Not that I really blamed her.
Because of our amazingness.
I, of course, was wearing my Sunday best in the form of a red skirt, black blouse, faux-fur coat, and a hat large enough to rival even the most extravagant at the Kentucky Derby. I’d had to fold it on the sides before trying to walk in through the door. I had on a pair of oversized sunglasses, which covered the top half of my face. I stood and posed in front of the hostess, letting her bask in my glory, as I bunched the fur coat up around my throat, letting my thigh become slowly exposed through the slit in the skirt.
Corey stood next to me, wearing a bright peach suit I’d found in the back closet of the Lair from when the drag kings came to perform. He too had sunglasses that covered his face, mirror shades that showed just how cool of a cat he was. His hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail, the end of which curled around his neck onto his shoulder. I’d found a fake goatee that the lesbians used in their drag king performances to complete his outfit. He made finger guns at the hostess and somehow was able to pull it off. He was so money, and he knew it.
Vince wa
s next to Corey. The moment he’d seen the chaps in the dressing closet in the Lair, he’d been sold on the idea of disguises. Apparently it reminded him of Tierra de Reyes, the telenovela he watched with Nana and Corey. He wore the chaps over jeans, and dusty boots with spurs on the back. His belt had a large buckle on it that proclaimed him the QUEEN OF TEXAS. He also had a traditional serape over it, a Mexican poncho made up of greens, blues, reds, and yellows. He topped it off with an oversized sombrero and the largest fake mustache we could find in the drag king’s makeup kit, the handlebars of which curved in spirals almost four inches on either side of his face.
And last, but certainly not least, was Paul, who decided he had wanted to go full-on drag along with me, just for shits and giggles. Unfortunately for him, nothing I had fit him enough for him to be comfortable, so we’d made a pit stop at his parent’s house and he now proudly wore one of Nana’s muumuus, a great and brightly gaudy thing that Nana hadn’t even batted an eye over when we’d asked for it. It was a floral pattern, green flowers on an orange background. I’d found a wig that Vaguyna had used back when she’d been younger, a large brunette bouffant with butterfly clips on either side. The makeup we used on him was done sparingly, but still enough to feminize his face.
“O-okay,” the hostess stammered. “And what is the name the reservation is under?”
“Esteban Raymundo Moreno,” Vince said in an absolutely appalling (and most likely extraordinarily offensive) Hispanic accent. “It was the name of mi padre.”
“Right,” she said. “That’s good. I can take—you guys are so colorful.”
“No dice,” Corey said, smooth as silk. “Kriss Kross will make you jump.”
“I hate you guys so much,” Paul mumbled.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” she said, sounding even more nervous. “I’ll just show you to your table.”
“Un momento,” Vince said. “We have a… pregunta.”
I really hoped no one was around that understood Spanish to hear him massacring the language.
“You have a what?” the hostess asked.
“A question,” I said, stepping in, clutching my fur coat even tighter because I was glamorous, dammit. “There is a reservation that follows ours at two. A dear friend is coming here on a first date and has asked us to watch out for him. We would appreciate it dearly if you could seat them at a table near ours, but not too close as to cause a… distraction. The reservation is under Darren Mayne.”
She blanched. “I don’t know that I can—”
“What is your name, baby doll?” I asked.
“Tracey.”
“Tracey,” I purred. “What a lovely name. Tracey. Just… rolls right of the tongue. Now, Tracey. This is very, very important to me.”
“I can see that,” Tracey said. “Because you’re breathing right on my face.”
“Exactly,” I said. “I can also make it worth your while.”
I snapped once.
“God, I really fucking hate you guys so fucking much,” Paul muttered as he shuffled forward. He reached into a pocket on the muumuu and pulled out a wad of bills before handing it to Tracey.
“This is for you,” I said. “Recompense for your cooperation.”
“Wow,” Tracey said. “There’s, like, six dollars here. And a… button? No, never mind. It’s a Lifesaver.”
“No one carries cash anymore, Tracey,” I said. “Do we have a deal?”
“Sure,” she said, though I thought it was probably to get us to stop talking to her. That was fine with me.
She led us to a table in the back, near some fake plants that provided a bit of camouflage from the rest of the restaurant. I pointed at a table about ten feet away, and Tracey agreed to seat Darren and Caleb there upon arrival, while maintaining her silence. I didn’t even have to threaten her, which was nice. Six dollars and an old lady’s Lifesaver can apparently go a long way. I’d have to remember that for the future.