Unsent Message: Why are you always there?
Unsent Message: What’s rule 10?
Unsent Message: You’re always there
Unsent Message: And I think I want you to be
Messages saved to draft
Delete unsent messages?
Messages deleted
Me: Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Bye =P
Darren: Later
WHICH LED to Caleb.
THE NEXT night, Wednesday, was packed, the bar almost overflowing. A line had started to form outside the door once we’d filled to capacity. News had started to spread of our drag bachelor auction, with Mike taking to the bar’s social media pages and blasting the hell out of it. A flier had been designed, me as Helena at the center of it and two seminude men were photoshopped on either side of me, muscles prominent and pulled taut as they leaned toward me, the curves of their thighs hiding their junk. I suppose I had to give Mike some credit for the photo he used of me, a long straight platinum blonde wig, smoky eyes, and bright red lipstick, a perfectly manicured fingernail barely pulling against my bottom lip. It was a seductive pose, one of my better ones. It looked good, and not like the usual cheap trashy fliers he had made that I detested. He knew he needed to move fast and had done good work since the weekend. Not that I would ever tell him that, however. I needed to keep his ego in check.
The trickle effect usually meant the bar would be more crowded, as the buildup toward the bachelor auction began to spread. Events like these were far and few between outside of Pride month, and it helped that the event was taking place between the end of classes and finals and everyone was going to need to take a break from studying that night. We’d be having nothing but drunk, horny college students ready to descend on the bar to see musclemen in drag.
Paul and Vince were downstairs, nursing a beer or two. They’d told me they were leaving early, probably right after my show. Which was fine, of course. Not everyone can stay out late on a Wednesday night, especially when we had to work in the morning. We weren’t getting any younger, to be sure. I remember thinking in my twenties how nothing would change in my thirties, but it did. I couldn’t stay out all night like I could before and be fresh for work the next morning. No, if I tried that now, I’d loo
k like the Crypt Keeper from Tales from the Crypt crawling into the office come Thursday morning. I tended to mingle for only a little bit these days after I’d finished and would duck out quickly, as it always took me a while to come down from Helena. I needed at least five hours of sleep to be a semifunctioning human being, especially since I had to sit in a cubicle all day and watch my dreams die minute by minute. And the drinking was kept to a minimum, given that I couldn’t recover from hangovers as quickly as I used to. It used to be that I could get shitfaced, then wake up and eat a breakfast burrito from Los Betos and feel fine the rest of the day. Now, if I make the mistake of getting plastered, I tend not to move from the couch the following day, staring at the TV with glazed eyes while watching real housewives doing fake things.
And Corey had his class, so he was out, not that he was the type to come out during the week anyway. He was focused on his schoolwork, as he should be. He would have time to do stupid things like the rest of us when he became a mature, responsible adult after graduation.
I hadn’t seen Darren yet, but I’d gotten a text (On my way) almost an hour ago, so I assumed he was downstairs somewhere doing homo jock things like standing against a wall, posing with his arms across his chest and a glower on his face. Or talking about whatever game had been on TV before they’d come to the bar and chuckling heartily about their players kicking touchdowns or other such nonsense.
I was putting the finishing touches on my costume (Stevie Nicks meets Rihanna—probably not one of my better mashups) when Vince came stomping up the stairs, brow furrowed, a frown on his pretty mug.
I was Helena-gone, so every word I spoke was husky and at a purr. “Why the long face, baby doll?” I asked as Paul finished tightening the corset. I grunted and glared at Paul over my shoulder, but he just rolled his eyes.
“Darren’s here,” he said.
I arched an eyebrow at him in the vanity mirror, waiting for the rest.
“Downstairs, with some friends of his.”
“And?” I asked.
“There’s some guy with them too.”
“What guy?” Paul muttered, apparently thinking it was okay for the corset to be so tight that my falsies threatened to pop out.
“I don’t know.” Vince seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then, “I’ve never seen him before. He was all over Darren, though.”
And that brought things to a screeching halt.
“Say again?” My jaw twitched.
“This guy,” Vince said. “His name is Caleb, I think? I don’t know. It just reminded me of how things used to be before you and Darren got together. You know. With how Darren was.”
“How so?” I asked, voice sticky-sweet.
Paul stiffened, because he knew that voice.