“You did what?” Paul said.
“Wow,” Corey said. “That is not something I would have expected.”
“That’s so sweet,” Vince said. “And it also made me five hundred dollars. So. Go me.”
“Well,” I said because I was Mamma Mia! Meryl, or quite possibly Bridges of Madison County Meryl. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that. I mean, you’re the one who admitted to pining after me first.”
“You did what?” Paul said.
“I knew there was pining involved,” Corey said.
“This is just so wonderful,” Vince said. “I am so happy to be a part of this.”
“Right,” Darren said. “The pining. I’d totally forgotten about that part.”
“Well.” I smiled brightly. “Looking back, it was rather obvious.”
“Was it?” he asked.
“Sure. I mean, you’ve never missed one of my shows since you started coming. Ever.”
Something flickered across his face, something I couldn’t quite parse, some emotion I wasn’t used to seeing on him, that was for sure. His eyes widened slightly, and there was an honest to goodness flush to his cheeks that made me feel warm and uncomfortable. But then it was gone, buried underneath the ego. “What can I say? You caught me.”
“Okay, okay,” Paul said. “Tell the story.”
“Oh, I’ll start,” I said.
“You sure?” Darren asked. “I can do it.”
“No, bae. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You insisted, remember?”
“Okay, boo. Just make sure you don’t embellish anything. I’d sure hate to have to correct you.”
“Embellish?” I exclaimed. “Me? Never.” I looked back to the others. “Once upon a time, there was the most beautiful of drag queens—”
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Darren muttered as I began my completely made-up true story of love and stuff.
Chapter 11: A Completely Made-up True Story of Love and Stuff
ONCE UPON a time, there was the most beautiful of drag queens. People came from far and wide to see her perform. Most thought they were in the presence of true beauty and greatness when they had the chance to stand before her. And this much was true, because the drag queen was unlike anyone else in the world. There were sheikhs from the Far East that begged the Queen to move to their palaces made of gold and dance for them forever, but she refused, because she was waiting for her one true love.
(“Sheikhs?” Corey said. “Palaces. Really. That’s what you’re going with.”
“Okay,” I said with a glare, “it might not have been a sheikh, per se, but his name was Muhammad and he said he owned a condo. It’s almost the same thing.”
“That’s Sandy for you,” Paul said. “Always reaching for the stars.”)
Anyway. The Queen was well sought out by many, many people and yeah, maybe they weren’t sheikhs specifically, Corey, but they still traveled to see the wonderment that was Helena Handbasket. Because she was beauty and grace personified, bringing to the world of drag an elegance that had never before been witnessed. In fact, one might even say she was the Drag Queen, but since she never was one to brag about herself, she just let everyone else say it. Which they did. All the time. Because it was true.
(“This isn’t self-indulgent at all,” Paul said.
I rolled my eyes at him. “Our lives are self-indulgent. Shut the fuck up. I’m just getting started.”)
She was in high demand, this queen. Everyone wanted a piece of her. Life was hard that way, sometimes. It could grow to be lonely quite quickly. Sure, the Queen had her friends and family, but sometimes she’d sit high in her tower and sigh, wondering if one day her true love would come and save her.
(“Um,” Vince said. “Not to interrupt, but you didn’t really sit in your tower and sigh. You more, like, stood on the balcony and bitched. But it’s almost the same thing. And you always looked really pretty doing so.”
“You’re my favorite,” I decided.