Painted Faces (10 page)

He opens the door just slightly, and I really should be running straight to my own apartment, but my eyes land on something red and feathery looking, and like a child who's just caught sight of the ice cream van, I'm compelled to go after it.

“
I'd love to,” I say, stepping right inside. The feathery red thing turns out to be a cushion made entirely of the softest feathers I have ever laid my hands on. But the most fascinating thing is what the cushion is sitting on, a lime green velvet
chaise longue
. I feel like I've just stepped inside a boudoir that's decorated in a mix of outlandish psychedelic colours and old world vintage. The lounge area is a lot bigger than mine and Nora's place, I notice.

I sit down on the lime green creation and plop the feathery cushion on my lap so that I can pet it. My tipsy self enjoys soothing textures.

“
I've never been in here before. None of our previous neighbours were the friendly type. It's fucking huge. I have to admit Viv, I think I've got apartment envy.”

He smiles and pops the kettle on. Tea seems like a good idea. I need something to clear my foggy head. “Feel free to visit any time,” he says.

The place might be bigger than ours, but it's also a whole lot messier. There are unpacked boxes all over. Most of them appear to have women's clothing in them. Show costumes I'm thinking. Over by one of the windows are three wigs sitting on those plastic manikin heads. Eyeing the ginger one I joke, “I can't wait to see you as a red head Viv, why didn't you go for a wig tonight?”

He sighs as he pours boiling water into tea cups. He never asked me if I wanted tea, but I don't mind him assuming because I'm quite thirsty.

There's a strange, almost calculating look in his eyes. Then his face goes blank and it takes him another few moments to answer me. “I had to go bare bones because I haven't yet hired a dresser.” He brings the cups over to the coffee table where I'm sitting and drops down beside me. “I'll let you in on a little secret, I'm awful at choosing costumes and doing my own make-up. I've always had an assistant to do it for me.”

“
Wow, there must be money to be made in the drag queening business if you can afford an assistant.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not really. I inherited a lot when my father passed away. It's caused me to accumulate expensive tastes. I should probably be more frugal.”

“
Is that what you're doing by living here? Any sane person with cash to splash would run a mile from this dump.”

He glances around. “It's not so bad. I think it's got character. I've always tended to select my living spaces in older buildings, places that feel lived in are oddly reassuring to me.”

“
If by
lived in
you mean an aged whore with cracked skin and some sort of downstairs infection she can't get rid of, then you're right, this building has
plenty
of character.”

Nicholas grins. “You have a wonderful way with words Fred, disgusting but wonderful.”

“
Why thank you. So tell me more about this assistant predicament. I thought you looked amazing tonight. You can dress and do your make-up fine, what's the problem?”

“
I've just gotten used to having somebody else do it over the years. I suppose you could call it a combination of habit and laziness. I'm also terribly disorganised, if you hadn't noticed.” He gestures around his apartment.

“
Ah, now we're getting to the crux of the matter. I think I should stage an intervention. No longer will Vivica Blue require the services of an assistant/dresser/make-up artist, from here on out she will do it all herself,” I laugh. “You need to learn to get organised if you want to survive in the cut throat business of gay night club performance. Harry tells me the gays can't abide by clutter.”

He doesn't say anything, but he seems to be regarding me strangely.

“
What?” I ask.

He sips on his tea. “You're something of a job collector,” he replies ponderously. “How would you feel about a third?”

I look at him, incredulous. “Are you asking me to be your assistant?”

“
I might be,” he smirks. “How are you with make-up?”

I shrug. “I get by.”

“
And what about fashion?” he goes on, eyes roaming over my dress. “You seem to have good taste. I like the whole 40's vintage thing you've got going on tonight. Yes, there's definitely potential. How about a two week trial period?”

“
You forget that I work in the mornings. I'm not sure I could survive one job at night and another where I have to get up at the crack of dawn.”

“
Yes but that's weekdays. My gigs are Thursday through Saturday.”

“
I'd still have the late night on Thursday and the early morning on Friday.” I disagree.

“
I'll pay you double time on Thursdays to make up for it.” He's not backing down.

Thinking of the extra money I could earn just for helping to select some outfits and putting on a few false eyelashes is extremely tempting. I could certainly do with the cash.

“
Why are you so determined for me to agree?”

“
I don't know. There's something about you that comforts me. Perhaps the fact that every second word out of your mouth begins with an F.”

“
As if you're any better,” I laugh.

He winks. “Exactly, that's how I know we'll get along. Besides, you
are
my new best friend aren't you?”

“
I am. But don't tell Nora, she'll only get jealous.” I take a sip of tea, the warm liquid sobers me a little, although I wish it wouldn't. Being in the presence of Nicholas in all his sexy glory is easier when I'm tipsy.

He sits there silently, nursing his own cup, not saying a word. His searing eyes haven't left me. For some reason I don't feel like being the one to break the silence.

After a while Nicholas asks softly, “So will you agree? I promise you'll have a ball. The job is a piece of piss.”

Staring at all of the unpacked boxes scattered around the room, I'm not so sure about that. I'm hoping he turns out to be one those people who just live in organised chaos.

I let out a heavy sigh and nod, unable to refuse. The idea of being around Nicholas on a regular basis makes my heart beat quicker.

His eyes grow even hotter at my acceptance. “That's brilliant, you can start tomorrow.”

“
I hope I don't fuck it up on you. I won't have a clue what I'm doing.”

“
Just be your fabulous self and you won't,” he says sincerely, coming over to shake my hand. “Welcome to the wonderful world of Vivica Blue,” he goes on, smiling down at me. This hand shake is a threshold moment. With this strangely beautiful man in my life, I have a feeling it will never be the same again.

Ollo the Ferret

I wake up the next morning at ten-thirty, feeling wonderfully refreshed with my full eight hours of sleep, in spite of the alcohol I drank last night. Unfortunately, the sensation is misleading, because when I sit up the dizziness hits me. I go into the kitchen and get myself a pint glass of cold water. Nora won't be up until around one, because she has to work for the next three nights in a row and will be getting every bit of shut eye she can grab during the day.

It's sunny out again and I want to take advantage of that, so I grab a quick shower, pop on a comfy blue cotton sun dress and some flip flops and head out for a white mocha from Starbucks. The nearest one is on Dame Street, which is a short walk, but I'll go the distance for such creamy goodness.

As I pass by Nicholas' door I stop a moment and consider asking him if he'd like to join me. I argue with myself back and forth in my head before I finally take the plunge and knock.

There's silence for a minute, but then I hear movement. It sounds like he's getting out of bed. Oh no, I hope I didn't wake him. A floor board creaks just before the door opens and Nicholas peeks his head out, squinting his tired eyes at me. He appears to be topless, but he could very well have no clothes on at all since he's hiding his bottom half behind the door.

I've never understood the appeal of sleeping in the nude, but slim people seem to be mad about it. Us heavier types tend to avoid doing anything with our full bodies on show, even if we're the only ones there to witness it.

He seems momentarily disgruntled, but when he sees it's me his whole face lights up. Let me tell you, having a man like this look so pleased to see you first thing in the morning is a nice little boost to the ego.

“
Fred, what a pleasant surprise,” he greets me. “What time is it?”

“
Around half past eleven. I was wondering if you'd like to join me for some mid morning caffeine to get the old motors running.”

“
That sounds like a great idea. Give me a minute to make myself decent,” he replies.

“
I knew it! You're in the nip behind there aren't you.”

He grins. “Bare as the day I was born darling, now don't go getting all riled up at the visual. I'll be right back.”

He closes the door over a little and disappears. I stand in the hallway waiting for him. Five minutes later he returns, pulling a black t-shirt on over his damp hair. I shamelessly ogle his abs before quickly looking away in case he catches me.

“
That has to have been the quickest shower in all of history. I think I was only in for about a minute and a half.”

He locks the door to his apartment and we continue out of the building. “You should inform the Guinness book of world records,” I tell him.

“
Oh I have every intention,” he replies with a smirk.

When we get out onto the street Nicholas links his arm through mine, in a friendly sort of way. We saunter down George's Street, dodging the crowds of weekend shoppers who are out in their droves. Just before the Starbucks on Dame Street is the Central Bank, which is always coated in a sea of black clothes, studded belts, and brightly coloured hair dye on Saturdays.

It's a prime hang out spot for the Goths and Emos, not to mention the hipsters. I'll let you in on a little secret, I used to wish I could fit in with this crowd when I was a teenager. Whenever I go by I always get a little pang of nostalgia. Most of them are in their mid to late teens, but you can always spot the odd person in their twenties who just refuses to grow up. I'm looking directly at one of those people right now, and I know him well.

Jonny O'Connor was in my class in secondary school. I always used to think of him as being the only punk in the village. He'd dress all in black and have these massive gelled spikes sticking out of his head. I admired his bravery, because in the town where I grew up the most acceptable items of clothing were Nike tracksuits and gold sovereign rings. He was something of a hero of mine back then, but he never really lived up to his potential, since he can be spotted outside the Central Bank every Saturday without fail. I also think he might be unemployed. Not because of the recession though, just due to laziness.

He's standing in the middle of a group of seventeen or eighteen year old girls, just shooting the breeze. They probably think he's a legend. I'd say he buys alcohol for all the under-age kids and then joins them on a bender.

I momentarily consider stopping to say hello, but then I think it might be better to keep my head down. If you think I can come across as brash then you haven't met Jonny. He's certainly got a mouth on him.

We were never really friends at school, since I was a bit of a loner. He was a loner too, but a loner who was always in the spotlight for acting out. One time he went mental at a teacher because she was reprimanding him for not having his homework done. He picked up his chair and threw it at the blackboard. He almost got himself expelled for that.

My plan for keeping my head down doesn't go so well. Jonny's booming voice echoes at me, “Freda Wilson's a cunt!” When I turn around I see him pissing himself laughing. The girls he's with glance at me curiously.

Nicholas grins at me and asks, “A friend of yours?”

“
Not even close,” I reply, taking a few steps over to Jonny and his harem. Jonny's got the tail end of a joint stuck between his pursed lips. “Now what way is that to speak to someone?” I say as I approach him. Nicholas is just behind me.