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.