Always Eli by Charlie Novak

Chapter Twenty-Six

Eli

“How about this one?”Orlando asked, leaning over the back of the sofa and thrusting his iPad under my nose, gesturing at the cosplay wig in the middle of the screen. “That would be cute.”

I hummed, zooming in on the picture. It was a long, Lolita-style wig in a pretty grey gradient with a side-swept fringe. It probably wouldn’t be too hard to style into what I wanted, and it was only twenty-four pounds, which was definitely a bonus.

“Or this one?” Orlando leant over my shoulder and tapped the screen a couple of times, pulling up a black and white wig with long curls and various additional styling pieces that could be attached. “That’s really cute. Very you.”

“Is it? I’m wondering if it looks more E-girl than noughties emo,” I said, scrolling through the pictures and pulling at my lip. This was turning out to be much harder than I’d anticipated. I’d decided I needed a new wig for It’s a Drag! but nothing I’d found so far was calling my name. I’d asked Orlando for some suggestions, and he’d taken to the task with gusto, but nothing he’d found was appealing either. Maybe I was just being too picky.

“I can see that,” Orlando said, taking back the iPad and climbing over the back of the sofa. I lifted my pile of blankets so he could slide in next to me. “Don’t worry. We’ll find something.”

“You sure? Maybe I should just stick with what I’ve got.”

“Nope! I’m finding you a new one.” He began scrolling, giving the screen a piercing stare. “What are you going to wear?”

I hadn’t even gotten that far yet. The past two weeks I’d been attempting to write and perfect a new routine, which meant I spent most of my time staring at blank pieces of paper, scrolling endlessly through YouTube, and walking about on The Court’s empty stage, moaning to Phil and hoping inspiration would strike. The routine only had to be five minutes long at most, but I still had nothing. Every time I attempted to be funny, it fell flatter than a pancake. My ability to write parodies had apparently gone the way of the dodo, and I seemed to have forgotten the lyrics to every song ever written.

I’d never had a case of nerves so bad, and it was starting to gnaw away at me like an insidious rodent. What if I couldn’t think of anything? It was seventeen days until the competition, and I was supposed to turn my music in no later than five days beforehand. At this rate, I was fucked and not in a fun way.

“Don’t know,” I said, finally answering Orlando’s question. “Haven’t gotten that far yet either, babe.”

I was trying to play it off as nonchalant, but I’d evidently failed when I found myself being kicked in the shin. “Ow!”

“That didn’t hurt.” He rolled his eyes. “Stop being melodramatic.”

“Can’t. It’s my livelihood.”

Orlando huffed. “Don’t be a banana! Why haven’t you thought about your outfit yet? What if you need to order something?”

“That’s why there’s next day shipping,” I said, brushing him off. “And there’s always the goth shop in town.”

“Don’t avoid the question.” He jabbed me in the ribs. “Talk to me!”

“I am.” I grinned, knowing I was winding him up. His face wrinkled cutely as his lips formed into his customary pout. “Don’t pout at me. It won’t work.” Orlando made a soft, sad noise like a distressed kitten. I sighed. “Fine. I’m just stressed as fuck! I still haven’t gotten a routine together, and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing! I’ve got seventeen days, babe. How the hell can I pick a fucking wig when I can’t even pick a fucking song to sing?”

“It’s okay,” Orlando said, leaning against me. “You’ll find something. And I bet half the reason you can’t focus is because you’re overthinking it. I know you. You’ll want it to be perfect and the best thing they’ve ever seen, but that’s not possible.” He looked up at me and smiled. “Remember what the Boulet’s say: Drag is art, and art is subjective. Not everyone is going to love you, and that’s okay. Stop trying to be perfect, and just be you. A messy, bitchy, emo queen in ripped tights and bad make-up.”

“Hey! That make-up is expensive.” He was right though. I was overthinking it. I had been all along. Tristan had known it to. He’d even warned me as such when I’d gotten in. But I’d gone from thinking I needed to be someone I wasn’t to thinking I had to be the perfect version of myself. Only that didn’t exist; there was no perfect Bitch Fit. Bitch was messy, trashy, and funny. Perfect wasn’t a word that belonged anywhere near her. I didn’t need to sculpt a picture-perfect routine for her because there wasn’t ever going to be one. That concept was a myth. All I could do was put together something that made me happy, something that encapsulated who Bitch Fit was, something I wanted to perform.

Something fun.

“What are you thinking?” Orlando asked, clearly realising I’d drifted away from the conversation.

“I’m thinking I need a pen, a piece of paper, and Spotify.” I grinned, an idea beginning to form from the nebulous swirls in my brain. “And I think I want that one.” I pointed to one of the wigs in the top row of the page Orlando had open.

“This one?” He tapped the image. I nodded.

“Yep. It’s one hundred percent me.”

The next morning, I felt much more composed. I was completely exhausted from staying up until two in the morning, scrawling all over my notebook and listening to clips on Spotify until I was so tired I could see colours, but I felt a lot better about the whole routine situation.

Tristan found me making coffee. He put his arm around my waist and pressed a kiss to the side of my head. “Good morning,” he said. “You look very handsome today.”

“Thank you.” I smiled at him, hitting the button on the machine and breathing in the heavenly scent of black coffee. “Orlando dressed me today because I overslept. He threw clothes at me and shooed me out the door like I was late for school.”

Tristan laughed, flicking the kettle on. “I like his choices.”

“So do I,” I said, looking down at the shirt, tie, and waistcoat combination. “He has good taste.”

I picked up my now full mug and sipped, making a happy humming noise. It was so good I just wanted to sink into it and stay there. Or maybe just inject it straight into my veins.

“Did you stay up late then?” Tristan asked, starting to make his morning cup of tea. If he was down here already, it probably meant he had a string of appointments and meetings lined up. I made a mental note to start prepping things for the meeting room as soon as I was done with my coffee. It would save me a job later.

“Yeah. I had a breakthrough about the routine, so I was up until two making notes.”

“That’s good. The breakthrough part, not the staying up late part.”

“I do fine at the weekends,” I said.

“Yes, but then you can sleep until noon,” Tristan said. I hummed to myself but had to admit he had a point.

“I’m just nervous, I guess. I really want it to go well.”

“It’s going to. You’re going to be amazing.” He smiled at me, radiating that firm, quiet confidence that always made it feel true. “And if you’re near the end of the night, the audience will be wankered anyway, so it won’t really matter what you do as long as you’re vaguely memorable.”

I burst out laughing, my body shaking, and I had to put my mug down before I spilt coffee all over the floor.

“You sound happy this morning, Eli,” Holly said, appearing in the doorway with a small smile on her face. She and Andrew had a coffee machine of their own, so it was unusual to see her in the break room.

“I am.” I choked down the rest of my laughter and attempted to be a professional. “How’re you today?”

“I’m good. I was wondering if I could have a word?”

“Of course,” I said, picking up my coffee and raising my eyebrow at Tristan as I followed Holly out of the kitchen. Tristan shrugged, looking just as confused as I felt. Usually, if Holly wanted something, she sent me an email. I wondered if I’d made a mistake or if Alistair had ratted me out for my comments on Halloween.

Holly led me into the meeting room, gesturing for me to have a seat.

“Everything okay?” I asked, unable to stop myself from opening my mouth as I pulled out one of the smart, padded chairs around the small meeting table. Holly smiled as she sat down opposite me.

“Yes, don’t worry. There’s no need to panic,” she said. “Tristan tells me that outside of the office you’re a drag queen?”

“Yes.” I answered slowly, the wheels in my head starting to spin very fast.

“And he tells me you’re competing at a local competition in December?”

“Yes… It’s a Drag!. It’s not huge, but it’s lots of fun, kicks off the festive season, and raises money for charity.”

Holly nodded. “Tristan mentioned that too. It was actually why he brought it up to me in the first place.”

I sipped my coffee and frowned. There was a detail missing here that would make this whole conversation make sense, but I didn’t have it. I nodded politely, hoping Holly would continue her explanation.

“One thing we’ve always tried to do here is to raise money for the local community and support local charities,” Holly said. “It’s why we do our in-house charity fundraising programme.” I nodded again. I’d already done some organisational bits for a luxury Christmas raffle we were running. The sort of thing where the prizes were worth hundreds of pounds at a minimum.

“Well, Tristan said this competition is looking for sponsorships and donations, and he told me a little bit about the charities involved,” Holly continued. “I’ll admit, they’re not usually ones we’d donate to, and that’s an oversight on my part. I’m going to be looking at how we can diversify the charities we give to so we support our whole community, not just parts of it. And as part of that, I wanted to let you know I’ve been in touch with the organisers for It’s a Drag! and have agreed Green & Wodehouse will be one of this year’s sponsors. We’ll also be making a one-thousand-pound donation to each charity.”

I stared at her, momentarily stunned. Of all the things I’d expected Holly to say, this had not been one of them. It hadn’t even been anywhere close to the suggestions I’d have made. I’d only been working at Green & Wodehouse for three months, and my contract was only for a year at the most. It wasn’t as if she had any obligation to do anything like this at all. It made no sense, but it was still happening.

“Wow,” I said finally. “That’s amazing. Thank you. That’s incredibly generous of you.”

“You’re welcome. And it’s not really me you have to thank. Tristan made some very good points.”

Okay, so maybe some of her motivation was guilt related but still. Giving away several thousand pounds was a good way to start making up for it. The fact that Tristan had convinced her was like the cherry on top. He hadn’t been ashamed of me or what I did, and he hadn’t wanted to pretend a huge part of my life only existed on the weekends when nobody we knew would see. He was proud of me, and he wanted people to know that.

And that fact right there was the reason I loved him.

Tristan wanted me just the way I was. He wasn’t going to make me hide parts of myself away; he was going to show them to the world. Having a supportive partner was something I’d dreamt about for so long, and here he was in the form of soft, sweet Tristan Rose. That meant more to me than anything else, and yet somehow I still hadn’t told him how I felt because I hadn’t been able to find the words. I didn’t think there were words to convey my feelings, but I’d have to try and find some because Tristan needed to know just how amazing he was. And just how much I loved him.

“He’s good at that,” I said.

“He really is.” Holly smiled at me, letting the moment hang in the air. Then her expression turned business-like, and I knew we were headed back to reality. “So, Eli, while I’ve got you here, shall we quickly do your three-month performance review?”