Page 38 of Isn't It Obvious?
A few more seconds pass, and Yael pulls up her text thread with Gina. There are only two messages:Charlie and I got tickets!!from her, which Gina liked, andYou better cheer loudest for mefrom Gina, which Yael loved.Here!! Break a leg, Yael types out, then deletes. It feels too earnest. And obvious—Gina will see her, won’t she? Maybe she’ll send Gina something after the show.
Charlie, thank God, returns to the seat beside Yael, the cups in his hands adorned with limes. “I got us vodka tonics,” he says.
Yael chuckles, raising her brows. “At a gay bar? Brave.”
“Yeah”—Charlie takes a sip and pulls a face—“there’s, like, ahintof tonic in this.”
She plucks hers from his grip and tries it for herself. Oneof her eyes shuts reflexively at the burn. “‘Hint’ is strong. Maybe ‘whisper’?”
“There isthe idea oftonic water in this drink,” Charlie says.
“Yes. I could be convinced that the bartender thought about tonic water as they made it.” The lights dim and the audience erupts. Yael leans toward Charlie, cupping her hand against the noise. “Thank you for coming with me,” she whispers.
In response, he pats her thigh twice. She knows what he means.Of courseandYou’re welcomeandYou don’t have to thank me.
The emcee takes the stage, a Black queen in a ballgown, beehive wig, and opera gloves. She sweeps one arm up, watching it trail skyward, then lowers a pointed finger to her lips. A hush falls, and she smirks. “Ladies, gentlemen, and other distinguished nobility of Portland, are you ready to be entertained?”
A cacophony again, and this time Yael and Charlie join in.
The three acts before Gina’s are all good—an Adele impersonator with a flawlessly executed, if traditional, lip sync, followed by a king who reenacts the entire workshop scene fromMagic Mike XXL, followed by a comedy queen who has Yael’s sides aching from laughter.
The emcee returns, her face grave. “And now, your headliner, a queen who—” She squints at her note card. “Okay, I need y’all to understand that she wrote the next bit. A queen who embodies her craft so fully that she quit boy mode altogether… Ms. Maiden Oregon!”
The applause is thunderous. Yael whoops as the curtains part. Gina, already pushing six feet, steps out in iridescent platforms, wearing a hospital gown over a skintight silver bodysuit. Her face is obscured by a cloud of bandages, with only enormous bug-like eyes peeking out. Slowly, she walkstoward the microphone stand, and the crowd quiets, rapt, until they can hear the clack of each step.
“Hello,” Gina murmurs breathily into the microphone. She reaches up to unpin one end of the bandage and begins to unravel it. Underneath it are Hollywood-quality prosthetics painted the same silver as her bodysuit. “I’m the alien Donald Trump told you about last year,” she says, still unwinding. Quietly, the opening notes of a familiar Beyoncé cut start to play. Yael feels the anticipation build inside her, in time with the crowd. When Gina drops the bandage to the floor, Yael holds her breath. “I hope you’ll forgive my lateness; I had to recover from all my state-mandated transgender surgeries.” In time with the song, she mouths,Category: bad bitch/I’m the bar/Alien superstar/Whip whipand then rips off her hospital gown and goes into the chorus.
Yael taps Charlie’s thigh, and he taps hers back.Holy shit.
Maiden Oregon has the audience wrapped around her finger. At the second chorus, the music transitions to “E.T.” by Katy Perry.
Singles fly. Charlie and Yael scream themselves hoarse.
“Starships” by Nicki Minaj plays, then “Alien” by Britney Spears, and finally back to “ALIEN SUPERSTAR” for the outro. She blows a kiss, the lights cut out, and the crowd roars.
“Wow,” Charlie says.
“She was amazing!” Yael shrieks.
“Text her,” he says.
She pulls out her phone and fires off something with far too many explanation points. The typing ellipsis appears, thenCome say hi backstage. Tell them I sent for you.
Charlie and Yael find Gina in the dressing room, her hair now released from the silver scaly bald cap. She turns toward them, one of her molded-on cheekbones half peeled.
“So?” she asks.
“You were so fucking good, oh my God,” Yael gushes.
Gina grins, genuinely pleased. “I’m glad you liked it. I was a little nervous that the joke would be too deep of a cut at this point.”
“It was perfect,” Yael says.
“And you must be Charlie.” Gina extends her hand, and Charlie takes it.
“So nice to finally meet you,” he says.
The emcee, in men’s clothing now, sticks his head in. “Hey, Gina—we’re heading out for after drinks in fifteen,” he says, and shuts the door behind him.
