Uncaged Love (8 page)

We got to know each other when he was a Sunday morning regular at a bagel shop where I worked. He always came in dressed as a girl, an ordinary girl. Sundresses. Shorts and T-shirts. No over-the-top drag.

One day he came in looking distraught. Normally I didn’t ask questions, just kept my head down. But Zero put his hand over mine when I gave him his change and said, “I wish I was you.”

I remember being totally taken aback. Nobody, not anybody anywhere, ever wanted to be me.

When the shop emptied out, I brought him a cookie. I saw him eyeing them every day. I didn’t realize then that he held back to make sure he fit in his gowns.

“Aren’t you the sweetest thing?” he said.

“Not really.”

He laughed then. “I’m going to be your friend. I think we both need one.”

Zero started coming back to the shop to walk with me after my shift. I only saw him on Sundays. We talked about random things. TV shows. Neighborhood punks. Bosses.

Then one day on a walk, a couple guys came up to us. “Zero, look at you! Are you prepping for the change?”

I didn’t know what they meant.

One of them clapped him on the back. “Let me know when you start the hormones. That’s going to rock your world.”

“And not in a good way,” the other one said.

Zero was crazy uncomfortable and tried to move past.

“Hey, introduce us to your friend!” one said. “He looks like he’s coming along.”

And that’s when I got it.

Zero grabbed my arm and dragged us away. “Jo, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”

I didn’t particularly care that he was a boy, but me? “Did they really think I was a—guy?”

“That was a really stupid assumption. They just saw me. They know I’m usually gender norm. They jumped to a conclusion.”

God. I wanted to dissolve into the sidewalk.

We stopped and he stepped in front to face me. “You are beautiful. Don’t let anyone tell you anything different.”

My chest hurt. “Is that—is that why you said you wanted to be me that day? Because I’m a girl?”

Zero shook his head. “No. I said that because you are so strong. I want to be as strong as you.”

I didn’t believe that either. But after that, we saw each other on other days, when Zero was dressed like a guy. Sundays he likes to come down slowly from his big Saturday night shows before going back to male clothes.

Zero taps my arm. “Still with us, Jo?” His dress sparkles with every movement.

I lean back in my chair. “Today was bad.”

“What did Golden Boy do?”

“It’s the girlfriend. Apparently she’s caught him with other gym girls.” I cover my eyes, as if I could hide behind my hands. “I was stupid. He must do this all the time.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Zero says. He stands and paces the room with a glamorous stride. “Did he or did he not save you from those boys?”

“Yes.”

“And did he get you that job?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Has he come on to you in any way?”

I think about this. Pretty much all our crashing connections were my fault. Well, until he swooped me up in the ring. “I think he was going to kiss me.”

“Did you want him to?”

I hesitate. “Yes.”

Zero stops his pacing. “Do you know how far you’ve come?”

“No.”

He pulls up a rickety folding chair and sits opposite me. His face is earnest even under all that glitter and paint. “He’s been good for you. You can see now what a guy can be like.”

“It’s not exactly turning out well.”

“It ain’t over till the bimbo gets a diamond.” He stands up in a whoosh. “I only have half an hour to get you ready.”

“Oh, no. I can’t.”

“It’s a celebrity fund-raiser. Going to be fan-tab.”

“Not feeling it.”

Zero raises his arched eyebrows. “Will it change your mind if I tell you a certain golden-haired fighter boy is on the guest list?”

I jump from the chair. “What?”

“Yes, indeed. Colt McClure will be in attendance to witness my glory.”

My heart hammers. “But then Brittany will be there too.”

“But he’s only going to have eyes for you.”

“I don’t have clothes. And you know I don’t do makeup.”

“Yes, yes, you’ve mentioned that silly play disaster a dozen times.” He hops up and retrieves his bag. “Those elementary school hacks were not me. I’m an expert.”

I back away. “This is probably your worst idea ever.”

“Well, Colt was really just my trump card. The real thing is that I need you.” Zero pouts. It’s hard for me to even see the boy I know beneath the makeup. “That horrid Angel Wild is going to be there.”

“Is he following you?” Angel has a thing for Zero. He loves to say they are perfect from A to Z. The thought of it makes me totally forget that I’m upset. I want to giggle just imagining the six-foot Angel trying to be all delicate and flirty with Zero.

Zero plunks down on the sofa. “No laughing. He signs up for every show I do.”

I try to sober up. This definitely makes my awful afternoon seem less horrifying. “How am I supposed to help?”

“Just be my arm candy.” He tries to smile winningly.

I’m slowly figuring out what he means. “Oh, no!”

He holds up the bag. “It’s perfect. You’ll get to ogle Colt. He’ll be enchanted by an unrecognizable beauty across the room.”

“Zero…”

He sets the bag on the chair, his expression gentler now. “It means a lot to me.”

I feel bad. Zero has been there for me for every little thing. He’s fed me. Kept me sane. “What did you have in mind for me to wear?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

Within minutes I’m dressed like I stepped from a musical. The emerald gown could be straight from Oz. The color makes my pale skin look creamy instead of Goth. To make it seem more like a costume than just a dress, he has given me a little jacket with a shiny silver fan that stands up behind my head. I look like a witch.

My hair could be on the cover of
Glamour
. Curls cascade away from my face and down my shoulders. I didn’t even realize I had that much hair.

He apologizes for the heaviness of my makeup. “But darling, you have to pull a Victor/Victoria. No one can know I’ve brought a real woman.”

I wince as he spreads all sorts of creams and goo on my face. The false eyelashes make my lids heavy. My lips are a color I could never describe, but Zero calls it Coral Confession.

He steps back to examine his handiwork. “It’s my most stunning creation. The heteros will look at you and see a glamorous woman. My friends will be envious that my man is so utterly amazing in drag.” He smiles. “I’ve missed my calling.”

The face in the mirror is not my own. It’s buried in pinks and smoky grays. But it’s almost freeing to be someone other than Jo. In this getup, I could be anybody. Maybe I could even walk right up to Colt McClure and kiss his beautiful mouth.

There is no time for nail work, so elbow-length black gloves cover my beat-up hands. I’m worried about shoes, but Zero produces a pair of sparkling platforms that are tall, but flat. When I slip them on, I find I can walk mostly like normal.

“Darling, you are divine,” Zero says.

I push at the hair on my neck. “How long is this gig?” I ask.

“Two hours, tops.” He adjusts his wig. “I’ll never forget this.”

I’m quite sure I won’t either.

“Let’s get this done,” I say. I hope we don’t have to walk far. The dress lets me take a stride that’s about three inches long. It’s like a straitjacket for my knees.

Zero calls for a taxi, a rare luxury. But necessary, I guess, for our getup. When we roll to a stop in a much nicer part of town, I feel a pit of dread in my gut. A lifetime of plain dressing leads to this.

Zero takes my arm and parades me to the door of a high-end dance hall. Panic zips through me as we get to the bouncer. It’s always sticky at these things, since I’m only twenty. But Zero hands him the tickets, and we go through without incident.

I’ve never been any place like this. The foyer opens up to a ballroom with tables dotting the dance floor. A stage is set up with red velvet curtains and a long runway that extends out into the crowd. The ceiling is impossibly high. When I look up, I realize there is a balcony with more tables against a rail.

We approach a tuxedoed man behind a podium. “Miss Zerobia and her escort,” Zero says.

The man checks his list. “Follow me.”

He leads us to a table near the back. Quite a number of men are sitting alone, their dates undoubtedly also participants in the show. Some are in drag, glamorous and sparkling. A few wear traditional suits. I’m the only woman as far as I can tell.

Hopefully they will all accept me even if they figure it out, to keep Angel fooled. I’m hoping to stick to low light. The idea of shielding Zero from his stalker makes me want to giggle.

“Wine and beer are included,” Zero says. “So don’t be afraid to order.” He sees another dazzling performer and waves. “I’ll be back after my number.” He leans in close. “If you see Angel, please try to be a man.” He disappears in a glittery flash.

I settle in a chair. A waiter arrives but I wave him away. I never drink. It’s bad enough keeping my head above water when I’m sober.

A man at the next table leans over and says, “We got the cheap seats.”

I nod, not sure what to say, or if my voice will give me away as an impostor.

It must be getting close to time, as the room begins filling rapidly. I scan the room looking for Colt. The people shown to the front are well dressed. Tuxes. Gowns. Jewels. Several people cluster around a super-tall guy who I think might be in the NBA.

An overwhelming perfume makes my eyes water. I turn to see who it is, and there’s Angel Wild, staring at me like I’m the devil herself.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks. He’s completely in white, the southern-belle pouf of his skirt filling the entire aisle. When his hands hit his hips, two feathered wings pop out.

Time to pull this off. I try to use a voice that sounds fake girl, rather than my own. “Jo.”

“This is Zerobia’s table.”

I nod. “Yep.” I hope by keeping it monosyllabic, I can avoid messing up Zero’s ruse.

“You come here with him?” Angel’s mouth is a tight line, soft pink on his powdered face.

“Yep.”

Angel bends down to grasp fistfuls of his skirt and stalks off. Unlike Zero, he keeps his masculine stride. I find myself thinking
amateur
, and another giggle threatens to surface. Zero was right to make me come. This is kind of fun. My life has way too little fun.

“Always drama,” my neighbor says. “It’s my favorite part.”

The lights blink, and the clustered groups begin to disperse. I search again for Colt. He might be above me, in the balcony. Rats.

But just as the lights go down, I see him leading Brittany to a table. My light mood evaporates.

A woman I recognize from a news channel steps onstage to talk about the charity.

I kind of zone out. The day’s events start to settle in again. Lani, Colt, Brittany. Why was Colt taking such a risk by acting that way with me? If Brittany saw it for what it was, then I had to be right. He was hitting on me. Right there where his girlfriend could see.

But it didn’t feel wrong. It was rapture. Like I belonged. Like everything was exactly the way it should be.

Stupid lie.

I’m back to sullen Jo.

The first act is a couple dressed as a hillbilly bride and groom. The man has a fake potbelly and a straw hat that keeps shedding bits onto the stage. The one dressed as a woman has a huge blonde wig under her veil and wears a teeny polka-dot halter and cutoff denim shorts. They lip-sync a hilarious version of Georgia Satellites’ “Keep Your Hands to Yourself.”

I find my mood lightening up again.

After their exit, some young guy holding a guitar comes out, dressed as a guy. I’m wondering who he is when Colt stands up and wolf-whistles, making the crowd laugh.

The guitar player salutes Colt. “Thank you very much.” He looks out across the crowd, and I can see all the women sitting up a little straighter. His charisma is irresistible, reaching us even back here in the “cheap seats.”

“I’m Dylan Wolf,” he says. “You may know me from such great moments on YouTube as ‘Photobombing the Rich and Famous.’”

The crowd laughs.

“I had a little song get some attention recently, so the kind sponsors of this event allowed a dude to come onstage without a wig or girly undergarments.” He looks out across the tables. “Or do I?”

Another laugh. He lifts his guitar. “This one is called ‘Blue Shoes.’”

I remember this now. A viral video about a girl who ends up getting her purse stolen. I wonder how this guy knows Colt. I wish I knew everything Colt knows.

Dylan’s song is sweet and romantic. A lot of the guys wrap their arms around their dates.

But not Colt. He isn’t sitting very close to Brittany. There isn’t any talk between them. They don’t touch. They don’t seem to be affected by the song.

I wonder if it would be different if he was sitting next to me.

Angel is up next. His number is melodramatic, a drawn-out version of “In the Arms of the Angel.” He keeps glancing to one side, and I wonder if he has spotted Zero.

Probably so, as Zero comes onstage directly afterward. I’m dazzled by him, as always. His arm comes up dramatically as he waits for the music. I didn’t ask what he was singing tonight.

As the music begins to pulse, he points at various people in the audience, including me, and then Colt. My face flames as the words begin. He’s singing “I Will Survive.”

His energy is incredible and by the time he reaches the climax, all the occupants of the back tables are standing and cheering. A number of guests turn to look, including Colt. Brittany sends a disapproving glare back at us. I hold my breath, thinking she will recognize me. But of course she doesn’t. Colt seems more amused and claps along. This makes me want to kiss him all the more, Brittany or no Brittany.

During the fifth song, I notice Brittany do something odd. She checks her phone and glances around as if she’s looking for someone. Colt isn’t paying attention, tapping his finger on the table to the music.