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JET MYKLES

CHARLIE COCHRANE

KIMBERLY GARDNER

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Jet Mykles

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JET MYKLES

CHARLIE COCHRANE

KIMBERLY GARDNER

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press

This book is a work of fi ction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fi ctitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2010 by Jet Mykles

Copyright 2010 by Kimberly Gardner

Copyright 2010 by Charlie Cochrane

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Published by

MLR Press, LLC

3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.

Albion, NY 14411

Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet: www.mlrpress.com

Editing by Kris Jacen

Cover Art by Deana Jamroz

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN# 978-1-60820-131-0

First Edition 2010

Much Ado by Jet Mykles ...................................................................... 1

All That Jazz by Charlie Cochrane ....................................................61

His Leading Man by Kimberly Gardner ...........................................127

MUCH ADO

JET MYKLES

Someone was watching him. That wouldn’t be so odd if he was onstage, but he was in a deserted dressing room. Shawn stopped mopping cold cream from his face and looked toward the dressing room doorway.

Ms. Tyken stood there in all her sequined glory. Without the bouffant wig and the three inch heels, the drag queen was fi ve-feet even if she was an inch but once she started talking, you’d swear she was all of six foot. Tonight she wore a vivid yellow and black evening gown that brought to mind a shimmering bee. The black wig atop her head had been threaded through with yellow ribbons and had even been fashioned to a stylized curved point high above her head to resemble a stinger. Heavy makeup almost disguised the fact that Ms. Tyken was no longer a young queen.

Once seen, she put on a broad smile and sashayed into the room, carrying a cloud of jasmine scent with her. “Shawna, darling, did you mention once that you used to date a director?” Inwardly, Shawn fought the immediate memories that fi lled his head. Had he mentioned it to her? He didn’t think so. But he probably did mention it to the other girls. He shrugged, turning back to the mirror then lifting a new tissue to wipe off some more cold cream. “That’s ancient history.”

“Mmmm. What was his name, sugar?”

“I don’t talk to him anymore.”
And I couldn’t get you a job with
him if I wanted to. He doesn’t do drag queens.

“Is that fact?” Ms. Tyken trailed the two-inch talons of her right hand along the edge of the makeup table. “Wasn’t it Roscoe Schroeder?”

Why did the mere mention of the man’s name have to make his heart race? “That’s the one.”

In a rustle of skirt, Ms Tyken came to stand behind him, blocking the refl ection of the rest of the room and providing extra illumination as the makeup lights bounced off her sequins.

“Mmmmm. He’s a handsome devil, isn’t he?”
4 Mykles ~ Much Ado

“Do you know him?”

“Oh no. Just met him tonight.”

Hands freezing, Shawn glanced up at his boss. “Tonight?” She gave him a smug, carmine-coated smile. “Mmm. He’s out front. Asking for you.”

“For me?”

Fingers pasted with black and yellow striped fake nails squeezed his shoulders. “For little ol’ you, sweetie. You sure he’s ancient history? Doesn’t seem like the kind of man you want to let go of.”

No, he wasn’t. Too bad Shawn just couldn’t live under his wing.

Shawn stared at his own refl ection, at the cold cream smeared makeup. His hair was still encased in his wig cap. He’d already changed out of his costume into sweatpants. In short, he looked like shit. “What’s he doing here?”

“He only asked for you.” She stroked Shawn’s shoulders.

“What should I tell him?”

Go to hell?
But his usual mantra didn’t ring true, even in his own head. In truth, it hadn’t rung true for the last few months.

His righteous indignation after their breakup hadn’t outlasted the winter. “Tell him…” He blinked at himself.
Shit, what’s he doing
here?
Shawn hadn’t heard one peep from him in the fi fteen months since he’d moved out. “Tell him I’ll be out after I change.” Wise blue eyes studied him for a long moment before Ms.

Tyken nodded. “Whatever you say, sugar. But you’re not on the bar tonight. You could just slip out the back.” Trust her to see his hesitation and respect it.

Shawn considered it only for a brief moment. Like it or not, he was curious about why Roscoe was here. “Thanks, but no. I’ll be out as soon as I change.”

She swatted him lightly on the shoulder, grinning wide to show professionally capped teeth in her refl ection. “Don’t go changing, honey. Not for
any
man.” One heavily-lashed eye winked over a ENCORE! ENCORE!
5

wide, lipsticked smile, then Ms. Tyken turned to leave. “I’ll tell the man you’ll come see him when you’re good and ready.” Shawn sat alone in the dim glow provided by the frame of lights around the makeup mirror, slowly tissuing the remaining cold cream from his face. Thinking.
“Don’t go changing.”
Well, that was the thing with Roscoe, wasn’t it? He didn’t like who Shawn was, rather
what
Shawn was. It’s what broke them up.
“Don’t waste
your talent,”
Roscoe had told him when he’d professed to wanting to explore what being a drag queen was all about. According to Roscoe, drag queens were no talent hacks or over-the-top comedians with a twist. Okay, maybe those weren’t his exact words but the meaning had been clear. Roscoe didn’t seem to mind that Shawn liked to wear skirts and makeup, but he’d hit the roof when Shawn had wanted to explore the life for real. Shawn had done the leaving, but Roscoe’s attempt to direct his personal life had made it impossible to continue living together. They hadn’t spoken since Shawn had taken his meager belongings out of Roscoe’s loft to fi nd another place to live in a city he’d only lived in for two years. Shawn had grown past him, found a life, and was doing perfectly fi ne on his own.

So what the hell did Roscoe want now?

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

Shawn scooted into the darkened hallway underneath the stairs, coming at the bar from behind the patrons. Ms. Tyken’s was long but narrow so only about ten feet separated the darkened arch from the polished cherry wood of the long bar.

During a quick scan of the dozen or so men at the barstools, his practiced eye easily picked out Roscoe from behind. He couldn’t mistake that tall, lean body, those broad shoulders or that glossy raven hair, long enough now to pull back into a short, wavy tail.

The rolled sleeves of his light dress shirt made him look like an academic, the snug worn jeans made him look hot, and the boots—mustn’t forget the expensive, custom made cowboy boots—made him look stylish. Shawn’s disloyal cock perked from just the remembered heat of the toned body underneath those clothes. They’d lived and loved together for two years. Before
6 Mykles ~ Much Ado

that, Shawn had been Roscoe’s acting student in L.A. There was too much history between them for his traitor heart and cock not to react.

Not surprisingly, Roscoe was surrounded. Ms. Tyken’s patrons were all in the business, whether they be actors or technicians, and Roscoe was hardly a nobody to anyone who knew the New York stage scene. Just thirty one years old and he already was a seasoned director that many would kill to work with, whether worked on or behind the stage. Be it classical or contemporary, the man was too talented.

Bastard.

Ignoring his body’s desires, Shawn threw back his shoulders and entered the bar proper. Normally he’d be in jeans and a t-shirt by this time, but because of Roscoe’s presence, he’d dressed up.

A tight blue stretchy dress he used for one of his acts hugged his hips and thighs without any of the subtle padding he wore for his show to give him extra curves. He hadn’t bothered with a padded bra either, but disguised the fact with a blue and pink thickly striped dress shirt that was way too big for him. With the tails tied around his waist and many of the buttons undone, it still looked rather feminine. He’d let his hair loose, brushing it until the wild mahogany curls shone as they tumbled about his neck and shoulders. Artfully applied makeup was far less heavy than what he wore on stage but it gave him that androgynous look he knew Roscoe loved. The two inch pumps were a different pink than the one in the shirt, but no one would be able to tell the difference with the lighting.
Eat your heart out, Coe.

No sooner had he walked out than two men spotted him and made a beeline in his direction. This was not an odd occurrence.

In fact, it was the reason he usually didn’t wear skirts or makeup offstage. He’d discovered that if he dressed as Shawn, Shawna’s admirers tended to leave him alone. Not that they didn’t see through the change of dress, but usually when he dressed as a man, he was treated as one.

Isaac and Joshua reached him at the same time, the fi rst with fl owers and the second with a long arm seeking to wind its way ENCORE! ENCORE!
7

around his shoulders. Shawn neatly sidestepped the latter by taking the fl owers, and putting the former between them.

“Isaac, how sweet. Thank you.” He buried his nose in the lilies, his hands wrapped around the tissue-encased stems to avoid taking the other man’s hands. Isaac matched Shawn’s fi ve-feet-fi ve, a bit thick around the middle and balding on the top of his head. His shy devotion to Shawna was sweet.

“You’re welcome,” the other man sighed, tentative fi ngers touching Shawn’s wrists.

Not to be deterred, Joshua circled around until he was at Shawn’s side, his arm again seeking to trap.

Shawn stepped back, giving him the eye. “Hands off, Joshua.”

Wounded, the taller man held up his hands, palms toward Shawn. Although he tried for casual, his blue eyes were just a tad too intense in his bland round face. “It’s okay. I just wanted a hug.” Yeah, right. Last hug ended with Shawn getting hustled back into the dark of the hallway with eager hands shoved up his skirt.

Shawn backed away from both men, headed toward the bar. “None of that. Now scoot, both of you. I’ve got to talk to someone.”

Isaac reached toward him. “You were wonderful tonight, Shawna.”

He smiled, batting his eyes over the lilies. “Thank you, Isaac.”