Always Eli by Charlie Novak
Chapter Sixteen
Eli
“Haveyou put an entry in for It’s a Drag! yet?” Orlando asked as the front door clicked shut behind me. I’d barely set foot in the door, and I was already being nagged. It felt like being at work. Orlando was looking at me over the arm of our battered sofa like a large, fluffy kitten.
“Good evening to you too,” I said, toeing off my shoes, shrugging off my jacket, and loosening my tie. It had been a hellish start to the week, and all I really wanted at that moment was to eat my weight in pasta and cheese. Alistair had been on my case all day about some email a client had sent, and even though I’d forwarded the fucking thing to him twenty bloody times, he kept claiming he didn’t have it. I had been this close to marching up to his office and shoving his head through his monitor.
“Have you put your entry in?”
“You know,” I said, ignoring Orlando’s question and heading through to the kitchen, “it’s customary to ask someone about their day when they come home instead of pelting them with questions as soon as they step through the bloody door.” I grabbed the plastic tub I’d shoved some sandwiches into this morning out of my bag and dumped it into the sink. Then I flicked the kettle on.
Orlando sighed dramatically. “Fine. How was your day? Now, stop avoiding my question! Applications close on Friday, and you need to enter.”
“Oh, do I now? Says who?”
“Says me. And Daddy and Sir.” Orlando wandered into the kitchen and pulled himself onto the counter. “You’re really good, and everyone deserves to see that.”
“Honey, I am a two-bit trash goblin with cheap shoes and cheaper wigs.”
“Yes, and you’ve built a whole fucking act around it,” Orlando said scathingly. “Don’t knock yourself. You spent the whole of last year trying to do drag full-time. I don’t know why you’re not using this to put yourself out there.”
He had a point. I had to give him that. I’d looked up the competition, and it had looked like fun. The only reason I hadn’t done it so far was the self-doubt gnawing away at my chest. Not being able to make money with my drag had knocked my self-confidence a little, even though I’d known it was a distinct possibility from the start. Drag, like all art forms, did not pay well. Most people did it for the love of it. But having to go back to work had put an insidious worm in my head that sometimes whispered that maybe I wasn’t more than a cheap imitation of someone better. I had a good life at The Court. I did well there. And entering a competition, no matter how small, took me outside that world and outside my comfort zone. The Court loved me, but that didn’t mean anyone else would.
I’d been starting to wonder whether being The Court’s weekend darling was enough. It was the realistic option, but I hated myself for thinking like that. That was Richard thinking, not Eli thinking.
“I’ll help you put it together,” Orlando continued, taking my silence as a sign that he should continue. “We can film something this week. I bet Phil would let us into The Court one night. Or I’ve got some stuff from your shows. It doesn’t have to be long. Oh, and I think you have to do a little two-minute video in drag introducing yourself.”
I looked over at Orlando. There was an earnest look in his eyes, a sparkling confidence in my abilities that I’d started to lack. I sighed, knowing I wasn’t going to win. And maybe I didn’t want to. I might not believe in myself, so I’d have to let Orlando do it for me. It would be enough for now. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you’ll have to help.”
“Yes!” Orlando punched the air, wiggling his bottom and nearly falling off the counter.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t celebrate too much.” I poured myself a cup of tea. “They’ll probably hate it.”
“You know,” Orlando said, a gleeful note in his voice, “if I doubted myself the way you did, my Daddy would give me a spanking.”
“Well, luckily I’m not in possession of such a mean boyfriend.”
“When do I get to meet Tristan?”
“When I decide I no longer want a boyfriend,” I teased. “I know you. You’ll scare him off.”
“I won’t! I’ll be on my best behaviour.” He grinned. “And I promise not to compare notes with him about what you’re like in bed. Or what he might like to try. Even though I’m sure he’d find the information useful.”
“I’m so grateful.” I stared at him, my voice deadpan. Orlando laughed.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep my lips sealed. And it’s not like you’ve told me much anyway.” He gave me a soft smile. “I’m happy for you though. You deserve someone like this.”
“Like what?”
Orlando shrugged. “Someone who gets you. Who intrigues you. Someone who”—he thought for a second—“someone who isn’t dramatic or needs to be the centre of attention. You have enough of that. You need someone who’s going to balance you out, and Tristan sounds like that kind of person.”
“Thanks.” I finished making my tea, turning his words over in my head. “I think you might be right there.”
“I always am! Besides,” Orlando said, “you’ll be good for him too. Tristan sounds like a tiny, scared bunny rabbit, and you’ll be able to bring him to life a bit.”
I laughed. “Bunny rabbit?”
“I mean, I thought tortoise, but bunnies are cuter. And Tristan is cute.”
“He really is.” I thought back to that afternoon when he’d come out of a client meeting looking smart but tired. Then he’d seen me watching, and he’d smiled, his weary face crinkling. That little smile had made my whole day better.
“I bet Tristan could help us film your entry for It’s a Drag! He’s probably got a very steady hand. And I bet he’d love to help,” Orlando said in a tone that suggested nothing but trouble.
“You’re just trying to get me to bring him over so you can meet him.” I looked at Orlando pointedly over my mug. “It won’t work. You’re not going to win.”
Orlando smiled in a way that told me I was very wrong.
Two days later, I found myself in full drag, sitting in the tiny dressing room of The Court while Phil, Orlando, and Tristan stood in front of me, adjusting a ring light and talking quietly amongst themselves about angles.
Apparently, I got zero fucking say in my own application.
I’d made the mistake of mentioning to Phil that I was putting an entry together, and he’d insisted on helping. He’d had some very good footage from one of my most recent shows, which he’d sent across, and then he’d volunteered the dressing room—with a sneakily placed piece of branding for The Court in the background—as the backdrop for my mini-introduction.
Tristan had been a last-minute addition because I’d ummed and ahhed about telling him until it was almost too late. Eventually, I’d told him right at the end of our lunch date earlier in the day, and he’d happily volunteered his time. We’d decided to try to keep things low-key in the office, so although Pamela and Holly knew, nobody else did, and we were attempting to maintain some level of professionalism in our relationship. Which was why we’d decided to get lunch together several times a week—so we could get out of the office and I could drag him into the nearest hidden side street and kiss him. I’d never been as desperate to keep kissing someone as I was with Tristan.
Orlando had pinky sworn he’d be on his best behaviour, and so far, all he’d done was give Tristan a delighted hug, tell him he was very handsome, and then spend twenty-minutes obsessing over my wig. I’d told him it was fine, but Orlando had threatened to hit me with a hairbrush and declared that “fine didn’t win competitions”.
I’d debated arguing with him but decided the effort wasn’t worth it.
“Can we perhaps start filming this shit?” I asked, readjusting my skirt for the umpteenth time and being very glad I’d been allowed to sit down. One day, I was just going to start performing in trainers. Although… a battered pair of Converse or Vans would be perfect for my look. I had an old pair of Converse in my wardrobe I’d stopped wearing because they had holes, but they’d be fine to perform in. They were a limited-edition pair where one was black with a white pattern and the other shoe was white with a black pattern. They’d been a twenty-first birthday present, and I’d worn them for years.
“Two minutes,” Orlando said, not looking at me.
“Do you know what you’re going to say?” Tristan asked. He turned his head and gave me a smile. “Orlando said they provided entrants with some guidelines and potential topics. Would you like one of us to ask you the questions? We can edit them out afterwards.”
“That’s not a bad shout,” Phil said. “We can film the topics in snippets. Makes it easier to put together afterwards.”
“Fine.” I sighed. “Let’s just get it the fuck done.” I was tired and hungry, and it was making me cranky. “Who’s putting this together anyway?”
“I am.” Orlando raised his hand. “I can do it tomorrow night. It’ll be tight, but you’ll make the deadline.”
“Whatever.”
“You’re so grumpy today!” Orlando pouted. “Tristan, do you have any snacks? Your boyfriend is hangry, and it’s making him mean.”
“I might have a cereal bar,” Tristan said, looking for his bag.
“Don’t worry,” Phil said, grabbing a Snickers out of the basket of snacks he usually left in the dressing room on a nearby table and throwing it at my head. It bounced off my chest and into my lap. “Eat that and stop being such a bitch. I’ve dealt with enough dramatic queens in my lifetime, and you’re not good enough to be one of them.”
I laughed, ripping the wrapper open. “You’re so charming.”
“Honey, you haven’t seen anything.” Phil raised an eyebrow as I bit into the chocolate. “Tip from an old pro,” Phil continued, looking at Tristan and Orlando. “Always feed your drag queens. Having your dick taped to your taint for hours tends to make you cranky. Not to mention the shoes.”
“Thanks,” Tristan said. “I’ll make sure I pack snacks in future.”
“Make sure it’s chocolate,” I said, unwrapping more of my Snickers. I wondered if Phil would let me have another. “Or those peanut butter and chocolate cereal things you’ve got. I like those.”
Tristan laughed. “Any more demands, your majesty?”
“Yes. Stop being so sassy. It’s too cute.” I stuffed the rest of the Snickers into my mouth.
“You know we should just film you like that,” Orlando said. “It kinda goes with the whole raccoon thing.”
“I’m going to ignore that,” I said as I dumped the wrapper into the nearest bin. I glanced in the mirror to check my lipstick. I did feel better now that I’d eaten something. “Okay. Tristan can ask me the questions, and Orlando can film. That way if Tristan ends up in a shot, we can keep it and use his handsome face to distract the judges.”
Tristan’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t say anything. Phil laughed and grabbed him a chair.
“You sit there then,” he said, directing Tristan to a spot a couple of feet in front of me and just to the left. “That way we can get all of Bitch in the shot.”
“This is why you made me get in full drag, then?”
“Yes. Now zip it and do as your told, or I’ll tell Bubblegum you want to do that lip-sync duet she’s been dying to organise with you.”
“Low blow, bitch.” I laughed. It could be fun though. Bubblegum was a bouncing baby in heels with way too much glitter and enthusiasm, but her heart was more or less in the right place. “Tell you what, if I get in to It’s a Drag! you can tell Miss Sparkle Butt I’ll do a routine with her at Christmas. Her choice.” I grinned. “Oooh, unless she wants to grab Eva and the three of us can do the Mean Girls ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ routine. I’ll even wear latex.”
Eva Nessence was another local drag queen who I got on with very well. She was a couple of years younger than me and tended to do more shows in Nottingham than Lincoln, but she still came back to visit The Court and take the piss out of me on Twitter whenever she had time. Dragging her into a sexy Christmas routine would be hilarious. She’d hate me for it. Which was obviously why I was going to do it.
“If you do that, I’ll definitely come watch,” Orlando said with a wink and a cheeky grin. “And I’m sure Tristan would love to see you in a teeny-tiny latex dress and thigh high boots. Wouldn’t you, Tristan?”
To my surprise, Tristan didn’t go pink or clam up. Instead, he laughed. “I mean, it would definitely be something I hadn’t seen before.”
That settled it. I was going to Regina George my ass off.
“Right, ho-bags, let’s get this over with,” I said. “Make me look pretty.”
Orlando winked, slotting two phones in behind the ring light. “There are some miracles even I can’t work, babe.”