No one heard it but me.
“WHAT DO
you mean, you can’t meet up for lunch?” Paul asked Saturday morning. He was on speakerphone while I sat in front of the mirror at the vanity in my bedroom, experimenting with lipstick to see which better said that I was a woman with a mission who would still probably leave lipstick rings on your cock. It was hard to strike the balance between the two. Well, hard for a drag queen. I needed Andrew Taylor to see me as a force to be reckoned with while also making him slightly uncomfortable. Not that Darren needed to know anything about that.
I had a plan, after all.
And if past experience dictated anything, it was that every plan I’d ever had had been executed flawlessly.
“I’m busy.” I pouted at the mirror, wondering if my lips should be fuller. I thought maybe about doing the whole Kardashian shot glass lip plumping thing, but then I realized I was not an idiot and also had a modicum of sense, so I decided against it.
“Doing what?”
“Darren.”
Paul gagged. “Oh sweat balls. Say no more. I really don’t want to know anything about that. But I’m glad you and he are done fighting.”
I paused in my ministrations in the mirror and looked back down at the phone. “Who says we were fighting?”
“Please. You were glaring at him the entire time at your show on Wednesday. I’ve never seen you angrily perform Beyoncé before. It was almost a religious experience. And Darren looked like a kicked puppy the entire time. Seriously. That family’s genetics are totally unfair. They get to be hot and muscular, and when they’re pouting, all I want to do is give them a hug and a hand job or something.”
“You want to give Darren a hand job?”
“Oh god no,” Paul said. “I was just speaking generally. I don’t speak asshole like you and Darren do. It’s why you’re made for each other.”
“You say the sweetest things, baby doll.”
“I try. Why were you pissed off?”
“Your mother is meddling.”
Paul sighed. “What did she do now?”
“She got Dare to give her his mom’s phone number, called her up out of the blue, and invited her down for Thanksgiving to meet Darren’s new boyfriend.”
“Okay,” Paul said. “Then what happened?”
Well, since I really couldn’t tell him about meeting Andrew Taylor under the guise of a heterosexual relationship, I had nothing else. But that should have been enough. “That’s it,” I said.
“I don’t understand what the problem is. Why wouldn’t you want him there?”
And no, he wouldn’t, because Paul was a paragon of virtue who didn’t lie about his relationship in order to help a man named Mike who sometimes smelled like frozen taquitos from Costco. Paul would never understand that I was meeting Darren’s mother under the guise of a fabricated relationship. This poor, sweet woman was probably thinking her slutty son had finally found someone to settle down with, never knowing that I was essentially just a butt plug on his sexual appetite, keeping it all inside until one day, the plug would be removed and all that was trapped inside will come gushing out in a flood of shame and remorse.
“I just don’t know if I’m ready for that,” I said instead to Paul. Because, maybe, if Darren and I were in a
real
relationship, I’d be worried that it’d be too soon to meet his mother. That sounded plausible and something I would say. Or at least I thought it would be. “What if she comes down here and hates me because she thinks her son deserves better? Or worse, what if she
loves
me and then Darren and I break up like, two weeks later? Who would get to keep his mother in the divorce? I would hope it would be me, because I’m an amazing son.”
“She’s not going to think that Darren deserves better than you,” Paul said.
“I know
that
,” I said. “I’m wonderful and the best that Darren could possibly do. I was just practicing being humble for when she gets here. Did you believe me?”
Paul sighed. “I almost did.”
“Good. I’m good. I’m fantastic at being humble.”
“You put the moron in oxymoron.”
“Ooh,” I moaned. “Your wordplay makes me horny.”
“And you’re not going to break up.”
“You don’t know that. He could cheat on me with a twink named Duke or Mateo or whatever those SeanCody boys are called these days. Or Jake Gyllenhaal will finally respond to the fan letter I wrote him ten years ago and agree that we’re meant to be together. So no, you don’t know that at all.”
“I kind of do. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, you’ve pretty much always wanted Darren.”
I almost smashed my fist down on the phone. “That’s not even remotely true!”
“Sure it isn’t. I don’t know what happened between you two to make you pretend to hate him all this time, but you’ve obviously moved past that. Which is a good thing for everyone involved. Trust me. If I had to hear either one of you bitch about the other again, I was going to kick one of you in the balls.”
“So specific,” I said, rather proud of him. “I like the cut of your cloth, kid.”
“Why
did
you pretend to hate him? For a while there, years ago, I thought maybe you had a crush on him.”
And that was the real problem. I’d
had
a crush on him. And after that, I didn’t really have to pretend to hate him. I genuinely despised the very ground Darren Mayne walked on. It was a combination of pettiness and me protecting myself, sure. But those feelings were very, very real.
But it wasn’t like I felt that anymore, right? I mean, I couldn’t really remember when I’d switched from hating him to begrudgingly accepting his existence. It’d happened without me noticing. Granted, he was on my shit list right now for this whole girlfriend debacle, but like any role I’d played before, I was going to commit to it completely and fully. I was going to be the best girlfriend that ever existed.
“I just didn’t like him,” I settled on. “No real reason. He just rubbed me the wrong way. It’s one of those things. You know how it goes.”
“What changed?”
“I guess I saw him differently than he was before.”
“That’s kind of romantic, if you think about it.”
“And that’s why I don’t think about it.”
“Shut up, I know you love it.”
“You’re a liar and a fat mouth.”
“Besides, you wouldn’t want him to be by himself again, would you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Last year. Thanksgiving. His mom was out of town with friends and Vince was over with us at Mom and Dad’s.”
And that didn’t sit right with me. “Why didn’t anyone invite him?”
“You didn’t like him.”
And that… well. That was pretty much true. And I felt like the world’s most gaping asshole. “Things change” was all I could think to say.
“So, it’s fine that he’s coming?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. If you’re going to be having your afternoon delight, I’ll take Corey out with me, then.”
I gave Paul a
kiss kiss
through the phone, so he must have known I was more Helena than Sandy. He didn’t question it, but then he never really did. For all he knew, Darren had a Helena kink and we were getting ready to spend an afternoon exploring said kink completely and fully. (And as soon as
that
thought entered my head, it took a long while for it to leave. Eventually, though, I was able to push it away. It’s painful to try and get an erection when your dick is taped back.)
I decided on the Chanel Rouge Allure Velvet lipstick, a deep red that didn’t smear or flake easily. It was a tinge that said I was flirty and sexy, but that I could also fist you if you tried to fuck with me. Of course, I would never say that to the Honorable Andrew Taylor. But if he thought that this lunch was going to be his chance to berate his son’s choices or give him any grief whatsoever, he was going to be sorely mistaken. I didn’t know when or why I’d decided to become protective over Darren.
Darren was a… perfectly acceptable human being. Whose father had decided his son (
both
his sons) weren’t worthy of his time because of who they were or the choices they’d made. I’d never understood how someone can bring a child into this world and not love them for the rest of their lives, regardless if they were gay or straight or transgendered or any other thing that might set them apart. If you couldn’t love your child no matter who they grew up to be, then you probably shouldn’t have become a parent in the first place.
So, no. I wasn’t going to let Andrew Taylor fuck with Darren.
I was Helena Handbasket now.
And I didn’t take shit from anyone.
I slid my feet into the black pumps, my legs freshly shaved. I smoothed out the knee-length black skirt as I stood, running my finger along the sensible slit on the left thigh. I wore a crisp white collared button-down, the cuffs on the sleeves oversized and hanging over the backs of my hands. The blouse was tight around my middle, accentuating the curves of my body and the padded bra I wore. Paul had always said I was made to be a drag queen because the width of my hips was one of my best features. I left a button or two open at the top, but had the stiff collar pulled around my neck to add to the effect the contouring makeup had to lessen my Adam’s apple.
The rest of my makeup—aside from the lipstick—was minimal and as bare as possible. The black wig I wore was shoulder length and styled to curve around my face. I picked up a large pair of sunglasses and put them on.
A star had been born. I looked like I belonged at a place like Ventana Canyon. That it was the norm for me. A weekend thing. A lunch with the ladies before shopping at Coach or Gucci.
Darren Mayne had said I wasn’t a hot chick.
He was wrong.
I leaned over and carefully kissed my reflection, leaving the smallest imprint of my lips on the glass.
“Let’s begin,” I said, smiling to myself.
Then I turned and took two steps before accidentally walking into a wall because one should never wear sunglasses indoors unless one was a douchebag. “Motherfucking balls of shit,” I snarled in a very unladylike fashion as I rubbed my knee. “That fucking cock bag bitch whore.”
Once the pain subsided, I stood back up, ready to be a lady of leisure again. “Much better,” I said with a breathy sigh.
Of course, I took off the sunglasses before I left the room.
And it was only ten minutes later that Darren stood on the other side of the front door, gaping at me as I rested a hand against the doorway, totally posing, but not letting him know I was posing.
“Bae,” I purred. “How lovely it is to see you again.”
He swallowed thickly, eyes darting up and down, the tiniest of flushes crawling along his throat. “Helena,” he finally said, because he
knew
who he was dealing with. It was one of the reasons I enjoyed him. Well, some of the time. “You look beautiful.”
“Like a hot chick?” I asked, running a fake French-manicured nail along my bottom lip, his eyes dilating and following it.
“Uh,” he said. “Yeah. Um.” He coughed and shook his head. “Yes. Of course. Like. A hot chick. And stuff.”
“Ah,” I said. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
And he didn’t. He wore light gray slacks too cut to be anything but tailored specifically for him and a blue dress shirt that clung to his biceps, the sleeves rolled up over thick forearms. I was amused and given a little rush when I saw that I was an inch or so taller than him now that I wore these heels and we were face to face. There was something about him having to look up at me to meet my eyes that caused my blood to rush. He wasn’t subservient, but Helena didn’t care about that because she could imagine he was. He looked delectable and if this were any other day and we were any other people, I would be more than willing to test just how flake-resistant my lipstick was.
But we were Helena and Darren. There was nothing to test.
“Are you ready to go, baby doll?” I asked, my voice Helena deep, each word carrying a weight to it that could spiral out to a dozen of different connotations. I realized then and only then that this was probably the first time I’d gone out in public as Helena without it being drag-related, either for a show or an event of some kind. This was Helena being allowed out in a public setting where her more… flamboyant mannerisms were probably not going to be as welcome as they normally were.
Sandy thought that maybe this might be a very bad idea.
Helena didn’t give two shits and was chomping at the bit to take control.
I grinned as Darren flushed again.
This was going to be fun.
WE PULLED
up to the valet at the entrance to the country club. A handsome kid in khakis and white polo opened the passenger door to Darren’s SUV, extending a hand out to me, helping me out of the vehicle. I almost wanted to bat his hand away because
honestly
, but I figured this was how rich broads did it, so I went with it. I took his hand in my own and he pulled me gently from the vehicle, and I didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on my legs before his attention snapped back up to my face.
“Ma’am,” he said, and I wanted to
devour
him, he was just so precious.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” I squeezed his hand before letting it fall. The boy blushed and nodded, running around to the other side of the car to take the keys from Darren.
I took my sunglasses off and placed them in the faux-Louis Vuitton purse I carried (and it was an excellent knockoff, if one didn’t look too closely and see the brand name of Luis Valdez, bought from some thrift store ages ago). Darren came around the back of the SUV looking like he just stopped in for a bit of lunch after spending the morning yachting, windswept and tanned skin, smile slightly rakish with a hint of teeth. He was nervous, though, and I was surprised to find out I knew him well enough to see that. It was in the tightness around his eyes, the set of his jaw. A wave of fondness that I could do nothing to stop rolled over me, and I was once again struck by the need to protect him from his father.