Page 89 of Hale Yes
I giggle and pat his thigh. Beakers on a hot plate, that’s one firm quadricep. “Nothing’s wrong. Just noticed the ceiling.”
He visibly relaxes but doesn’t remove his arm. I’m not complaining. His eyes go to the ceiling. “Dang, that looks like something Michelangelo would have painted. And thechandeliers are like something out ofThe Phantom of the Opera.”
The lighting here is amazing. There are three enormous fixtures with lights that mimic actual long taper candles, complete with intermittent flickering, as well as subtle recessed lights around the perimeter. I’m assuming the latter is a more recent addition, probably the result of the renovation efforts.
After the server brings our drinks, a Slutty Shirley Temple for each of us, Helix picks up the folded card on the table and reads it before summarizing.
“It looks like the Sky Theater opened in 1890, and when the original owner died in 1911, it was purchased by a church to house their large congregation. They had it for about ten years, and after that, there were rumors that it was a speakeasy during prohibition.”
I glance around the room, imagining women in flapper dresses and cloche hats dancing with men in dapper suits and fedoras. “I can totally see that.” A wide grin pushes my cheeks upward. “Why do I love the thought of a secret speakeasy where a church used to be? There’s something so deliciously sneaky about that.”
“Because you’re a troublemaker, queenie.”
“Not denying it,” I say smartly. “I totally would have been a bootlegger in the twenties.”
“I could see that.” Helix glances back down at the card. “The Sky Theater fell into disrepair due to lack of funds and was abandoned. Then a former actor purchased it in the sixties and sank six million of his own money into it to bring it back to life. When he died, he left it to his partner who turned it into a drag club and renamed it The Rainbow Sky Theater. It underwent additional renovations this year, including a restoration of the fresco on the ceiling, which was done by the great-great-great grandson of the original artist.”
“Oh, I love that. Brought it back full-circle.”
As we chat, the perimeter lighting slowly dims, and we turn our attention back to the stage. Helix bends to whisper in my ear, and the feel of his breath against my neck, makes me shiver involuntarily,
“Who are Lukas and Stefan in this show?”
I turn slightly so he can hear me, and his nose brushes my cheek. I feel air sliding over my flesh as he sucks in a deep inhale.
“They wouldn’t tell me. They said I had to come to find out.”
His question is partly answered when one of the queens emerges from stage left. She’s got huge jet-black hair and is dressed in a full-body, shiny leather jumpsuit that resembles a Catwoman outfit.
It takes me a second, but I recognize the face behind all the makeup and lashes. “Oh my god, Helix, that’s Lukas.”
He rears his head back, his eyes popping open wide. “Wow, okay, you’re right.” Tilting his head to the side, he remarks, “He—or wait, is it she?”
“Lukas usually uses he, but I believe the custom is that when they’re in drag, they embody that character, so you use the pronoun of their character. Unless the performer has a different preference.”
“Gotcha. Okay then, she looks very… svelte.”
I can’t help my snicker. Lukas is a doll but a little on the pudgy side, but not in this getup. “I wonder what kind of Spanx she’s wearing.”
The crowd is cheering, but only Helix’s voice stands out in my ear. “Did you say you want to be spanked, Nicolette?”
Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
I pinch the inside of his thigh and hiss, “Stop it, you reprobate. Spanx is a brand of undergarments made to smooth out problem spots on a person’s body.” I glance back up at Lukas, who’s strutting slowly toward the microphone at centerstage, much to the delight of the crowd. Lukas is an outstanding strutter in five-inch patent leather heels.
“That didn’t answer my question,” Helix says. I turn to face him, and the heat in his gaze could set this entire building ablaze. “Do you want to be spanked?”
“Yes.” It’s merely a whisper but he must have read my lips because he smirks and nods.
“Noted.”
Then he turns his attention back to the stage where Cat Lukas has finally reached the center. I shakily exhale a breath and watch as my friend cracks a whip until the crowd quiets.
“Greetings, fair patrons of Rainbow Sky. I’m your mistress of ceremonies, Madame Simone.” We all cheer, and she preens at the attention. Her eyes meet mine for a brief second, and she winks. “I’m so happy to see all my precious kittens here tonight.”
After an introductory speech thanking everyone for attending and acknowledging the benefactors who made the transformation of the theater possible, the show begins. We watch act after act, most of them musical, but there was one Joan Rivers standup routine that was so funny it had us almost peeing our pants. She even picked on Helix a bit for his suspenders, but he just grinned and took her barbs like a champ, blowing her a sarcastic kiss.
The choreography is fabulous, the staging is glamorous, and we even get to see a drag king in the form of Elvis Presley. I know the end is drawing near, and I lean closer to Helix. His arm has stayed around me the entire show, his thumb rubbing against the oxytocin tattoo on my shoulder. In turn, I left my hand on his leg when I wasn’t clapping.
