowd basically lost their minds with exuberant approval, I swear I let out a breath I’d been holding since Winnow had walked onto the stage.
My eyes followed her as she disappeared through the crowd to wherever the performers dressed. I wanted so badly to pursue her and tell her—what? I wasn’t completely sure, but I guess I just hoped I’d know in the moment.
Gordon broke into my daze. “Is that the chick you like?”
“What? Oh . . . yeah.”
“Huh.” He stared at the empty stage for a moment. “She’s pretty hot, I guess.”
“Thanks for the approval.” Trying to get my mind off her, I asked, “What’d you think? Of the show?”
His hands dug deep into his pockets. He’d remained in his typical hunched position throughout the night so far. Now he shrugged and pulled his right hand out to scratch his chin. “Yeah, it was all right, I guess.” But from his fixed look and the way he continued to rub at his chin, I could tell he had more thoughts than he was sharing.
Twenty minutes later Luce sauntered over to us. She had removed her facial hair but still wore the greaser outfit and retained her slick hairdo. The androgynous look definitely suited her.
“Hey, you!” she said, throwing her arm around me. She nodded at Gordon, who nodded back, and to my surpris
e, volunteered a “Good show.”
I quickly piggybacked on his comment. “Yeah, great show. You were really funny.”
She said, “Thanks,” in between head nods to other admirers as they passed by and cast glowing looks at her. On the one hand, I found myself relishing the attention from this obviously very popular, attractive woman. It wasn’t like this was a run-of-the-mill occurrence for me. On the other hand, I was still yearning for Winnow.
I asked Luce, in as airy a voice as possible, “So, do you know Winnow?”
“Winnow? Yeah, totally. Do you?”
“Yeah, a bit.”
“How?”
I practically barfed on her. “We met at this festival and hung out a little after that.”
She bounced her eyebrows up and down like before. “ ‘Hung out’? Or hung out?” she said, drawing out the second set of words.
“Just a normal ‘hung out.’ ” I didn’t say I wanted it to be the other type.
She narrowed her eyes a smidge but didn’t push. “Well, she should be out soon, if you want to say hi.”
God. Do I? Want to say hi? The scent of other people’s sweat around me suddenly became unbearable. “Uh, yeah, maybe. Whatever.”
A knowing smile spread across her mouth, and then she grabbed my hand. “In the meantime, let’s dance.”
Before we could get out to the dance floor, though, I felt a tug at my shirt. It was Gordon, and when I looked at him questioningly, his mouth formed the words, “You’re fucked.” Then he tipped his head to his left.
Standing a few feet over was, of course, Winnow.
Immediately, my body tensed. Gordon didn’t seem to know what to do either. He started chugging his beer. With a quick glance at Winnow, I noticed with apprehension that her eyes were focused on my hand in Luce’s. I also noticed she was wearing an alarmingly sheer tank top. Avoiding direct eye contact with her, I chose to gaze somewhere between her and Gordon instead, which I’m sure looked totally normal.
