“That’s stupid.”
“It’s a story.”
“Goddammit.”)
Darren went to the bar that night because he always went on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Not because of anyone performing or doing anything else, but that was his routine. He went because he’d always gone. It most certainly didn’t have anything to do with drag queens. Especially annoying ones who thought they were god’s gift to the world.
(“I don’t think that,” I said. “I know that. There’s a difference.”
“This story is never going to end, is it?” Corey said.)
Sure, maybe Darren had to go for a different reason this night. His brother and his brother’s boyfriend were getting married and he wanted to talk to the other best man, just to bounce some ideas around, given that they were both in charge of the grooms. He had no other reason he needed to see the Queen whatsoever. In fact, he wouldn’t even be there if it wasn’t required. Or, rather, that’s what he told himself.
(“Ooh,” Paul said. “A cover story to mask true love.”
“That’s really not what this is,” I said. “It’s not masking anything.”
“It totally is,” Darren said, overriding me. “In fact, it’s exactly what this was.”
“Ooh,” Corey, Vince, and Paul all said.
That asshole.)
So he arrived at the bar and went looking for the drag queen. She wasn’t in the balcony as someone else might claim. In fact, she wasn’t in the Queen’s Lair at all. As soon as Darren rounded the corner, the Queen smashed right into him. Darren looked down and the drag queen looked up and their eyes connected and the drag queen gasped in pleasured shock, her body arching and—
(“Pleasured shock?” I said. “That’s gross. And not a real thing. Your prose is purple and you should be ashamed of yourself. I didn’t arch my body, you jackhole.”
“Love knows no restraints of language,” Darren said.
“Oh my god,” Corey said. “I think I almost just swooned at that. Purple me with your prose. Just purple it all over me.”)
Now, Darren knew who the Queen was, and knew her biting tongue and rapier wit was a shield she’d built up around her to protect her heart and soul from ever being hurt by another. The Queen was fierce, and he knew that maybe she’d gotten the wrong impression of him. After all, Darren was somewhat kind and mostly loving and really good in bed. He had nice abs and didn’t chew his fingernails. He also had a diversified stock portfolio, a 401(k), and 1500-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets bought at Macy’s when they weren’t even on sale. So yes, Darren was a catch and it wasn’t his fault that the Queen couldn’t see that.
(“Oh, bae,” I said. “None of that stuff matters to me.” Because I didn’t give two shits about anything he had.
“I know,” he said. “Because all that matters is what’s in my heart.”
I wanted to fucking punch him in the dick for that one. Because it almost hurt.)
So he held the drag queen in his arms and said, “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
The drag queen said, “Oh, Darren. It’s you! It’s really you! How I have longed to be in your arms just like this.”
“I know,” Darren said. Because he did.
(“What,” I said flatly.
“You know,” Paul said. “That actually sounds like something Sandy would say.”
“It does not,” I snapped.
“I could see it,” Vince said.
“Me too,” Corey said.
“You know what?” I said. “Fine. It’s my turn to pick up the story again.”
“I didn’t even get to the best part!” Darren said.