He unlocked the door and slipped inside. Soft snoring came from behind Helena’s bedroom door. Justin tiptoed past it, through the living room and stopped short when he came to the kitchen.
The kid was still up. He was watching some guy wearing nothing but a dress shirt and an untied bow tie get his ass licked on a big leather sofa. “Shit,” he said, and startled.
“Sorry,” said Justin, covering his eyes.
“No, it’s okay,” said Luis. “I wasn’t jacking it or anything.” The light changed as he closed the screen. Justin peeked. No. It was cool. Nobody had their dick out.
“Hey, no judgment,” Justin said, switching on the light. “I fucking love porn. Actually, I might have been in some, although I can’t totally remember.”
Luis was all eyes. “Oh my God. Did you…did you get Rohypnoled or something?”
“Nah. I just smoke a lot of weed,” said Justin, and went to the fridge. Cold chicken. Cantaloupe. Some stinky French cheese that Bunny had made Helena put in a Tupperware because it made the whole fridge smell. His stomach gurgled again. “You know what it’s like sometimes. You wake up and you’re like ‘Oh shit, what did I post on Tumblr last night?’ You know?”
“Not exactly,” said Luis.
Justin found the bread and sniffed it. “What about you?”
“What? Have I done porn?”
“No,” Justin said, and laughed. “I mean, what are you doing awake so late? Can’t sleep?”
“No. I guess I’m not used to the quiet yet,” said Luis.
“Oh, Bunny said that when she got out. Said it was weird sleeping in a place where people, like, actually slept.”
“Yeah, instead of screaming or shitting or shitting and screaming because they’re withdrawing from something. Heroin, Oxy, meth – you name it. Even booze. Detoxing drunks are the worst. We had this one guy on the block who used to yell about spiders crawling under his eyelids the whole time. Gave me the fucking creeps. I hate spiders.” Luis got up from the table and wandered over to the counter, curious. “What are you making?”
“Elvis sandwich. You want?”
“Sure.”
Luis leaned on the counter and watched Justin fry the bacon. He smelled good, and Justin thought that took some doing, being able to smell delicious even in the presence of bacon. Luis had been scrubbed and soaked and shampooed and smelled like cocoa butter and sandalwood and all the other sweet scents of Helena’s Lush haul. His hair was shoulder length now, a thick curtain of raven black, but unlike Stephen’s Viking hair, Luis’s long hair actually made him look girlish. Perhaps it was the Jessica Rabbit way it kept sliding over one eye, or perhaps it was because Luis was just that pretty. A real little doll baby.
Helena was apple-pie adorable, and Bunny – despite a big nose and a sharp chin – was one of those drag queens who could make you believe she was beautiful, by way of charisma and big brown eyes, but the new kid? This was flat out beauty. Justin had never seen Luis in drag before, but it didn’t take an ounce of imagination to see that Miss Rose was going to be a fucking knockout. Those huge, dark-fringed eyes were several shades lighter than Bunny’s, the color of good maple syrup. Little upturned nose, and a full lipped mouth. Thick black eyebrows with a nice upward arch.
And small, which was another advantage for a drag queen. He was maybe five foot five in his bare feet. Justin looked down to size him up, his attention immediately arrested by the ankle bracelet, the green light winking away. It looked chunky and uncomfortable and Justin quickly looked back up, but it was too late. Luis had caught him staring at the ankle monitor and there was a small but sexy flash of ‘fuck you’ in those gorgeous eyes.
A little sizzle in the air, or maybe that was just the bacon.
“Okay, here’s the thing,” Justin said, determined that he was going to be good with this one. Luis was far too young. “A lot of people would say I’m wrong about this, but I know I’m right. You gotta have the bacon extra crispy, and the peanut butter has to be smooth. Never crunchy.”
Luis nodded. “Because you got enough crunch with the bacon.”
“You got it.” Justin dumped the bacon onto a paper towel and peeled a banana. “Then your banana…you slice that lengthways. That way you don’t get any gaps. You get banana in every single bite.”
“Looks good. Although isn’t this the sandwich that killed Elvis?”
“Assuming he actually died, yeah.”
Luis narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean? He totally died. Had a bad heart and a sluggish colon.”
Justin pressed the tops down on the sandwiches and tossed them into the pan. “Ah, that’s what they want you to think.”
“Who’s they?”
“Whoever took him, I guess.”
Luis suppressed a giggle. “Took him? What? You think it was aliens or something?”
“Why not? The whole thing was fucking sketchy. Like I’m supposed to believe a guy who’s like only forty-two years old suddenly keels over face down while he’s sitting on the crapper, and when they open him up he’s full of like, this weird pale clay substance? That doesn’t happen.”
“It does,” said Luis. “If you don’t poop. And Elvis was sick, man. Yeah, he was only forty-two, but he was more than a hundred pounds overweight, he had glaucoma, hypertension, five different pill habits, and his ass had never worked properly. And this?” He waved a hand at the frying pan. “There is no way this helped. It looks delicious, but it definitely didn’t help. And you want to say aliens took him?”
Justin shrugged. “Why not? If they were gonna take anyone, stands to reason you’d take Elvis, right?”
“And that’s your whole argument? That aliens abducted Elvis because he was Elvis?”
“Sure. I guess.”
Luis sucked his teeth for a moment. “You have an interesting way of looking at things. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Uh huh,” said Justin. “All the time. Bunny says sometimes he needs a map to figure out how my mind works, but I’m pretty straightforward. I don’t get why they have to act so fucking surprised when I do something unexpected.”
“Unexpected? How do you mean?”
Justin flipped the sandwiches out of the pan onto a couple of plates. “Oh, nothing really. Like, the other day I came back from church, and Helena’s like, all jaw on the floor about it. Like ‘You go to church?’ and I’m like ‘Yeah, it’s Christmas.’”
Luis carefully nibbled the corner of his hot sandwich. “Catholic?”
“St. Pete’s Parish. Pittsburgh born and bred.”
“What’s Helena?”
“Lutheran, I think.”
Luis snorted. “Well, there you are. Can’t expect a Protestant to get it. It’s Christmas. You go to church. That’s what you do. Even if you don’t see the inside of a church for the rest of the year, you show up at Christmas.”
“See?” said Justin. “You get it.”
“Yeah, but don’t rely on me for spiritual advice. First Communion was round about the time I realized all I really wanted out of life was to wear one of those sick lacy white dresses, instead of a little black suit that made me look like a miniature undertaker.” Luis took a bite and chewed. “Good sandwich, by the way.”
“Thanks,” said Justin. Yeah, it was all about the crispy bacon. The salty crunch went so well with the gooey goodness of the peanut butter and hot banana. “I guess I just wanted to shine up my soul a little bit for Christmas, you know? And then everyone reacts like I grew a second head or something. Kinda pissed me off.”
“Well, maybe they don’t know you as well as they think they know you,” said Luis. “I mean, I don’t know you at all, so it’s cool with me.”
That was kind of a nice thought. Someone who didn’t know him or his reputation. No notions, no prejudices. Their relationship was a blank slate. “I guess,” said Justin. “Although you probably know me as the slutty bartender.”
Luis laughed – no giggled. A soft, almost girlish sound. “I know you m
ainly as the person who told me that the movie Assablanca exists.”
“Casablanca?”
“Assablanca. We were right here in this kitchen, and you came in and said you’d found this porno called Assablanca, and that it was four hours long. And then we had this conversation about how nobody needed a four hour porno because that’s like, way past the point where edging stops being fun.”
“Yeah, that does sound a lot like me,” said Justin. “You have a really good memory.”
Luis shrugged. “It was the morning after my grandmother died.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. Funny how you always remember the worst times so clearly, right? That whole conversation sticks out in my head because it was one of the few that wasn’t about death certificates and funeral arrangements and picking out clothes for her casket.” He swallowed a little too hard, and his eyes glistened. “I was grateful, to tell you the truth. Just to have a single conversation that wasn’t about…that. Then you came in and started talking about porn, so…thank you.”
“No, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For a whole new experience,” said Justin. “I don’t think anyone’s ever thanked me for talking about porn before. Most of the time they just tell me I have a problem and that I should stop letting people put vegetables inside me.”
“Right,” said Luis. “Like with the zucchini.”
Justin sighed. “Yeah, see? You do know something about my reputation.”
“Hey, I don’t judge. If you want to stick vegetables up your butthole, that’s between you and the produce aisle.”
“No, I know,” said Justin. “And it’s not like anyone’s judging me for that. But you tell some queens you go to church at Christmas and they’re like ‘whaaaaat?’ You know?”
Luis finished his sandwich and leaned on his elbows. He had an Aztec tribal tattoo around his right wrist and what looked like a little stick and poke heart on the back of his other hand. His fingernails were gold and glittery. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” he said. “Their reaction?”
“Yeah, I guess so. It was just one of those things, growing up. Probably why it gets to me. People used to make all kinds of assumptions when they heard your name was Barrow.” Luis looked blank, so Justin kept talking. “My family’s one of those ones that show up in court documents a lot. Law enforcement used to call us The Barrow Gang, like Bonnie and Clyde. Except there were a whole lot more of us. We had this shitty reputation around town, but I don’t think we were that bad, not really. Like, you see some of these rich families who look perfect, but then it turns out Mom’s on pills, the daughter’s self-harming, Dad’s like some hardcore white collar criminal who owes millions in back taxes and rents out houses full of asbestos and shit to poor families, and their precious fratboy son is an actual fucking rapist.”
“Totally,” said Luis. “And then they grow up and get appointed to the Supreme Court.”
“Yup. We were a lot less fucked up than that, but all our fuck-uppage was kinda…up front and center, and people judged us.”
“People are assholes,” said Luis.
“Yeah, they can be.” Justin ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “And kids worst of all. And I even I had an asshole streak, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“I kinda judged us, too. Sometimes I’d look at my family and be like ‘You guys do not make it easy for yourselves.’ Like how Mom just kept cranking out babies, long after we ran out of room. Or how everything in the house was always dirty or broken or being sold to pay the electricity bill. That’s why I used to love going to church in those days. Everything was beautiful and tidy and smelled good. And the music – God, the music.” He shivered, remembering the opening bars of the Kyrie, Mozart’s mass in C-Minor. He closed his eyes and hummed along with the tune in his head until it hit those notes he could no longer reach. “It was incredible. I used to be able to push my voice all the way to the top.”
“You sang?”
“Like an angel,” he said. “I had solos and shit. Until my balls dropped, of course.”
“Cool,” said Luis. “Can you still sing?”
“Well, not soprano. I’m more of a tenor these days, but yeah. That’s why I like to drop by at Christmas, I guess. I get to sing and it reminds me of the days when I was known for something other than being ‘another one of those goddamn Barrow kids.’”
“Then you shouldn’t give it up,” said Luis. “And fuck what anyone else thinks.”
Justin sat back in his chair. He had a feeling he was going to like this kid. A lot.
“You’re right,” he said. “And I forgot how good it feels. Confession and all that.”
“You feel lighter.”
“Yeah. That’s it. Lighter. Like I could float right out of there.” He sighed. “Although I expect I’m gonna need to go back and confess again before midnight mass. I already got laid again.”
“Oops,” said Luis.
“Yeah. I was never that great at keeping my soul clean. Or my legs closed.”
Luis gave a mischievous little grin. “Maybe you should.”
“Should what?”
“Keep your legs closed, at least until Christmas. Fly in the face of your reputation. Give people something to talk about. Hell, you might even get in good with the man upstairs.”
Justin laughed. “What, like abstinence?”
“Yeah. Texas Sex-Ed.”
It would make a few heads explode, and that could be fun, but already Justin could see complications ahead. “I dunno. It’s gonna be kind of awkward when I go back to bed and have to explain that I’m not allowed to fuck anymore.” He thought wistfully of Dev’s lean, brown body and sighed. “Aw, this sucks.”
“It’s supposed to suck,” said Luis. “We’re Catholics, remember? It’s like Lent or something. If you’re missing out, you’re pleasing God.”
“I know, but would God have put drag queens and athletic coaches on this earth if He didn’t want me to have threeway sex with them?”
Luis had to really think about that one. “Uh…yes? How many people are in your bed right now? And am I gonna regret asking?”
“Just the one, but I’m definitely down to bang Bunny and Ryan sometime over the holidays. And…you know…I’m open to any other offers that show up. Like, I kind of promised Father O’Reardon I wouldn’t do any more shit with dick-shaped vegetables, but that still leaves me a lot of wiggle…” Justin trailed off. The look on Luis’s face said it all. And worse, he was a Catholic, too. So he got it. “Okay. That sounds bad, doesn’t it?”
“Honestly? It sounds like you’re going to have to go right back to confession, or take mass in a state of…zucchini, I guess. Is that a thing in theology?”
“I don’t know. I did ask if zucchini counted as mortal or venial, but Father said I was splitting hairs.”
Luis sucked his teeth. “Yeah, he’s got a point.”
“Shit,” said Justin. “Guess I’m going to have to close my legs after all. You’re right. You can’t show up at mass straight after you’ve just had kinky threeway sex with an athletic coach and a professional transvestite. That’s just…I don’t know…”
“Fifteenth century pope stuff?” said Luis.
“Kinda, yeah. Did they do that?”
“Who knows? They did just about everything else.”
Justin vaguely recalled Bunny going off on the same subject. Blackjack and hookers in the Vatican, mistresses kept in plain sight, illegitimate kids made cardinals before they’d even finished with puberty. “Okay, so why is it so bad if I do it?”
“Because you’re not Pope.”
“Great,” said Justin. “One rule for the guys at the top, a whole bunch of different ones for the ones at the bottom.”
Luis shrugged. “Ain’t that always the way?”
“Totes.” Justin’s mind drifted back to bed. He shivered at the recollection of a warm tongue in his ear, and Sheila�
��s voice – so sexy with that English accent – murmuring filth, breath fanning sensitive wet skin.
But then what was the point of going to church if you didn’t make an effort? It felt like a dilemma, but then something else slunk into Justin’s head, some instinct a whole lot less religious, unless you counted sticking it to the Protestants – namely Helena – as the height of Catholic virtue. Keeping his dick in his pants would make it a whole lot easier to prove to Helena that he could make a friend he didn’t fuck, and there was the possibility of taking this thing further…
He went back up to bed and slipped under the sheets with his clothes on, in some hopeless attempt to avoid temptation, but Dev immediately rolled over, reached for him and made a low, sleepy sound of annoyance at finding clothes in his way. Dev was totally naked, wonderfully warm and sporting the kind of solid sleep boner that begged to be touched. “I shouldn’t…” Justin said, as he wriggled out his shorts, and that shouldn’t only made him want it more.
“Shouldn’t what?” Dev said, still half asleep. He moaned as their bodies came together, skin on skin, and Justin rocked irresistibly against him, swelling to meet him.
“Nothing.” Thighs parting, legs wrapping around him. Their kiss sounded soft and wet in the quiet dark. Justin shivered. “Think I’ll start tomorrow.”
4
Stephen was waiting in line for coffee when he spotted a familiar blond head. He looked both ways for escape routes, but there was no getting away from it. Oh God – eye contact. Brief, and fleeting, but there. Unavoidable.
He was going to have to talk to Venus.
Venus was right there, at his elbow, and Stephen – recalling Marie Antoinette’s words to Madame Du Barry – settled for absolute banality. No eye contact. Just words aimed in the general direction. “Lot of people here today.”
Venus startled briefly, as if this was far more than she’d ever expected. “Oh. Oh, yeah.”
Seven Deadly Queens (The FuBar Book 3) Page 5
