Page 40 of Lace

Carefully, he slipped them on, adjusted himself and once again examined the reflection staring back at him. It felt different, standing there in the skirt the way it was meant to be worn, the way he wanted to wear it. The lace cupped him, caressed when he moved, remarkably like the gentle but callused touch of Levi’s fingers.

“But it needs something.” Sifting through the contents of his bag again, he found another package, this one with black fish-net stockings, which he pulled up and fastened in place with a set of garters and clips. Quickly, then, because he could hear Mitchell getting to the end of his prepared speech, he buckled and laced back into his boots and checked one more time that the effect worked.

“You about ready in there?” Eric called as Caleb decided that, yes, he was satisfied. He felt like himself for once. Like he could take on the world and win. Not at all frightened of it the way he’d been for so long.

“As I’ll ever be,” Caleb admitted and swept the curtain aside.

Eric let out a low whistle. “Not going to lie. Levi is a fucking lucky dude.”

Eric’s boyfriend sidled up next to him, snaking a thickly muscled arm around his waist. “Maybe so.” Dwayne pecked a kiss to the side of Eric’s face. “But he’s not the one I want to get out of his skirt tonight. You ready, babe?”

Eric grinned down at him. “Yeah. Just let me get this stuff off before you get too wild. Mitch will kill me if anything gets ripped.”

They wandered off, tossing distracted waves at Caleb, and the most remarkable thing about the entire exchange was that it was entirely unremarkable. Neither one of them had behaved any different than they would have if Caleb had on jeans and a T-shirt.

He stared after them until Mitchell hissed at him from the top of the stage stairs.

”Sorry!” Caleb spun and jogged up the steps, stopping when Mitchell held out a hand to grab his arm and hold him off while he looked him up and down, nodding. “Okay. You were right. No pants.”

“Works?” Caleb asked, nerves skittering along his skin. It somehow mattered that his friend approved.

“Oh, it works.”

“Yeah?” Caleb found he could smile despite his quavering insides.

“Definitely. Now get out here and accept your cheque so we can wrap this thing up and go celebrate.”

“Right.” Taking the hand Mitchell offered him, he stepped out onto the brightly-lit stage to a hearty round of applause and whistles. It took a moment for the crowd to calm down enough for Mitchell to be heard over the noise, but that gave Caleb a chance to look out and realize that Jase had left his seat.

Trying not to let his disappointment show on his face, he glanced towards the back where Shank had been glaring from earlier.

Shank wasn’t there. Neither were any of his hockey-playing cronies. Jase was, though, standing with his arms crossed and a fierce look on his face. Shoulder-to-shoulder with him were a few Student Council members, and the college football and basketball coaches, forming a line across the back of the room. Not a single one of Caleb’s detractors could be found in the audience.

A strange, light feeling overtook Caleb, and his shoulders relaxed as Angel dropped a hand onto his shoulder to get his attention.

He turned to face Mitchell, accepting the cheque he was holding out and saying thank you, then turning to the audience to say it again.

His gaze fell on Jase as he spoke. “Thank you so much,” he said. “I can’t tell you—we—can’t tell you,” he corrected, dropping an arm around Mitchell’s shoulders, “what this kind of support means to us.” He held up the check. “Not only will the kids get a fantastic party this year, but our community here at the college has grown and strengthened in a way I never thought possible. No matter what happens next, I know I can go forward from today with a kind of confidence in all of you that humbles me.” He gave a small nod to Jase. “Thank you. So much.”

Jase was the first to start clapping, his grin wide, his eyes bright.

Mitchell waved one more time, then led the way off the stage as people began to file out of the rows of seating.

Once backstage, he handed the cheque to Angel. “Can you take care of this? Put it in the safe until I can get it to the bank on Monday? I have someplace I need to be.”

Angel’s grin was knowing. “Sure. Good luck.” Angel’s girlfriend was there, and he took her hand. “Ready to stack some chairs, babe?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes, but also smiled. “Lead the way.”

“Good.” Mitchell took Caleb’s hand and turned him away from the stage as they left. “One more thing.”

Caleb grimaced. “Now what?”

“Off the runway, stage makeup is tramp makeup. Becky!” Mitchell hauled him towards where the makeup coordinator was just packing up the last of her tools. “I need you, girl,” Mitchell told her.

“Mitch, please. I’m tired. I want to go home. Kenny made supper?—”

“I know, but this is an emergency. My friend here needs to exchange the ‘fuck you’ makeup for ‘fuck me’ makeup. Help. Please?” He batted his big, blue eyes. “With a cherry on top?”

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