The Queen & the Homo Jock King (53 page)

“Yes, Daddy?” I asked.

“I hear there’s a big to-do going on tonight.”

“
Did
you, Daddy. Is that what you heard?” I breathed heavily into the microphone. “Tell me more.”

“I also heard you have some men backstage.”

“Some
men
,” I moaned. “You heard that too? Silly Daddy, when do I
not
have men backstage? I have…
needs
. I am a
handful
after all.”

People screamed in agreement as I rolled my hips, thrusting toward the audience.

“Not those kinds of needs,” Daddy said dryly. “Besides, I also heard that that you were tied down now. The old ball and chain. How’s that going for you?”

And that was not in the script, the old bastard. I could almost hear the geriatric
glee
in his voice at such a pronouncement, and I hoped he’d completed his last will and testament before tonight because he wasn’t going to get another chance to do so later.

And since I wasn’t prepared for it, I blushed.

The entire crowd ate it up and said, “Awww,” like it was something edible and sweet. And since I was in front of everyone, I obviously couldn’t stab Charlie with my eyes. I had a reputation to maintain, after all. One that showed how much I loved the elderly, even if said elderly was going to taste the back of my hand before the night ended.

“Well,
yes
,” I said, trying to save face. “There is
that
.”

“And you two look so perfect together,” Charlie said, and the mic picked up Kori snickering to herself, the Benebitch Arnold. “Why, it’s Jack It’s own personal fairy tale. The Queen and the Homo Jock King, finally together. At last.”

The crowd cheered.

“Tell me,” Charlie said, sounding positively devious. “Is there a royal wedding in the near future?”

“Oh my fucking god!” That sounded like Paul, shouting from somewhere behind the stage. “You better not get married before me, Helena, or I’ll punch you in the fucking taint!”

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, wondering when my life had gotten so completely ridiculous.

“But enough about that,” Charlie said. “We’re here tonight for another reason, aren’t we?”

Back on script, then. The bastard. “We are,” I said, recovering enough to purr into the microphone. “Tonight isn’t just about fun and dancing and gratuitous nudity and overindulgence in top-shelf tequila and bartenders with amazing nipples.” Izaac winked at me from over by the bar. “No. It’s not
just
about that. Because we’re here to show that we
care
about our community. It’s why tonight exists at all. Mike, our dear beloved owner Mike, came up with the most wondrous idea to give back to the community. Which is why tonight is the first annual Helena Handbasket’s Wet and Wild Drag Bachelor Auction Super Fun Time for Charity and Good Feelings!” I grinned wickedly, seeing him leaning back behind the bar, glaring at me. “He even came up with the title, isn’t it wonderful?”

Rapturous applause at Mike’s stunning ingenuity.

Mike drew a single finger from one side of his neck to the other, his eyes never leaving mine.

I ignored him, because that is how one deals with petty threats by balding middle-aged men at an overcrowded gay bar when performing on a stage as a drag queen.

“But it’s for the children,” I continued. “The money raised tonight will go toward Casa de los Niños and Angel Wings, benefitting those less fortunate than ourselves. And especially given that we’re smack dab in the middle of the holiday season, we’re guilting—I mean
asking
—you to open your hearts, but mostly your wallets and buy alcohol and men dressed in drag in the name of the children. I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t
desperately
important. You wouldn’t want to let Helena down, now would you?” I pouted prettily, lower lip trembling, eyes surely glistening in the spotlight.

The audience screamed a resounding
NO!
in response.

I thought it possible that I’d just passed Meryl Streep altogether and entered my own upper echelon of amazingness. I thought she’d forgive me. Probably even praise me.

“Now, boys and girls, I will be your hostess with the mostest this evening, but I will be joined by some friends of mine you’ll undoubtedly recognize, including Sofonda Cox, who crawled out of the cesspool known as Phoenix to spend time in the glory that is Tucson. You make them feel welcome, am I clear?”

They were clear.

“Each of us queens had two beautiful men to doll up tonight. While we did their makeup and picked out their costumes, none of us have seen the finished product as of yet. The first time we see them will be along with you, so I expect there to be plenty of tears, either of pride or horror, I haven’t yet decided.”

The crowd laughed. From the back, someone screamed, “We love you, Helena!”

“Oh, baby dolls,” I said. “I love you too.” I fisted the microphone and began rubbing up and down the handle. “I love every… single…
inch
of you.”

Hoots and hollers and requests for follow-through.

I grinned rapaciously at them, all red lipstick and white teeth.

“Now,” I said. “I will be handling the bidding. Remember, if you should have the highest bid on the homo jock of your choice, you are winning not only the right to sleep soundly tonight knowing you helped out the Tucson community, but also the satisfaction in knowing that you’ve got yourself a date with said homo jock. But I need to get real with you for a moment. While we joke and have fun here, like we should with all the Republican and Tea Party evil outside these walls, this is a very real matter. One that you probably don’t want to fuck with me on.” That got their attention because of the sharpness of my voice. “If you’re bidding, you’re good for it. If I find out you’re reneging on a bid at the end of the night, if you were stupidly drunk and thought it’d be funny to try and buy what you obviously couldn’t afford, I will find you. I will come to your house. I will spank you until your ass is red and permanently tattooed with my handprints. And then I will burn you to the ground.”

The audience shivered.

“These boys of mine, my homo jocks, have graciously agreed to donate their time and energy for a good cause. They have agreed to go on a date with all expenses paid.” I lowered my voice and coughed into the microphone. “By you of course.” I coughed again. “Oh, sorry about that.”

“Got some homo jock stuck in your throat, did you?” Charlie asked, and I could tell that fucker was smiling.

The audience laughed.

“Maybe,” I said, winking salaciously.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Charlie said.

“Oh, Daddy,” I breathed. “Remind me to talk about your punishment later.”

“I can hardly wait,” Charlie said.

“As I was saying, the homo jocks are here of their own free will, and they are precious to me, each and every single one of them. You will treat them with the kindness and respect they deserve. If I should hear of something… untoward… happening on one of these dates, something where the homo jock was made to feel uncomfortable in any way, shape, or form, there will be consequences.” My smile was razor sharp. “And you don’t want to know what happens when there are Helena Handbasket consequences, now do you?”

“
NO
!” they bellowed at me.

“Good,” I said. “I think that covers all the threats I need to make tonight. Shall we begin?”

IT WAS
going well, if I did say so myself. At least as well as a sequined train wreck could possibly go. There was a script of sorts to follow, but like most drag shows, it was abandoned partway through and we were all essentially heading off the rails while cackling gleefully. If someone had walked in on the middle of this and had no knowledge of what the event had been about, I was pretty sure they’d think they had walked into some kind of underground sex trafficking ring where a very tall woman was selling beefy men in female period costumes. Not that that wasn’t an aura I wouldn’t have minded cultivating (because the mystique that must go with a woman in charge of selling beefy men in female clothing for sex trafficking purposes must be through the fucking roof), but I knew that when I watched the video the next day, there would probably just be a lot of screaming and drinking and secondhand embarrassment for all parties involved.

I was completely aware that any chance we had at raising money to beat Andrew Taylor wasn’t necessarily going to come from the auction itself, but more so from the sale of liquor and what the Super Gays had provided.

That being said, I was shocked when the cheapest a homo jock went for was a couple of grand. Biff, Chet, and Xerxes (who didn’t even try to correct me on their real names, which, good for them for learning so quickly) all went for more, with Xerxes fetching just over five thousand dollars by a gaggle of lesbians, a sale I didn’t quite understand but didn’t complain about at all, because if there was one group of people good for the money, it’d be lesbians. I just hoped that Xerxes would survive whatever date they took him on. I wasn’t sure what lesbians did on first dates, whether it’d be a trip to Home Depot or trying to find the nearest wedding chapel.

There were a few (read: more than I cared to see) skeevy people bidding, those that rubbed me the wrong way as soon as they shouted out a number for the homo jocks. But they were quickly and quietly dealt with, either by being outbid or escorted out by security when they started to salivate just a tad too much.

It probably didn’t help that the homo jocks looked fucking
amazing
.

The queens and I had really outdone ourselves, and that dissonance I was looking for, that clash between femininity and masculinity, was on full display. The severe jawlines and bulging arms, chests, and thighs combined with eyeshadow and perfectly stylized wigs to create a hyperrealized version of a drag queen. Drag queens didn’t need to be effeminate to be a good queen.

And that wasn’t to say that they
were
completely successful. This was the first and most likely
only
time they’d do drag. They were clumsy and awkward in their heels, like little baby deer trying to stand and walk for the first time.

But they were so goddamned
endearing
about it, not a single one playing it completely for laughs. I was impressed that they carried the right amount of sass and sex even as they stumbled about on stage. They weren’t good, but they were
trying
to be, and I thought that was all that mattered.

The queens themselves were, for the most part, regal and exemplary. Well, three of them were. Summer decided she would grind up on each of her homo jocks, bringing them both on stage with her at the same time, and making what she called a Summer Sandwich. I tried to keep the distaste off my face, vowing to research to see if there was a call for drag queens in Alaska so I could ship her out of here once and for all. Then I realized how awful that would be for the people of Alaska, who’d already had to suffer Sarah Palin, so I thought maybe Russia was better.

The audience loved every minute of it.

Even Summer, though I supposed there was no accounting for taste.

And as the liquor flowed, their wallets opened up even more. They bid more. They drank more. ’Twas a vicious circle that played on repeat, and I didn’t want it to stop.

Things were going good.

Things were going
great
.

And then eight homo jocks had been sold to highest bidder.

Only two were left.

The crowd hushed when I took center stage again, the remaining queens taking their places in the audience. The homo jocks stood off to the side, Biff scratching himself obscenely in such a way that I hope seventies Cher never did. I frowned at him and he shrugged, mouthing that his balls didn’t like Lycra, which was more than I ever really wanted to know about Biff.

“Well, would you look at that,” I said to the audience, my voice filled with regret. “It looks like we’re out of time.”

The crowd screamed in dismay, playing along with me.

“Yes, yes,” I cooed at them. “I’m sad about this too. Maybe next year we could—”

“Helena,” Charlie said into the mic.

“Yes, Daddy?”

“I think you’re forgetting something.”

“Am I?” I said, eyes wide. “How unlike me. And what, pray tell, am I forgetting?”

“The guy you had a one-night stand with,” Charlie said, smooth as silk. “And also your boyfriend. Who happen to be two different people.”

“You bitch,” I growled into the microphone as the audience laughed uproariously. There was going to be no end to his suffering, I would see to that.

“Oops,” Charlie said, not repentant in the slightest. I wondered where I’d gone so wrong that Charlie wasn’t scared of me like most everyone else was. I think it probably stemmed back to Lulu Deerdancer, and I cursed not taking him down and asserting my dominance the first day I’d met him.

Who was I kidding? He would have beaten the shit out of my ass, scolded me for even trying, put me in my place, then sent me home with instructions to return when I could show respect.

“How could I possibly forget about them?” I said.

“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “You would think they’d be a handful, wouldn’t you? I mean, from personal experience.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I said.

“Indeed,” Charlie said. “Kori wants to say something.”

I sighed heavily, aware that my sequined train wreck was going to have many, many victims.

“Hi, Helena!”

“Kori,” I said.

“You’re doing a good job.”

“Thanks.”

“And I think you’re pretty.”

“Noted.”

“Also, how does that work if we’re bidding on your boyfriend? You know, Darren. The Homo Jock King. Who you love. With your heart. Lovingly. He’s not exactly a bachelor.”

I felt relief then that I thought working out was an awful thing, so I didn’t have the strength to crush my microphone into powder. “Right. All that love.” It was possible I was just heartless enough to kick one of my best friends out of my house onto the streets. I really wished I had a time machine so I could go back to the day Mike pulled me into his office and murder myself so I would never be in this position. How odd that the idea of time travel and murder seemed easier than admitting
feelings
, for fuck’s sake.