Confessions of a Teenage Drag King by Markus Harwood-Jones

Author:Markus Harwood-Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: James Lorimer and Company Ltd., Publishers
Published: 2020-08-13T00:00:00+00:00

12

Lips

An elbow shoves against my back and pushes me against the hard corner of the stage. Everything is a sea of noise. I can hardly hear Stormé’s banter with the crowd.

The lights drop. The music dips. A shiver runs across the room. Clad in flowing, near-translucent white, a figure shimmers into view. Glowing in blacklight, they hold, letting tension build. When the beat hits, they pose, pose, sashay. The room goes wild.

Most of these amateurs act like they’re the next RuPaul or Lady Bunny, without any of the follow through. But some . . . For the first time, it hits me. I’m not just up against Earl and the few one-timers who come in for the Barn’s slow nights. This is real competition.

There’s a tap on my shoulder. “Not now, Earl!” I shrug off another tap before I turn. “Oh. It’s you.”

Clover nods, having to shout over the music. “Ren, can we talk?!”

My name on her lips makes my heart race. I blink and open my mouth, hoping the right words will spill out. Just then, I spot a tall butch carrying a handful of cocktails through the crowd. They catch their foot on a stray heel and the drinks go flying — right in Clover’s direction.

Without thinking, I grab her arms and spin. Flecks of ice and juice splatter against the back of my coat. Clover is pinned against a speaker. Her wide eyes look back at me. Pulsing music runs through us both. The edge of her fingers pull me in. Our faces are so close. Her breath traces my mouth. I could just . . .

“Now wasn’t that just haunting!” Stormé laughs as she takes the stage. The music quiets down as she builds up the next act.

Clover runs her hand along my sticky shoulder. “Your jacket.”

“Now, friends, foes and all in-between,” Stormé flashes me a knowing look. “Put your hands together for the one, the only —!”

I shrug off the coat. “It was stained anyway.”

“Ren!” Stormé sings out, getting the crowd to cheer as the lights dim.

I let my jacket drop and swing on stage. Giving a nod to Tara in the booth, I remind myself, The show must go on.

My first few steps flirt with the beat. I roll my shoulders, picking up the tempo. Just me and the music, like always. I ride the rhythm higher and higher until nothing else matters.

In the back, cameras flash. I blink, seeing spots. Suddenly, I’m closer to the edge of the stage than I meant to be. I almost step right off the platform. I play like it was on purpose, but I can practically feel Stormé shaking her head.

The spotlight lifts for a second and I’m met with an ocean of faces. They’re talking, laughing, milling about. Some are singing tunelessly along to the song. My song. Then I spot Clover waving down Joni for a drink. She’s not even watching.

Cold sweat runs down the back of my neck. I try to shake it off. I’m Ren.

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