Always Eli by Charlie Novak

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Eli

As soon asI stepped off the stage, I felt my legs buckle, and I had to sit down. I was breathless and giddy and running on pure adrenaline, which suddenly seemed to have crashed. One of the organisers handed me a bottle of water, and I sat quietly on a chair, watching the next act before I pottered back to our tiny “backstage” area, which was really just a storage cupboard that had been cleared out and converted.

Most of the other kings and queens seemed to be in good spirits since it was nearly over, and they were all chatting quietly, sipping bottles of water and picking at the tray of cupcakes we’d been left. There was a screen in the corner, showing what was happening onstage, and we could hear the music playing as the last act wrapped up.

“You okay?” asked one of the kings, Pump King, sitting down next to me and handing me a chocolate cupcake piled high with icing and sprinkles. He’d performed first in the second half and had been amazing. I’d forced myself to watch instead of pacing up and down.

“Think so,” I said, blowing out another deep breath. “Fuck me. I’ve never been so fucking nervous.”

“Tell me about it.” He laughed. “You did amazing though.”

“Thanks.” I grinned. I was very pleased with how it had gone and the way the crowd had responded. A small part of my brain told me it was because most people were quite drunk, but another voice, which sounded oddly like Tristan’s, told me it was because my routine had been fucking awesome and nobody could resist a good singalong. It hadn’t been my usual mix of comedy, parody, and singing, but I’d wanted to do something fun that would get the audience involved. Plus, comedy was always tricky on people you didn’t know. Although, it did seem like half the fucking room was filled with my lot.

If I hadn’t known where they were when I’d stepped out, I’d have been able to fucking hear them. There was one corner of the room that made more noise than a fucking rocket launch, and when I’d looked across at them, I’d seen everyone on their feet with Tristan at the front, wearing a smile brighter than the sun. I couldn’t put the feeling of seeing them all there together into words. All I knew was that it meant more to me than anything had before.

“How long until we get the results?” I asked, unwrapping my cupcake so I could eat the boring cake bit first. I always saved the icing for last.

“I think there’s another quick break where they encourage voting, and I think people are going around to the tables with buckets to collect any last-minute votes and money. So maybe twenty minutes? Thirty?”

“That’s too fucking long. I think I might be dead by then.” I shoved more cake into my mouth. The sugar was definitely helping. “Do you think we can go for a wander?” I wanted to head out onto the floor to see everyone. I needed to see Tristan.

“We can ask,” Pump King said.

We found an organiser and asked the question, but they requested we stay backstage because it was easier than having to wrangle everyone again.

“Don’t worry,” she said, giving us a sympathetic smile. “It’ll all be over soon. We’ve been counting votes all evening, and we’re nearly there.”

Pump King and I lurked backstage, joining in a conversation with a couple of other kings and queens I vaguely knew. My nerves were starting to kick up again, and we heard the music go on again as the hosts returned to the stage. They said a few words, then made way for a final guest performance, which I only half watched. Instead, I touched up my lipstick and tried not to pace.

“Okay,” said the returning organiser. “If you all want to follow me.”

I took a deep breath. Whatever happened, I was so fucking proud of myself. And there was always next year if I didn’t win.

We waited at the side of the stage, and I heard the murmur of the crowd. The hosts were saying something about the amount of money raised through sponsorship, voting, and donations.

“Holy shit,” said Lola Lavish, one of the queens who stood in front of me. “Are they having a laugh?”

“What did they say?” I asked. “I missed it.”

“Twenty-seven grand,” she said. “They raised twenty-seven fucking grand.”

“What the fuck?” I probably looked like a damn goldfish with my mouth hanging open. Twenty-seven thousand pounds was an insane amount of money for a charity drag competition to raise. They probably hadn’t finished tallying it all either.

A moment later, we were shepherded onto the stage to line up for the award presentation. I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. I kept telling myself it didn’t matter what happened. I was proud of myself, and that was all that really mattered. Even if I really, really wanted to win that fucking crown. I glanced out into the audience, and despite the lights, I could see my lot in their corner. I wanted to laugh because their expressions made it look like I was lining up to be executed, not waiting to find out who the winner was.

“We’ll do the first five honourable mentions in no particular order,” said one of the hosts. She gave us a brilliant smile. “You should all be so proud of yourselves.”

The male host took a golden envelope from an organiser and began to announce the five performers who hadn’t placed. The first one wasn’t me, and neither was the second… or the third. With every name he announced, the ball of nerves in my chest seemed to grow hotter.

I wasn’t any of the honourable mentions, which meant I’d made the top five.

Okay. I could deal with that.

Shit.

We all stepped forward, and all I could do was hope I didn’t trip and fall in my lovely new shoes and break my fucking neck.

They announced fifth place.

It wasn’t me.

Neither was fourth.

Fucking hell. I’d somehow made the top three. I bit the inside of my lip and glanced across at Tristan and my family. Tristan looked like he might be sick. Honestly, I felt the same. There were just three of us left on the stage now. We all stepped forward. I pictured the ending of Miss Congeniality, and I suddenly wanted to laugh. I hoped nobody would try to hand me an exploding crown.

“This year’s top three,” said the man, gesturing at us. “I think you’ll all agree, these performers were spectacular.” The crowd whooped and applauded. “In third place, your second runner-up is… Lola Lavish!”

Lola, who’d done a spectacular dance routine, stepped forward to collect her sash and a small bouquet of flowers, graciously waving at the crowd. I applauded. Then the realisation hit me that I was either going to win or come second.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. I hadn’t prepared for this. This was so much further than I’d ever expected to get.

“Are you ready?” said Pump King, who stood next to me. He reached out his hand and took mine, squeezing it.

“Fuck no,” I breathed.

“Me either.”

We laughed nervously together. I wondered if anyone noticed.

“The next name I announce,” said the queen, “will be our winner, and this year’s It’s a Drag! champion. Good luck to both of you.”

I swallowed. Thank fuck this wasn’t something serious. I’d have fucking passed out by now.

“Your It’s a Drag! winner is… Bitch Fit!”

The far corner of the room exploded, and it took me a second to figure out why. I couldn’t understand why Pump King had let go of my hand and was applauding. I looked around. Everyone was cheering.

OH! HOLY SHIT! It was me. I’d won. I was the winner. Fucking Christ on a cracker.

My legs threatened to wobble as I took a step forward, noise echoing in my ears. Then I remembered my manners and pulled Pump King in for a hug, whispering how amazing he was in his ear. I walked to the front of the stage, and the drag queen placed a sash over me, then placed an enormous, glittering crown on my head. It was heavier than I was expecting. I had something similar that I’d bought last Christmas to crown the champion of the inaugural Christmas Day family NERF tournament—that I’d won—but that one was nothing compared to the one I was currently wearing. I had to remember to get some pictures.

“Congratulations,” she said. “You were amazing.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Gotta be honest, I’m a little bit stunned.”

She laughed. “It’s always the way. But enjoy it.” She stepped back, opening her hand and gesturing for me to walk forward down the runway.

I’d never smiled so wide as I took those steps, music ringing in my ears mixed with the noise of the crowd. As I walked down the runway, confetti canons on either side exploded, showering me in silver paper. I laughed and smiled and drank in every single moment because this was something I’d remember forever.

I reached the end of the runway, and all I could see was Tristan.

He stood at the front of my family and friends’ collection of tables, eyes shining as he watched me. He was so fucking perfect. And he was mine.

I really was the luckiest bitch on the planet. I just hadn’t told him.

That was going to have to change. Right now.

In fact, why the fuck had I left it this long?

I took my bow, striking a pose or two as we’d all been instructed to do if we won, then strode back up the runway. “Excuse me,” I said, hurrying off the stage, one hand reaching for my crown so I didn’t lose it. “Can I get out onto the floor please?” The stagehand I’d cornered looked at me with a confused expression. “There is a very important man out there who needs to know that I love him very much because I stupidly haven’t told him up to this point, and now I really need him to know.”

“Just go through that gap,” said the now familiar organiser, appearing from the corridor. “It goes straight out into the ballroom. We don’t have the most sophisticated set-up in the world.”

“You’re a star,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in five minutes for pictures.”

I dashed towards the ballroom as fast as I could in my platform boots. The room was still full, but the lights had come up slightly and most people were just milling around. Lots of people tried to stop me as I passed, wanting to congratulate me. I brushed them off as politely as I could. Love first, congratulations later.

Tristan was facing away from me, talking to Orlando when I spotted him. Jules tapped him on the shoulder. Tristan turned. His face lit up like the sky at New Year.

My feet carried me towards him at speed as I wove around the chairs, tables, and drunken guests.

“You—” Tristan started to say, but his words were cut off as I threw myself into his arms and kissed him. A couple of people cheered. I made a mental note to kick them later.

“I love you, Tristan Rose,” I said, the words tumbling over themselves as they escaped off my tongue. “I should have told you sooner. You are fucking amazing, and I love you so fucking much. More than anything.”

“I love you too.” He smiled at me, giving me that soft, sweet smile that made my insides melt. The one that made it feel like I was coming home. “More than you’ll ever know. I’m so proud of you.”

I kissed him again, pouring as much of my love into it as I could. When we broke apart, I chuckled because Tristan was now wearing as much of my lipstick as I was. Tristan put a hand to his mouth and grinned.

“You need better lipstick. I like your crown though.”

“Oh? It’s not too much?”

“For you? It’s perfect.” I laughed, and he kissed me again.