“Thanks for the mental image,” said Justin, wondering if he should just cut to the chase and dump the ice cubes down his pants. Bunny in tip jar heels and pink panties. He did not need that mental image right now. Jesus Christ, this was fucking stupid. Nobody was supposed to go this long without sex, especially when everyone around them was at it like rabbits.
“We’re gonna open with a movie round,” said Helena, peering over her cat-eye glasses at the cue cards. Those nipples were ridiculous. They followed you around the room like eyes in an old painting. “And here is your first…ah. Great.” Helena squinted out past the stage lights. “Someone’s been fucking with my questions already. Bunny?”
There was a ripple of laughter, but Bunny busted out the Broadway volume. “Whaaa-at?”
“Don’t play the innocent,” said Helena, waving the cue cards. “It was supposed to be Christmas themed. Since when was Pink Flamingos a Christmas movie?”
“Hey, Divine is for life, not just for Christmas.”
“Preach!” someone shouted from the back. Justin, riding the wave of orders, reached for the makings of a Sour Apple Martini.
Helena sighed. “Fine. Fuck it. We’ll go with it.” She cleared her throat. “In the movie, Pink Flamingos, what…” Another sigh, and an eyeroll. “Really classing it up here, Bunny. In the movie Pink Flamingos, what meat product does Raymond Marbles tie on the end of his penis? Oh, and there’s more than one. There’s a bonus point if you know which two meat products are involved.”
“Girl, did you clock the twins?” said Tess, squeezing past. “And I do not mean Helena’s titties.”
“Hard not to.”
“Not that the titties aren’t something. Hey, didn’t you hit that?”
“Yes,” said Justin. “Tess, syrup.”
“Shit. Sorry.” Tess handed over the sugar syrup. “You still holding out on that, hon?”
“Yeah, and I’m not fucking enjoying it. Imagine being abstinent all the time. No wonder those hardcore Christian types are all secret freaks.”
Jesus Christ, why did everyone look so hot tonight? Aside from the weaponised nipples, Helena had picked a high-waisted pencil skirt that did crazy things to her already heartshaped ass. Not that Hu was going to reap the benefit either, at least not as far as Justin knew. There were some queens who were super particular about not doing it in drag, and Helena was one of them, unlike Bunny, who identified as ‘genderfluid, with a large side order of slut.’
The Movies round gave way to Music, General Knowledge, Food, New Media, Old Media and – Bunny’s hard won battle – Shoes. By this time Bunny was in the middle of a shoe crisis of her own: her bad ankle had swelled up and she’d switched the kitten heels for a pair of battered knock-off Nikes. “Don’t make me get out from behind this bar,” she said. “If anyone sees my feet I’ll be read so far to filth that my epitaph will read like the history of a goddamn sewage plant.”
“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere,” said Justin, glancing at the clock. “I gotta go to midnight mass.”
Ryan looked up. “You are not wearing that, are you?”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“A bedazzled Iron Maiden t-shirt and a Santa hat? Come on. Christmas comes but once a year. Put on a button down, at least.”
“Okay.”
“And tell Rose to get her ass down here,” said Bunny. “I take full responsibility. If she can’t drink a virgin Mojito in a bar on Christmas Eve she may as well still be in fucking prison.”
Justin hurried up to the attic and put on a shirt that, while rumpled, just about passed the sniff test after being crammed in the closet since Aunt Rita’s funeral. He masked the worst of the mustiness with Old Spice and went back down to the apartment to find Luis.
Or Rose, rather. It was a thing with drag queens – one that Justin had gotten used to over the years – but you always knew which personality was in charge. Sometimes it was clearly defined, like with Helena, who was only Helena when she was either dressed up or dealing with drag business. With Bunny the line was blurred, because Bunny was more than just Adam’s drag persona: she was also his shield. If a situation called for a little bit of attitude, that was when Bunny came out to play, and she didn’t need the wig and the heels to do so.
But Rose was different, too. Perhaps it was because she was so pretty and doll-like that the others referred to her much more often, or maybe it was because Luis – being over ten years younger – was a lot more down with his feminine side. Either way, when Justin walked into the living room he somehow knew Rose was at home, even though nobody was watching.
She wore her hair in two cute little braided pigtails, and when she looked up there was a flash of glitter and gold. She’d been playing with make-up and drawn on a cat-eye in gold liner.
“Hey,” said Justin. “Bunny says go downstairs.”
“What, to the bar?” said Rose, setting Justin’s red dress aside. “I thought I wasn’t allowed?”
“You’re not. But it’s Christmas Eve and Bunny says she’ll take full responsib…oh, hey…” Suddenly he had two armfuls of Rose.
“Yesss…thank you!” Rose planted a kiss on Justin’s cheek. “Fucking freedom!”
“Don’t get drunk,” said Justin, trying to conceal his pleasure at being hugged. God, that was a thing. Was he also getting cuddle-deprived because of this stupid bet? “And don’t let Bunny make you a Mojito. Get Tess to do it. Bunny always takes out her anger issues – bruises the shit out of the mint instead of muddling it.”
“Gotcha,” said Rose, and sniffed. “Is that you?”
“Is what me?”
“That smell. It’s like…” She sniffed again. “Like really stale weed.”
Shit. He’d thought the shirt was okay. “Is it bad?”
Rose buried her nose in his chest and inhaled. “No, it’s definitely weed. Old, but weed.”
“Oh. Yeah. I think I smoked a bowl or two the last time I wore this shirt. You know what funerals are like. Rose, are you…are you huffing me?”
“No,” said Rose, stepping back. “Maybe. I don’t know.” She sighed. “I miss it.”
“Yeah, I hear that.”
Rose looked up, huge eyes all the more exotic for that strip of gold liner. No other make-up, besides the strawberry chapstick, half of which was smeared on Justin’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said, with an odd, sudden seriousness.
“For what?”
“For not telling me that drugs are the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.”
Justin laughed. “Yeah, have you met me? Because I’m not really in a position to judge.”
“Neither are the others, but they do anyway,” said Rose, as they went down the stairs to the bar. “Like, I heard Bunny’s ankle was fucked up because she fell off her stripper heels while she was on coke, and everyone knows about that time Helena did molly and…oh, wait, that was you, wasn’t it?”
“Yep.” A proud moment, even for Justin.
“Yeah, but my point is they’re still like, ‘You need to rethink your relationship with your bong, Rose.’ It’s really hypocritical.”
Justin paused before opening the door, muffling the thud of bass for a few moments more. “I know,” he said. “But you gotta pass piss tests. They just don’t want you to go back to prison.”
Rose sighed. “Yeah. I know.”
Justin opened the door. There was music and laughter, and Rose skipped so joyfully towards it that it started Born Free playing in Justin’s head. Gotta let the cub loose so it can learn to be a lion.
“Hey, there you are,” said Ryan. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”
“Yeah, okay. See you, Rose.”
Rose turned, already lost in a crowd of happy hugs. She had Helena’s lipstick on her face. “Have fun! Sing extra loud for me.”
“I will.”
St. Pete’s was packed. Justin had hoped he might get time to light a votive, but the side aisles were already swarming with bad Catholics. And maybe s
ome good ones, but Justin – who had grown up in a Pittsburgh parish – kind of doubted it. He and Ryan slipped into a pew at the back. They were squished hip to hip.
“You know, I didn’t even know you were Catholic,” said Ryan. “Did we ever discuss religion while we were dating?”
“Don’t think so. Conversations about religion were like, way down the list of things I wanted from you.”
“Yeah, I did kind of get that impression,” said Ryan, looking hurt enough for Justin to hurry to smooth things over.
“It’s not that I didn’t like hanging out with you,” said Justin.
“No, I know.”
“I just really liked your d…”
Ryan shushed him, and pointed to the rafters. Shit. Talk about a whore in church.
“Sorry,” Justin mouthed upwards. Ryan pressed his lips together, struggling to stifle one of those vicious and irresistible church laughs that could spread through the congregation like plague.
“We are the worst Catholics,” Ryan said, but it was Justin’s turn to shush, because the choir was coming in.
That had been him, once upon a time. That little blond kid in a surplice, with the voice of an angel. And how uncharitably pissed they’d been – all those Kavanaghs and O’Hares and all the fancier Catholic families in the parish – that one of those scummy Barrow kids was opening the Christmas service. He couldn’t see the kid up there, but as soon as the first, clear, solo bars of O Little Town Of Bethlehem spun out of the boy’s throat like a spirit, he was right back there, breathing in the smell of incense and church linen, knowing that people could say whatever they liked about him and his family, but nobody out there had the front to say he couldn’t sing.
He loved the carols, especially when they climaxed with a full church rendition of Oh Come All Ye Faithful, with the choir harmonizing in Latin. The music washed over him and into him, filling him with life and love, so that when it came to giving each other the sign of peace he hugged Ryan too long and too hard. “Hey, you’re supposed to spread it around,” Ryan whispered.
Justin lingered at the door on the way out, remembering something. “Hey, Father,” he said, holding up the line to shake Father O’Reardon’s hand. “I know you’re, like, really busy this time of year, but can you say a prayer for my friend? Or his grandmother, actually. She died his year and he wanted to come himself, but he’s got an electronic tag and stuff.”
“Of course, Justin,” said Father O’Reardon. “What was her name?”
“Rosa. I don’t know her last name, but she was a seamstress. Had diabetes. God will know, right?”
“Yes, that’s one of his jobs,” said the priest.
“Thanks, Father. Merry Christmas.”
“And to you, Justin. Remember me to your grandmother.”
“I will.”
Justin pulled up the collar of his coat and hurried down the church steps, where Ryan was waiting for him at the bottom. “Well, that was fucking beautiful,” he said.
Ryan laughed. “Great. You literally said fuck as soon as you left the church.”
“Hey, at least I waited until I left.”
They started walking, hurrying against the chill wind. “You can really sing,” said Ryan. “Do you know that?”
“I used to be a choirboy. No, don’t laugh. I know I’m not exactly an angel these days, but once upon a time I sounded like one.” They’d missed his favorite carol, for some reason, and Justin couldn’t help himself. His voice was still warm and he couldn’t leave the old Latin lines trapped inside him for another year. He laughed off his embarrassment and sang.
“Veni, Veni, Emmanuel!
Captivum sole Israel!”
Ryan looked surprised, but not totally ashamed of him, so he kept going.
“Qui gemit in exilio,
Privatus Dei Filio,
Gaude, gaude, Emmanuel
nascetur pro te Israel.”
He giggled and took an awkward bow on the berm. His cheeks felt warm in spite of the cold, and Ryan wore something like the amazed smile that had crossed his face when he’d first heard Adam play one of those complicated ragtime pieces where one hand was doing something completely different to the other. “Very cool,” he said. “I had no idea you could do that.”
“It’s not hard. It’s like, plainsong. Not like some of these Baroque pieces we had to sing back in the day, like Monteverdi and shit.”
Ryan stepped closer and took his hands. “I think it’s beautiful,” he said, and then he pulled Justin towards him. They turned, as if in a waltz step, and then fell back into the pool of darkness between streetlamps. Justin’s ass hit the railings and he was too horny to protest when Ryan’s mouth came down on his. Ryan had always been a great kisser, but Justin had gone unkissed for so long that it was like being a teenager again. Their tongues tasted of altar wine, stirring happy old memories of being a very bad Catholic. Forbidden. This was all forbidden.
“Merry Christmas,” Ryan whispered, his fingers cold on Justin’s cheek. His tongue was hot, and the heat inside his mouth was delicious. “Why don’t you come home with us?”
“Uh…” Justin groaned and stole one more kiss, physically hurting at the thought that he was going to have to stop. Why was this happening? Talk about the Last Temptation.
“Adam would love it,” said Ryan. “I can even gift-wrap you for him, if you’d like.”
Justin moaned and peeled Ryan’s fingers away from his face. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Ryan stepped back as though he’d been burned. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t realize you were still doing the whole no sex thing. I swear, I would never have done that if I’d known.”
“It’s cool,” said Justin, adjusting his jeans and heading off again. Walk it off.
“No, it’s not. I didn’t realize. I thought you were just trying to keep yourself pure for midnight mass.”
“Yeah, I was,” said Justin. “At first. Then it…escalated.”
“Escalated?”
“What, you don’t know? I’ve got five hundred bucks riding on me not being able to keep it in my pants until New Year.”
“Fuck,” said Ryan. “Did I just…?”
“Sabotage me? Nah. It was a Christmas kiss. No biggie. I can handle it. Even if Sheila is heading on down to pound town with twins, and you’re talking about tying a bow on my dick and feeding me to your hot ass boyfriend with the legs that go all the way up to Canada…”
Ryan laughed and took his hand again. “Come on. It’s a week. You got this.”
“Yeah, I guess,” said Justin. “And it doesn’t suck as bad as I thought it would, to be honest. Like, Rose is cool, and we don’t have that kind of relationship. It’s kinda nice, actually. We hang out and shoot the shit about Elvis and aliens and Disney movies.”
“What? You mean like, friends?”
“Yeah. Friends.” Justin grinned. “Suck it, Helena. I made a friend.”
*
Tomorrow was the big shoot, and for Adam it couldn’t come soon enough. Christmas Day had barely felt like a breathing space, and there was still so much to do. Suddenly all of those small but vital maintenance jobs had piled up at once. He had to shave, wax, exfoliate, tidy his eyebrows, paint his nails and moisturize like crazy. And this was what Ryan wanted, apparently. He wanted his bathroom annexed by a drag queen, for some bizarre reason. Adam was sure that Ryan would eventually regret it, as most men did when they opened the bathroom cabinet and couldn’t find their nose hair trimmers because there were so many busted eyeliner pencils in there, or when they had an anal issue and discovered that the drag queen in residence had used up all the Preparation H on her eye bags.
Adam reached into the cabinet and gave the yellow and blue box a little shake. It felt satisfyingly heavy, which was just as well, because at this rate his eye bags weren’t going to be the only thing in need of hemorrhoid cream. He’d eaten a scary quantity of meat today – roast pork with plum sauce, sesame chicken, crispy roast duck – and he was
sure his colon was not going to be pleased with the results.
Still, nobody was going to be looking up his ass tomorrow. It was all about the face, and he had to admit that Ryan’s bathroom did have pretty great lighting. Also Ryan had bought him a brand new robe, a black silk kimono style thing that Adam already knew was going to be perfect for swishing around in and pretending you were Joan Crawford.
“Hey, you want your other gift yet?” Ryan said, from the bedroom.
“Other gift? Why? What else did you…oh.”
Adam, moisturizer in hand, stepped out into the bathroom doorway and saw what was on offer. Ryan was lying on the bed, wearing nothing but a smile, a Santa hat and a red gift bow tied around his dick.
“Huh,” said Adam. “You gift wrapped it.”
Ryan, leaning back on his elbows, shrugged. His biceps gleamed in the lamplight. “I did my best,” he said. “Wasn’t quite the gift I had in mind.”
Adam perched on the end of the bed. “Really? And what did you have in mind?”
“Well, he’s trying to win a bet…”
“Aw. You were going to get me a Justin for Christmas?”
“Tried. Failed. Sorry.”
Adam leaned over and kissed Ryan just above his gift bow. “I don’t mind,” he said, hitching up the skirt of the kimono to moisturize his legs. “Besides, I don’t think I’m…you know…”
“Still not pooping?”
“Meh. Token efforts. And I just ate a ton of meat, so…”
Ryan grabbed the moisturizer. “Here,” he said, baring Adam’s legs. “Let me get that for you.”
“Oof. Sorry. You got a gift bow on your penis and here I am talking about my bowels. So much for romance.”
Ryan laughed and scooped up a handful of cream. “I think our love is strong enough to withstand a little ass chat now and again,” he said, smoothing the cool goop from toe to knee. “And that was an insane amount of meat.”
“I know, right? We were gnawing it off the bone like goddamn cavemen. And I couldn’t get enough of those crispy wonton things.”
“And what the hell was with those fortune cookies? They were kind of on the nose.”
Seven Deadly Queens (The FuBar Book 3) Page 13
