Exotic - Chapter 32: Chapter 32

Words couldn't fully express how nervous I was that Saturday night.
Even with half a face of makeup and tights on, Sephora was boxed up with packing tape and I was one paper bag away from a full meltdown. One of the other performers – Jamie had hired a whole dressing room full of queens, each dressed to the nines in Rocky Horror attire – had offered me a joint, sensing my nerves. I'd declined, but as the club began to fill, I began to regret turning it down.
"You right, babe?" asked Zsa Zsa. He was fully decked out, sweeping duffle coat with black lingerie beneath, plump red lips, and teased hair. He'd told me he'd played Dr. Frankenfurter once before, in a lewd community theatre production which had nearly sent him poor Catholic mother into cardiac arrest.
I nodded uncertainly. "Butterflies. I've got a friend coming tonight."
Aaron had texted me ten minutes ago.
A club? How are you planning on getting in?
And minutes later;
I'm lined up. Where are you?
Aaron was no more than fifty meters from me - slathered in foundation, and fully tucked to accommodate the half-naked scene I was scheduled to enact. The thought made me light-headed. I had half a mind to text that it was a false alarm, that I hadn't managed to sneak in – being underage granted the perfect excuse to boycott.
But I'd made a decision, and despite all my reservations, I was determined to put on a show.
i'm inside. meet me at the bar.
His response was brimming with cynicism.
If you dragged me out here just to exploit my ID...
I rolled my eyes at the screen and tossed it lightly into my backpack, resting my head against the wall. After a few deep breaths, I peeled myself off the floor and wedged myself in front of the mirror, tuning out the clamour of the dressing room to finish painting on Sephora. Sephora as Janet Weiss, that was, but I didn't change much or tone down on the extravagance I associated with my drag persona, trusting the outfit and context would speak for itself. I drew my lips on large, my eyebrows high and dusted my contoured illusion of cheekbones with highlighter.
A short, golden wig teased with curls sat heavy over my eyes, which I carefully covered with artificial green. I blinked twice and smiled openly at my reflection. My face was almost perfectly symmetrical, my eyelid dusted with imitation gold, and my cheeks dotted with the faintest blush. I'd paint a white dot on the arch of my lip, giving the illusion of a cartoonish sheen. The pink slip I had on had been adjusted – with kitchen scissors and a messy blanket stitch – to sling off my shoulders and the neckline had been edited down to dive down below my sternum. The rosé skirts fell only an inch or two below my pelvis, riding up as I shifted in my chair to check every angle.
I had outdone myself.
I didn't think I'd looked as good as I did since the night I had naively dubbed Caleb and I's 'first date'. But Caleb wasn't going to be out there; I'd told him to stay away. For his safety, I kept telling myself - Aaron had keen eyes, and Crescendo wasn't large by any means.
I put thoughts of Caleb out of my mind. They made me feel flustered, and he certainly wouldn't have been thinking of me. Not in the way I thought of him, all too often. Maybe passing speculation about why I'd stopped nipping at his heels. Maybe Caleb secretly liked to be adored. A narcissist, below all the selflessness. Villainising him in my head certain helped lighten my mental load.
"Your breast contour is insane," the queen playing Magenta marvelled, squeezing their own chest together with a pout. "If I hadn't watched you draw them on, I could have sworn you'd sprouted tits."
I wiggled my torso, shaking my non-existent bosom and gave them a wink. "Some people were born to run, some were born to write, I was born to draw tiddies like no other. Would you mind taking a photo?"
mormon.vixen: ...pation
The club was pulsing with cultish eagerness. There were Janet's and Riff Raff's and a whole lot of Frankenfurter's. I weaved my way through the mass of bodies, squeezing the shoulders of patrons I recognised but moving quickly enough to avoid getting stuck in a conversation. I walked one high-heeled step in front of the other, no plan of what to say, no script prepared. I couldn't ready myself for a conversation when I didn't know the other person's lines. There was no telling how Aaron would respond.
And there he was, standing awkwardly by the bar wearing a blazer and Clark Kent glasses. He was just about the only person dressed as pre-stripped Brad in the building, because few people would wear sensible trousers and three layers to a club. It made my heart burst with affection; it was so dorky and hilarious and Aaron. I wanted to tackle him in a hug.
My steps slowed, as if some physical barrier was stopping me from reaching him. My chest heaved with panic, and every instinct I had chimed that I was better off turning around and walking out of the building. Continuing forward went against everything I had conditioned myself to do, in order to protect my double life.
The tiniest part of me, the part of me still smiling at Aaron's dress sense for his first club, reminded me that without him, my day-to-day life would be all but unbearable. Abandoning ship now might have had long reaching consequences. I sensed that it would be the final straw. It propelled me forward.
Fear diminished the closer I got, after I made the active decision to approach him. Aaron was still a far bit taller than me despite the heels, but his head was down, and his phone was out, shoulders hunched up at his ears. People looked him up and down as they passed, but he was too wrapped up in his own world to notice them. It might have explained when he didn't so much as look up when I sidled up next to him, propping myself up with an elbow on the wood.
After an awkward amount of time draped across the bar without him sparing me so much as a glance, I cleared my throat. Aaron looked up for a split second, caught my eye and immediately looked down, seemingly suspecting that I hadn't meant to signal him. Why would I? I wasn't anyone he recognised.
But I caught him doing a double take, absorbing my extravagance before forcing his gaze out. It gave me the boost I needed to speak.
"Hello," it was a miracle my voice stayed at one note, and I even managed to make it sound characteristically sly. "You look dapper."
Aaron's head swivelled back to me. I watched his eyes widen in surprise. I'd apparently shocked him into temporary muteness, because he seemed incapable of responding. Though I hadn't given him much to work with; Aaron wasn't a natural flirt.
"Waiting on a friend?" I asked, more casually. It loosened his lips, at the very least.
"Yep," he sounded disturbingly put-out, avoiding my eye despite my best attempts to hold his attention. Aaron was having none of my peacocking. "I'm starting to think I went to the wrong club."
"You would look more at home at a housing auction," I gestured up and down his attire, using it as an opportunity to turn front on and give him another angle. How long had it taken Lauren to work me out? Caleb had needed prompting, but Aaron had been subjected to my face for far longer than either of them. I didn't know whether to take his obliviousness as a credit to my artistry or an insult.
He laughed sharply, adjusting his collar. "Can you tell it's my first night out?"
I mocked a gasp. "Baby's first gay club! Welcome!"
He gave me a baffled smile, before turning his body away from me ever so slightly and pulling out his phone. I felt my phone buzz in my shirt and dug it out. Aaron didn't notice the coincidence.
Where are you? There's a guy hitting on me and I don't know what to do.
I muffled a laughed with a cough and responded immediately.
is he cute?
Aaron's face didn't so much as twitch as he received my message.
He's a smartass. You'd like him.
I smirked and slipped my phone out of sight as Aaron turned back to me. "Do you know if this place has another 'bar'?"
I gave him a listless shrug and a shake of my head. Aaron mumbled vague affronts directed to me under his breath and lazed back against the bar, head tilted to one side.
"I'm sure your friend is close by," I told him in another attempt at ingenuity. "What does he look like?"
Aaron made a face, which told me a barrage of insults were coming before he opened his mouth. "Short. Blonde. Moronic."
"That doesn't exactly narrow things down," I sighed. I needed Aaron to look at me, really look at me. But his eyes were searching for me elsewhere. "Is he cute?"
I expected that to be the tipping point – repeating my words to him moment ago right in his ears. But Aaron, who I'd always credited as the smart one between the Sanchez twins, just shrugged. "Eh. Sometimes. When he puts in the effort."
I couldn't hold back an indignant huff at that remark. Aaron still wasn't paying me any attention, scanning the dancefloor as if I was about to burst from the mosh pit. "You sound like the best of friends."
He did look at me then, and his eyes were big and regretful. "Shit. Sorry. I shouldn't be talking to you. I'm trying to be mad at him, that's all."
"Trying?" I prompted. I'd tasted blood, and I wanted more.
"It's harder than it sounds," he sighed, in a way that was not completely devoid of affection. He shoved himself off the bar, digging his phone out and opening up his messages again. Seeing nothing further from me, he audibly groaned.
"I hope he didn't do anything too bad," I persisted.
Aaron rolled his eyes at nothing in particular. "He didn't. He's just being an idiot. But we've all been there. I just wish he'd stop... sorry, you don't want to hear this."
"I've got nowhere else to be." Except the stage, in less than fifteen minutes. But if that wasn't enough time for him to work me out, we were beyond saving.
That seemed like all the excuse Aaron needed to let everything come tumbling out. "I don't know how to explain it. He's... alright. I have a twin brother. And sometimes people think I'm him, at first, but as soon as I start talking, they know I'm not because we're so different. Lately I've just felt like my friend has a twin brother going around doing dumb shit. Stuff he would never usually do. And sometimes it's like I'm having a conversation with that twin brother rather than him. Oh, and his twin brother also lies. Liberally. That's the only way I can explain it."
I ached to hug him, promise him that I was never going to lie to him again, put everything on the table like my body on the slab at a morgue.
"He does sound like an idiot," I agreed.
"He's also my best friend, so watch your mouth," Aaron said, somewhat earnestly, before his tough exterior melted away. "Sorry. That was a joke. I'm going to..."
He turned his back fully on me, neck red with a blush. I would have facepalmed, if I wasn't wearing twenty dollar's worth of product on my face.
I didn't know how I could make it clearer to him. Wordplay? Sometimes what we're looking for turned out to be right under our noses, all along. Burst out into song? He teased me with lyrics from The Proclaimers and Vanessa Carlton before, so it wouldn't come completely out of nowhere. A blatant happy birthday, Aaron – rip it off, like a band-aid?
I was saved from having to make a decision by my phone buzzing persistently against my chest. Aaron had his phone pressed against one ear his finger in the other and was tapping his foot impatiently.
I pulled my mobile out of my bra padding, tentatively hit receive and held the device up to my ear.
"My ears are burning, Aaron Sanchez," I said into the speaker, loud enough that my voice reached him across the bar.
He spun around in an instant, eyes like saucers. I gave him a timid wave.
"Surprise."
The club slowed down, bodies and voices reducing to background clutter. The pulse of the music turning into a ticking clock as Aaron's lips parted in shock, as his eyes scanned my face. I left my phone hovering by my ear, struggling to keep my smile steady as the pounding of my hears offset my body. His dark eyes skimmed each detail of my face in turn, his eyebrows gathering in the middle, before popping up like jacks in boxes as he finally put the pieces together. Saw through the Sephora illusion.
Funnily enough, I didn't mind being seen by Aaron. It didn't fill me with dread or kick my flight instincts into overdrive. I was just Miles, in heels and a wig, standing in front of him and waiting for him to say something.
His mobile slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground.
"What..." he gaped, not seeming to care that his phone was face down on in the most densely populated area of the club. "What are you... why do you have... wait."
I did, face slowly sinking. It wasn't the reaction I had expected, nor hoped for. He stepped forward, over his abandoned mobile phone, raised one hand to his lips, then held it out to me as if he was pre-emptively trying to stop me from responding.
I waited, and sweated, and waited.
Finally, his hand dropped. "You know, some people might consider showing up the birthday boy like this to be rude. I worked fucking hard on this costume."
It was like a lead blanket was whipped off my shoulders. I let out a loud, almost orgasmic sigh of relief. He opened his arms in a gesture that felt more like a question, and I fell into them. Mostly because my heels caught on the floorboards, but I hoped my enthusiasm was appreciated.
"Wait," he pulled me back. "Lauren. You and Lauren are over, right?"
Oh, sweet foresight. "Yes. Over. Not that we were ever together, not really. Which I'll exp-"
I found myself launched back into a hug again, and winded myself against his chest.
"Okay, makeup, makeup," I craned my neck back to avoid smudging my hard work against his collar. "Happy birthday. Happy birthday! I should have opened with that!"
"Yeah, you should have," Aaron huffed, releasing me to lean back against the bar. "What was with the 'you come here often' act?"
"You're so conceited," I smacked his shoulder. "I was not flirting with you. You have a certain naive charm, but no muscle."
"You're so conceited," he countered. "'Is he cute?' Such a narcissist."
"I was just checking that your eyes work," I fluffed my hair over one shoulder. "I know I'm cute."
Aaron stared, less incredulously, but his eyes were obviously at odds with everything he knew about me. I knew there was nothing of the Miles he knew left behind. I had hips, and breasts, and curves, my skin had a healthy glow and my lips had colour to them. Lipstick always made my teeth look whiter than they were. My hair wasn't the stringy, closely kept rats' nest he was accustomed too, and my posture was improved. I credited that mostly to the heels, but even barefoot I would be able to keep my head up. It wasn't just my outer appearance that Aaron wouldn't recognise. I was determined to share with him the levity of Sephora Utah, before we had to come back to earth.
"So... do we..." Aaron started, but he was interrupted by the whining of a stage microphone. Jamie, of all people, was front and centre to open the show. He was dressed as extravagantly as Jamie ever was, as The Narrator, in a crisp suit and fat red tie. As soon as the crowd began cheering for him, he shrunk back and toed the edge of the stage. Jamie was not exactly in his element is the public sphere. It was why he had us in as regularly as he did, to run the show.
"Hello... everyone... I would like, if you may... to take you on a strange journey," he mumbled into the microphone, winching a little at the enthusiasm of his audience. "You're all very loud tonight."
I snorted into my hand at his complete lack of stage presence.
"Let's... uhm... let's get started, should we?" he continued, already halfway out off the stage in his eagerness to escape. "Let's hear it for your cast tonight... yep, there they are... wow, you are loud."
I pushed up off the bar, recognising my cue. Aaron touched my arm, tilting his head in confusion.
I gave him a coy smile; as coy as I ever got behind the mask of Sephora. "Get yourself a drink. I'll be with you in... one hour and forty-one minutes."
He looked between the open stage and I, and appeared even more perplexed than he had upon realising that it was me behind the makeup. "You're... performing? You?"
"I'm starring, sweetness," I adjusted my breast padding, evening out the right side. "Can you not tell by my perfect eyebrow game that this wasn't a spur of the moment decision?"
Aaron gave me another look up and down, as if he could draw all the answers he needed from my perfectly highlighted skin.
"More surprises to come?" he guessed.
I nodded quickly, backing up toward the stage. "We have a lot to catch up on. And I'm going to tell you everything. But... it's your birthday. Tell Lyle you're with me, have a few drinks, loosen up. Eighteen! You're fucking eighteen!"
He rolled his eyes and waved me off, I blew a kiss back to him. As I teetered up the steps, to the stage, the crowd grew in energy. I was surprised by the difference in volume between the enthusiasm for me, versus the other queens on stage. I had put out my location to my followers, a count rapidly approaching one thousand. I wondered how many of them had come exclusively to see me. The thought simultaneously unnerved me and flattered me.
I sidled up next to Zsa Zsa, who had grappled the microphone off Jamie. He tossed me the second mic, shot me a wink and greeted the crowd with a sultry hello. He dominated the stage as usual, almost every inch of his body on display, red lips smacking on ever syllable.
"And, late to the stage as always," he said smugly, batting his spider lashes under the gruelling stage lights, "...is your local prima donna in the flesh, Sephora Utah, as Janet Weiss!"
I wasn't about to fade into the wallpaper, however. I squeezed into centre stage, revelling in the screaming. I caught Aaron's eye; his mouth hung in awe as I twisted myself around the microphone stand like a viper.
"Alright, shut the fuck up," I snapped, all with a twinkle in my eye. The crowd cackled. "Dr Frank's going to go over some ground rules for the screening. I know it's a hard ask, but try to focus on the words they are saying and not all of..." I gestured up and down Zsa Zsa's flawless figure.
He didn't even miss a beat. "Dammit, Janet, you're not supposed to start sucking my dick until the second act."
I stuck out my tongue in a juvenile way, and then made it more mature by waggling it up and down. "Well, get the boring stuff out of the way and..."
He swatted me to the back of the stage, where I took my place next to the guy playing Brad, one of Jamie's friends from the biz. I felt bad for forgetting his name, mentally dubbing him 'second favourite Brad'. I gave him a smile and a shoulder shimmy, as Zsa Zsa finished hyping up the crowd and gestured for the music to kick in. The Lips, a performer in all black with their mouth painted cherry red, stepped up to start the show as the club faded to almost pitch black.
"Michael Rennie was ill the day the Earth stood still..."
I waited urgently for my moment in the spotlight, through the slow build of the opening song, swaying along with the rest of the club. As the screen played the first beats of Dammit Janet, I felt second favourite Brad's hand wrap around my wrist, and we tumbled up to centre stage. I locked my knees together, pigeon-toed and mouth agape as Brad danced circles around me. At least they were laughing because I wanted them too, not because they could see I clearly couldn't dance.
The song continued only a few squeaky interjections on my part, but Over At The Frankenstein Place gave me a few solo moments. When I finished singing, I looked for Aaron in the crowd. I half expected him to have disappeared, like every good thing in my life eventually did. But there he was, by the bar, exactly where I'd left him. Our eyes met, and he bought a fist to his temple, and then threw it out to the side while opening his fingers in mimed brain explosion.
My aching smile turned genuine, and I waved to him with the shameless enthusiasm that mums did to their children at Christmas concerts. Aaron reacted in turn like an embarrassed teenager, rolling his eyes and turning away from the stage. But one I started to sing again, he turned back to watch.
It was the performance of my life, and I didn't even do that well. Blew half the notes, nearly fell on my face twice. But I'd never had anyone as close to me as Aaron watch me perform. I understood why Max pleaded for his brother to turn up to his games; there was a different energy in it, a vastly different current running through me than the one that fired up when I performed for strangers. It was so much more fulfilling.
It made me wonder what it would have been like to sing for mum.
She'd watched me during choir recitals, but I'd never had a solo or even showed much open interest in singing while she'd been alive. It had been one of the things that came with inventing Sephora. It would have been nice to perform for her. It would have been nice to look out into a crowd and see her face.
Aaron's was a good enough stand-in. It was nice to be watched by someone who knew how much it meant for me to be up there, after everything. Even if Sephora was a new phenomenon for him. I'd kept him in the dark because I had worried what he'd think of her; being gay was one thing. Having a drag alter ego you liked more than yourself, was another.
Based on the smile he wore as he applauded me, I had a feeling we were going to be just fine.