Page 6 of Last One Standing
My assumptions of this club had been completely wrong, and when I sat on the comfortable chair and was handed a drink I didn’t order but was exactly what I would, I decided I’d keep my mouth shut and enjoy the night.
“How’d they know what we’d want?” Mason asked as he sipped his appletini.
“Oh.” JJ placed his cosmopolitan on the table. “When you’re VIP, they send you a questionnaire, and one of the questions is what drink each party’s favorite is. They supply the first one for free to VIPs.”
“Hmm…that’s pretty smart.” I looked at my Jack and ginger and then at JJ. “How’d you know all our favorites?”
JJ smirked. “I pay attention.”
While everyone talked and laughed, having a great time, I scanned the club. Typical people out for a fun night drinking and eagerly waiting for the show to begin.
Across from us, on the other side of the club but in a different VIP section, was a problem. The Dead Kings took over that entire side. They weren’t acting like the animals they were around town—they were sitting, drinking, calm.
I leaned closer to JJ. “Who owns this club?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. Why?”
I jutted my chin in the direction of where the MCs were sitting. “Because I can’t think of an establishment in this town that would treat the Dead Kings as VIPs unless they owned it.”
JJ followed my line of sight, and his shoulders slumped. “Let’s just get through the night, enjoy the show. If they own it, they won’t want to trash it.”
I was sure he was right, but I didn’t trust them. I sat back and took in each face, memorizing them individually. My eyes snagged on someone who was looking directly at me. I couldn’t read his cut from here to see what rank he was, but from the angry expression on his face, he didn’t like me observing them.
I sipped my drink and averted my gaze to the stage. The lights started to dim—it was showtime.
“Hello, ladies and gents, boys and girls, misfits and teachers’ pets. Welcome to Stilettos and Sangria!” The voice boomed as lights glided over the stage.
Then, the curtain opened, and I swore I’d transported to Vegas. Women appeared. I thought they were women, I honestly wasn’t positive if drag shows also used women…
Oh, God.Was I being ignorant? I’d ask JJ later.
They fanned out in colorful costumes of glitter and feathers and began doing amazing choreography to P!nk’s “Trouble.”
When they parted, a tall drag queen in a long red sequined dress, big black hair, and perfect makeup walked to the center of the stage. She had a microphone that matched her dress and while she didn’t sing, she did dance with the others.
The song ended in a flourish, and the house erupted in applause. Everyone stood, cheering for the spectacular display.
“Amazing!” Phoenix shouted. He was a dancer, and if anyone could appreciate the hard work this took, it would be him.
“Welcome, welcome, you beautiful people. What a gorgeous crowd we have tonight.” She snorted. “Well, not as gorgeous as me, of course!” There was a wave of laughter. “For those new to Stilettos and Sangria, I’m your extraordinary host, Ima Cummings. And those who have been here before, your restraining orders are on the way.” More laughter.
She went on for a good five minutes, and I could admit that by the time she introduced the next drag queen, my cheeks hurt from smiling. Maybe this would be a great night after all.
CHAPTER FOUR
KONA
Each queen did one song,and after their sets were completed, I would perform three numbers. I was supposedly the main attraction, but Brick would be surprised to learn that the audience loved us all and for some, I wasn’t their favorite. If I mentioned that to him, he’d vow to track each patron down and make them change their mind.
There was a time I’d found the possessiveness hot. He’d made me feel wanted, but then it had turned ugly, violent, and cruel. Now when I saw him being an asshole, I was nauseated. I’d tried to get him to leave the people in this town alone, their stores, their opinions. All that had earned me was a day in bed nursing bruises and dizzy spells.
“You’re on in three,” Dazzy, the backstage manager, informed me.
“Thanks, darlin’.”
I took one more look at my reflection in the mirror. My platinum-blond wig was perfectly coiffed; my makeup was precise and dazzling. I ran the palms of my hands along the sides of my silver floor-length dress, sticking my leg out through the slit. My shoes glittered, my nails shone; I was ready.
Some queens lip-synched, and that was totally okay because they owned it every time. I had on occasion also lip-synched. However, I’d learned my range, figured out what female artists I could match, and molded my brand around them. I had dabbled with original songs, but Brick and I had gotten into an argument one night about me messing up a good thing at the club with my mediocre songs. It had ended with him lighting all my notes and music on fire.
