ried. Kori is comfort. Kori is safe and warm. Kori is who Corey turns to when things get hard. I don’t think it’s him hiding behind her, more him putting on a different face against the world. Kori may be quiet and may look frail, but she’s got steel in her bones. I’m worried that she’s made an appearance now. I don’t know how coming home to Tucson might be for her. I can imagine, though, especially if it’s anything like coming back to Seafare was.
Something flashes across her eyes, but I can’t quite catch it. It almost looks like anger. Or fear. But it’s gone too fast. “Sure,” she says. “Should be great.”
I don’t believe her in the slightest.
SANDY LIVES in an adobe house in a quiet neighborhood. There’re some potted plants hanging outside (probably gasping their final breaths as they’re baked in the fiery sunlight) and a birdbath in the front yard, but so far nothing that says the best drag queen in the history of the world, as Kori touted. Granted, I suppose that because a person is a drag queen doesn’t mean the outside of their house has to look like a drag queen too. After all, I don’t look anything like the Green Monstrosity. At least I hope I don’t.
There’s a sensible electric car (I approve) in the carport, and the license plate says QWN4LFE (which I approve of immensely—why can’t Bear have a license plate that proclaims him a queen for life? It would certainly make sense). As we get out of the SUV, the front door opens and I almost expect there to be an explosion of glitter and feathers from a pink boa. Instead, a slight man walks out, thin and tall. I could say he’s blandly handsome, with his short blond hair and brown eyes, but the smile on his face has a wicked curve to it, and I can see the glint in his eyes.
It seems Helena Handbasket is never too far under the surface.
“Baby dolls,” Sandy says warmly. “I am so very happy you made it okay.” He walks over to Kori and hugs her tightly, lifting Kori off the ground and twirling her around. He whispers something in her ear, something meant for just the two of them, and I see Kori stiffen for a moment. She shakes her head and shrugs as Sandy kisses her cheek. “We’ll figure it out,” he says.
He turns to me. “Little Twinkie Tyson!” he says, and he wraps me in a hug as well. “You look even more delicious in person.” He peeks over my shoulder. “God, if I had that ass when I was your age, I probably would have done porn. You ever think of doing porn? Pretty sure you’d make a buck or two. People would be jerking off to you left and right. Probably already do.”
I flush furiously. “Uh… no. No porn. Not yet.”
He tosses his head back and laughs. It’s a sweet sound. “‘Not yet,’ he says. Well, honey, if that’s what you’re looking for, I’m sure I could hook you up.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Somehow, I don’t think it’d fly back home if I were in porn. I’m pretty sure Otter and Bear would shit themselves. And what if they like porn (gross!) and somehow stumble across it and see me getting my ass—
Wow. I need to stop that train of thought right now. I blame Tucson. There has to be something in the air that makes you think really dirty things.
Sandy does a double take as Dom climbs out of the backseat. Dom stretches and his shirt rises up slightly, a thin strip of skin showing through, and I can almost hear Helena Handbasket roaring forward. Gone is the blandly handsome Sandy with a sweet smile. Gone, too, apparently, are any bones, judging by the way he’s able to slink and slide his way over to Dom. Dom has a small grin on his face, as if this man already amuses him greatly.
“Well, well, well,” Sandy purrs. “What do we have here?” He presses up against Dom’s side, laying his head on his shoulder. “Where, my large luscious piece of man cake, have you been all my life? I bet you could bench-press three of me without breaking a sweat, but lucky you, there’s only one of me and trust me when I say I’m more than enough man for you to handle.”
Uh. Wait. What?
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dom says, patting Sandy on the top of the head.
“That voice!” Sandy squeaks. “Please tell me that you’ve done porn and where I can buy it. Take my money. Take all my money.”
“I haven’t done porn,” Dom says, much to the detriment of the entire world, I’m sure. “I don’t know how well that’d go over with the department.”
Sandy’s eyes go dramatically wide. “You’re the police officer? Honey, I don’t think that’s a problem for your department. Haven’t you ever seen C.O.P.S: Cum On Perverted Suspects? Those cops had no problem shoving their nightsticks up each other’s asses.”
“I must have missed that one,” Dom says. “And I don’t quite know if they were real cops.”
“It’s all about the fantasy, baby doll,” Sandy says. “And you are eight feet of living, breathing, ridiculously ripped fantasy. I simply must make you part of my show tomorrow night at the club. Tell me, are you comfortable enough in your heterosexuality to take off your shirt and pants on stage and be completely and salaciously objectified by dozens of screaming homos? I’m pretty sure I have a sparkly pair of boy panties you can wear. Though I will say, if your cock is as big as the rest of you, you’ll probably be poking out. But, incentives, of course. I’ll make sure you’re in for a cut of the tips, which will probably amount to six dollars and forty-two cents.”
“That much, huh?” he asks with a smile. “How could I say no to that?”
“You filthy whore,” I hiss before I’m able to stop myself. And there’s the image of the sparkly boy-panty thing that needed to go away, like, yesterday. I’m not into that sort of thing. Well, at least my mind isn’t. My penis thinks it’s a grand idea. Stupid fucking penis.
Everyone stares at me, but not before Sandy and Kori exchange a look that makes me want to kick out their kneecaps. “Um. I said let’s go indoors. Isn’t it too hot out? It feels too hot.”
“Of course,” Sandy says coyly, like the evil host that he is. “I’m so used to it, I didn’t even notice. You poor little twinkie. I’m going to take such good care of you in Casa de Helena that you won’t ever want to leave.” He winks at me knowingly, and I almost run screaming in the opposite direction.
Knowing my luck, I’d trip and fall into a cactus.
THE INSIDE of Sandy’s house is delightfully kitschy, yet surprisingly tasteful (I know, I know. I just thought there’d be piles of wigs all over and a three-foot black dildo on the coffee table or something—apparently I don’t know many drag queens). There are splashes of colors everywhere, from the green couch to the blue-and-red walls. The floors are hardwood, covered here and there with thick white rugs. There’s a stain on one, hidden back toward the corner of the living room.
“Yes,” Sandy says with a frown. “That.”
“What’s it from?” Kori asks.
“The hellhound known as Wheels,” he says with a look of extreme distaste. “Paul’s dog. I love the little mutt to death, but he is not normal. I’m quite certain he vomited there on purpose, because I wouldn’t let him go outside when it was raining. Trust me when I say that Wheels is a vindictive creature with malice in his heart.”