Painted Faces (7 page)

One man shouts something rude up, but I can't make out the words properly over the noise of the crowd. I think it had something to do with “nice arse” and “suck”. Who knows. The guy with the mic smirks and with a breathy voice says, “I might take you up on that later, sugar.” He's wearing a purple shirt that's almost the same colour as my dress and shiny black trousers.

He spots me sitting just shy of the stage. “Oh honey, look at us all coordinated,” he gestures between his shirt and my dress and the audience laughs. I give him a little sweeping bow.

Then he addresses the whole club, all business. “Welcome to The Glamour Patch, this evening we have some great entertainment lined up for you still to come. But now we have someone very special, our headlining act all the way from Christchurch, New Zealand. I'm sure some of you have witnessed this act before, so it needs no introduction really. I'll let the performance speak for itself,” he finishes, and with a flourish bounces off the stage and disappears into the crowd.

A slow mischievous beat starts up. The music sounds familiar but I can't quite place it. It's one of those anticipatory song intros, beginning slowly and them slapping you with the big reveal. It's all too appropriate as I can't wait to see Nicholas take the stage.

Anny slams four drinks down onto the table, just returning from the bar. “I didn't miss anything, did I?” she asks, all out of breath.

Nora shushes her and yanks her down into her seat. My eyes return to the stage just as the curtains are drawn back to reveal Nicholas, a microphone in hand, and my God do I have a hard time containing my surprise.

A Sweet Transvestite

His black hair is gelled back into a style akin to Jamie Lee Curtis when she did the striptease for Arnold Scharzenegger in
True Lies
in her bra and underpants. His face has full on make-up, ruby red lips, smoky black eye shadow with false lashes and pale foundation. On his feet are patent, black six inch heels.

My eyes travel up his legs to find he's wearing hold up stockings and skin tight black sequins hot pants. Finishing off the outfit is a tiny black waist coat that does little to hide his ripped stomach and muscular tattooed arms. He's also wearing a pair of lacy gloves that go up to his elbows. He's a fucking drag queen!

I had my suspicions, but having them confirmed makes my stomach twist with an edge of discomfort. The discomfort is only due to the shock of seeing my new very handsome male neighbour decked out in women's clothing and a face full of make up. But then, once I come to terms with the idea, (which doesn't take very long) I feel as though all of my Christmases have come at once.

This is astounding, amazing, so incredibly thrilling. Only today a world travelling cabaret performing drag queen took me out for lunch and named me as his new best friend. The idea plunges my black and white world into a vibrant techni-colour rainbow.

The music is still going, building up the tension. It's only when Nicholas' ice blue eyes land on me do I recognise the song. It's “Sweet Transvestite” from
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
. The guitar bit kicks in. His lips tilt up at the side in a smirk as he strides confidently across the stage. When he's standing all too close to where I'm sitting, he starts to sing.

At this the crowd goes wild, shouting and cheering. I enthusiastically join them. Nicholas struts his stuff in those heels so effortlessly that it puts the best of us women to shame, his hips swinging from side to side as he walks.

He goes over to the other side and sings to the crowd who are cheering him on. He's got a brilliant singing voice, all deep and husky. There's a half sleeve tattoo on his right upper arm and another one on the inside of his left forearm, full of details I can't make out from this distance.

Coming towards the end of the song he makes his way back over to me, stops slap bang in front of my table and goes down on his haunches, his legs spread wide with one arm resting on his bent knee. The pose gives me a good view of the bulge at the front of those tight hot pants. I see he doesn't partake in “tucking” then. My throat goes a little dry. He levels me with his intense stare when he sings the last verse
.

The lyrics burn right into me, and I shiver all over when he says the word “tension”. Okay, this is messed up. I'm getting all hot and bothered over a man who's more comfortable in make up and a pair of heels than I am. He leaves me then and goes to the centre of the stage to finish off the number. I'd been so consumed with watching Nicholas' movements that I'm only now noticing the full house band playing behind him. There's a drummer, guitarist, bass player, keyboard player and even a guy with a saxophone.

The song ends. Nicholas fans his face and flutters his false eyelashes, then he turns to peruse the audience. “What an opener, huh?” he says. I expect him to put on a high pitched female voice, but he just talks the way he normally does. The crowd cheers.

“
I suppose I better introduce myself formally. The name's Vivica Blue, they call me Blue after my big blue eyes.
Not
because of my rumoured stint as a blue movie actress. That's all idol gossip.” He finishes with a grin.

Somebody whistles enthusiastically. Vivica! He hadn't just plucked that name out of the air when he'd told it to me. He glances at me with a quick wink, and I'm smiling like a fool at the extra bit of attention.

When I look to Nora her face seems a little pale and her lips are drawn in a thin line. I see all of the fantasies she's built up about Nicholas shattering to the ground in just that one expression. I have a very open mind about most things; men dressing as women doesn't bother me. Nora has much more “traditional” values. She's not some crazy religious freak, but let's just say that her idea of a fetish wouldn't go any further than a pair of furry pink toy hand cuffs.

I listen back to what Nicholas is saying. “This place is going to be my new home so I hope you'll all be very welcoming. I'd also like you to make the acquaintance of the new house band. They're called The Wilting Willows. Give them a big round of applause.” Noisy clapping ensues.

Nicholas scratches the back of his neck. “So I'm not sure if any of you saw me perform in Edinburgh last year,” only one guy shouts to say that he did. Nicholas laughs and makes a face. “Great, one person. As you can see, I'm very popular. Anyway, I performed this next song over there for the first time, and it requires something of a prop,” he reaches down as one of the club workers hands him a chair. He carries it to the centre of the stage before putting it down.

He turns and nods to the band, indicating he's ready to start. He reaches just behind the curtain to the side of the stage, pulling out a black bowler hat and placing it slant ways on top of his head. The intro begins and Nicholas says, “This one's from the masterpiece that is
Cabaret
, it's called “Mein Herr”. I hope you'll enjoy it.”

He lifts one leg and settles it on the seat of the chair, intimating a very feminine seductive pose. As he lifts the mic to his mouth and begins singing the lyrics to the song, I get a flashback to the movie starring Liza Minelli. God help me but Nicholas has her every movement and gesture down pat.

He sits down on the chair, then crosses one leg over the other and twirls his high heeled foot around several times to the beat of the song. Next his leg goes up into the air as he stands, before going back down to the floor. He thrusts his hips in, out, in, out with his hands resting on the top of the chair.

After he's finished the song he whips off the bowler and pulls a furry Russian style brown hat out from behind the curtain. He also has what looks like a long orange dress coat strewn over one arm.

“
I hate to cover up this magnificent body,” he jokes. “But the next song I'm going to sing requires an outfit change,” he puts the furry hat on his head and slips into the coat, buttoning it up all the way.

I know what the next song is before he's started singing, because the band is doing a fairly good imitation of an intro that normally requires a full orchestra. “Don't Rain On My Parade” by Barbara Streisand from the movie
Funny Girl
. He really knows how to pull out all the icons. He works his way through the song, completely owning the stage and belting out the lyrics with a power to rival Barbara's original rendition.

Over the course of the next hour I'm treated to music from the likes of Shirley Bassey, Julie Andrews and Judy Garland, to name a few. Nicholas even gets a few members of the audience up onto the stage to sing with him. He tries to persuade me up at one point, but I get embarrassed and determinedly decline.

By the time he's finished singing he's sweated half his make-up off. He sings “Maybe This Time”, another number from
Cabaret
,
as his closing song and takes three bows before hopping off the stage and into a crowd of adoring fans. Most of them are men. He seems entirely comfortable and at ease with himself as he takes their compliments and chats with them about the show.

My drink has long since dried up, so I leave my friends and make my way over to the bar. I slide my bum onto a stool and ask for a mojito. A few minutes later I hear somebody taking the stool beside mine just as a familiar voice asks, “Well, what did you think?”

I turn my head to the side to find Nicholas sitting there, his waistcoat is unbuttoned and he's swapped his hot pants and high heels for a pair of loose jeans and boots. He's ripped off the false eyelashes so the only make up left on his face is a hint of red lipstick and some smudged black eye liner. I stare at his bare chest for a minute and have to make a conscious effort to drag my eyes away.

“
It was brilliant!” I exclaim, mustering as much enthusiasm as I can. “I was a little gob smacked when you first walked out in that get up, but I was kind of expecting it given the venue.”

Nicholas laughs. “I knew you'd like it; I just had a feeling. Although when I waved hello to Nora a minute ago she seemed less than impressed.” He makes a sad little frown at me.

I shake my head. “She's just put out because she had you down as her new potential love interest. Little did she know you'd turn out to be gay,” I say this last part to see what his response will be. I'm way too curious about his sexual orientation.

He nods for the bar tender to pour him a shot of whiskey and levels me with a funny look. “You think I'm gay? Even after what I said to you last night?”

I sip on my drink. “Well, I was thinking maybe you were pulling my leg or something. Besides, apart from Eddie Izzard, I don't think I've ever heard of a straight drag queen.”

He smiles wryly before knocking back his shot. He stares up at the ceiling when he mutters, “Yeah well, you're looking at one.”

“
You're joking right? You have to be at least bi.”

“
Nope. I only have eyes for the ladies,” he states, all of a sudden he seems slightly pissed off. Oh God, am I acting insensitive and rude? Surely being a straight guy who likes to dress up as a woman would have left a few scars along the way. I hope I haven't touched on any of them.

“
Sorry, sometimes I don't think before I open my mouth. That was rude of me.”

A soft smile touches his red stained lips. “It's okay, no offence taken. I'd offer to buy you a drink but you seem all set. What is that anyway?” He shifts his stool closer to mine and takes a sniff of my drink. Our arms touch.

“
Ah, minty,” he says. “Mind if I have a taste?”

I raise an eyebrow as he lifts the glass to his mouth. “Not at all, you've never had a mojito before?”

His smile turns mischievous. “I have, but I wanted to have a taste of yours. Put my lips where your lips have been.”

“
You're such a pest,” I laugh, swiping my drink away from him.

“
That's quite a fetching outfit Fred. Can I take a loan of it next week?” he jokes.

“
After the way I've been sweating in it tonight you don't want it, trust me. This club is stifling hot.”

“
Not necessarily. The sweat is an added bonus. I can sniff on it while I have some private man time,” he says with an over exaggerated leer.

“
Ugh, even I think that's disgusting Viv, and I work in a charity shop. Dealing with “soiled” clothing is a part of my job,” I elbow him lightly in the ribs.