Always Eli by Charlie Novak
Chapter Four
Eli
“He’s such a smug bastard!He avoided me all week because he clearly thinks dealing with me is beneath him, and I bet he’s gone straight to Richard to tell him all about it. I deliberately didn’t tell my family what I was doing because I didn’t want to deal with shit from Dick, and yet here I am, lost at sea without a paddle. Sunk by Tristan fucking Rose. I’m going to freeze to death in the icy waters of the Atlantic without a door to climb onto. And if there was one, Dick would just shove me off and tell me to fucking swim!”
I threw my beauty blender down onto the small desk that served as my make-up station and watched it bounce across the surface. I grabbed a brush and my contour palette, preparing to shape my face beyond all recognition. Orlando watched me from his seat on my bed, grinning as he hugged some adorable but ridiculous avocado plushie to his chest. A gift from his men.
“Are you done?”
“Not sure,” I said, sweeping dark make-up across my temple and down my cheekbones, nose, and jaw. “Maybe? But then again…” I sighed. “How long do you think it will be before the family chat goes nuts with the news that I have indeed gotten myself a sensible job.” I shuddered. “They’ll think I’m becoming an actual adult.”
“You are nearly thirty.”
“So are you.”
“Nope. I’m going to be twenty-one forever,” Orlando said with a grin.
“You’ll stop looking twinky one day, bitch. You might even get wrinkles.”
“Like you?”
“Mine are distinguished,” I said as I started to blend the fuck out of my face.
“Says you.”
“Feeling sassy today, aren’t we? Are you coming to see my show or are you off to get spanked?” I looked at Orlando in the mirror and watched his grin widen, his cheeks flushing a delightful peach colour.
“Both. I told Daddy and Sir they have to come see your show at some point because you’re amazing. So they said we could go tonight and then I can go back to their house.” He sighed happily. “They bought me new toys.”
“Of the electric, silicone, or plushie variety?”
“I hope it’s all three.”
“Well, you know where I am if you need anything,” I said, shaping my nose. Luckily, my drag persona wasn’t of the pageant queen variety, so I never intended to look particularly feminine or pretty. Bitch Fit was more hair metal, emo queen trash goblin. She was my inner self brought to life.
I turned to Orlando, looking him in the eye and repeating the same three phrases I said every single time he went out. “Have fun. Be safe. Call if you need me—for anything.”
“I will. Promise.”
“Good boy.”
I looked back at myself in the mirror and nodded. Close enough. I reached for some setting powder.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Orlando asked. I glanced at him in the mirror, trying not to frown. He usually just came straight out and said things.
“Of course, baby. Everything okay?”
“Have you ever considered doing drag competitions?”
“Like Drag Stars?” I asked, raising one eyebrow. The television show was a cult phenomenon, but I had opinions about it. Largely around the prescriptive narrative it seemed to require of drag and its lack of inclusion of both drag kings and trans performers. I’d been asked whether I’d consider auditioning for the UK version at least twice a month for the past two years, and it was starting to get on my tits. I’d instituted a rule at The Court where anyone foolish enough to ask me that question when I was on stage had to get up and lip-sync. Depending on whether I liked it or not, I’d either give them a free drink or I’d roast them mercilessly. Don’t fuck with me, honey.
“No. Duh, I know you hate that show.” Orlando rolled his eyes and gave me a pitying look. Brat. “I meant like local stuff.”
“Such as?”
“It’s a Drag! It’s the one they’re holding in Nottingham this year. The charity one. This year they’re raising money for a trans children’s charity and an LGBTQ suicide hotline.” I turned in my chair and found Orlando looking at me with wide, earnest eyes in the same way Labrador puppies did. “It’s their third year, and they really want to make a splash, and I thought since it’s not so prescriptive, you’d be interested. Their past two winners are great: Snow Woke and Rick N. Roll.”
“Rick N. Roll is wonderful,” I said, nodding my head. Rick was a drag king and had done a couple of guest slots at The Court in the spring. “He’s got amazing stage presence. I didn’t realise he’d won.”
Orlando nodded. “He did! Remember? I told you I went to watch. It was your dad’s birthday, though, so you couldn’t come with me.”
The wheels in my brain turned slowly. We’d all gone out for a huge family dinner, and I’d deliberately sat at the other end of the table from Richard so I could enjoy the meal. I’d spent the whole time talking to Lewis and Finn about Final Fantasy games and horror movies. It had been a good evening. “I remember. You got drunk and came home with two loaves of bread. You ate half of one and then spooned the other.”
“I was hungry.”
I chuckled. Now that I’d thought about it, I remembered Orlando mentioning it to me last year as well. I’d brushed him off then, although I couldn’t remember the reason. “When’s the final?” I asked. “If it’s the same date as last year then it’ll be a no. Mum would kill me if I missed Dad’s birthday, and I don’t know if they’d come and watch.”
My family was big, queer, loud, and largely supportive, but I doubted Richard would come to anything like that and then mum would get sad. Plus, Dick would kick up a huge stink if it was on the same date and no doubt accuse me of trying to take over Dad’s birthday for my own nefarious purposes. In his mind, I was a work-shy narcissist who’d never amount to anything, and this would be proof of that. And as much as I hated Dick, I didn’t want to cause a rift in my family.
“It’s on the eleventh of December. It’s a Saturday.” He grinned. “It’s two weeks later than last year, so you won’t have to miss your dad’s birthday. And you’d be so good. They’re crying out for talented entrants, and I know people would love you. Just think about it, please. For me.”
He batted his eyelashes ridiculously, his lips forming a doll-like pout.
“Fine. I’ll think about it.”
“Yes!” Orlando hopped off the bed and threw his arms around my shoulders and squeezed before dancing out of the room.
“That doesn’t mean it’s a yes,” I called after him. He wasn’t listening though.
I sighed and reached for an eyeshadow palette.
The Court was full of laughter and cheering faces as I stood backstage, humming quietly to myself as I watched some of the other performers. Not only was The Court Lincoln’s one and only gay bar and nightclub, but it was also their premiere drag venue.
We did a mixture of full variety drag shows, comedy nights, guest slots, and smaller shows with just a couple local performers.
That night was one of our variety weekends, and the show was in full flow.
I loved these nights mostly because I got to go out and do whatever the fuck I wanted within some very loose limits. Usually it was comedy and lip-syncing with some parody songs and maybe a dance skit here or there. I knew the audience well because I’d been coming to The Court since I was a very naive eighteen-year-old baby queer, and even when I’d gone away for university, I’d come back at least once a month.
The Court’s owner was one Miss Violet Bucket—pronounced Bouquet, after Patricia Routledge’s legendary character from Keeping Up Appearances—or Phil if you ever met him outside his sequins and enormous Marie Antoinette-style wigs. Violet was the one who’d first suggested I get up on stage and give drag a try. I’d done a lot of drama at school and was a natural show-off, but drag had been a whole new world for me. Theatre was fun, but drag called to my soul. I’d still been terrified of actually getting up and doing it, but after several months of practising in front of a mirror and spending countless hours playing with make-up, I’d been brave enough to give it a try.
The first time I’d set foot on The Court’s little stage, I’d known I was home. The feel of the lights on my skin, the music, the first laugh I’d coaxed from a slightly drunken audience, the applause as I’d finished and tottered off the boards in the new heels I could barely walk in—it had all been intoxicating. A boost of confidence I’d never experienced before. As soon as I’d come offstage, I wanted to do it again.
That was nine years ago, and I hadn’t looked back.
“Hello, darling.” Violet appeared beside me, her sequined dress glittering in the low backstage lighting. Her hair was a towering mass of lavender, flowers, and hairspray that seemed to have a life of its own. If I put a match to it, it would probably go up faster than a chip pan.
“Honey, what is that wig?” I asked, giving her a wicked smile. “You look like you’ve stolen a buttercream wedding cake from the eighties and stuck it on your head.”
“Oh, thank you, darling! That’s exactly what I was going for.” Violet smiled and patted her wig fondly. “I see you’ve gone for the raccoon look again, dear. Perhaps if we bought you a little rubbish bin as a dressing room, you’d feel more comfortable.”
I laughed. “So kind of you Miss Bucket,” I said, deliberately using the traditional ‘bucket’ pronunciation, watching to see if it made her wince, “to think of this small, humble trash goblin.”
“My dear, I don’t think you could do humble if you tried.” I laughed. “So, how’s things?” Violet continued. “I see you survived your first week in an office.”
“I did. And I didn’t stab anyone with a pencil either, although I’ll admit it was close.” I’d spent several hours lamenting my monetary worries to both Phil and Violet, both of whom had been largely sympathetic. There wasn’t really a way for Phil to offer me more work at The Court, but he’d promised to keep his ear out for more gigs and try to direct as many people my way as possible.
“That bad?”
“No, not really. Just quite tedious. But it will pay my bills until TikTok makes me wildly famous.”
Violet laughed. “My darling, if anyone can make money by making a spectacle of themselves, it’s you.”
“Why thank you. I try.” There was a round of raucous applause as the dancers on stage came to the end of their performance.
“Do you need me to get you anything for later?” Violet asked. “I’ll get the bar to send you up some water, and I popped a few snacks in the basket for you.”
“You’re a star. Just send me some Fanta now and then, and I’ll be fine.” After the show ended, The Court would convert into a nightclub, and I would be DJing until the early hours of the morning. It was Friday night, though, which meant I could play a wonderful mix of trashy cheese, gay shit, bouncy pop, and whatever new club music I could stand to listen to for more than thirty seconds. Then tomorrow it would be sleep, rinse, and repeat.
The dancers trouped offstage, looking exhausted but wildly happy. Violet greeted them all like some mother hen before shooing them away to get a drink.
“Good luck, my dear,” she said, handing me a microphone. “Have fun.”
“I always do.” I took a final deep breath to calm the last of my nerves and felt excitement sweep deep in my stomach. Then I adjusted the bottom of my skirt, wiggled my hips, grinned, and strutted out onto the stage. The audience cheered.
It was just like coming home.