AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Mo’s SUV squeezed into the alleyway from around the corner, presumably summoned by one of the others, and Patrick felt the tension between his shoulders detract a little. He took a few deep, greedy lungfuls of air, then said, “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Oh, it’s no bother. And besides, I think your friend probably needs to go home.” The queen nodded toward Audra, who was doing a clumsy two-step on the pavement, clutching her purse in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. “I don’t even know where she got that,” she added. “The nearest pizza place is all the way up the street.”
“I’m not done dancing,” Audra protested around a mouthful of cheese. “Let’s go back inside!”
“You can go back inside,” the queen said, “if you can tell me where your shoes are right now.”
Audra looked down at her bare feet, took another bite of pizza, and, with a shrug of defeat, allowed Hector to direct her toward the car.
“Thank you,” Patrick said, turning back to his unlikely savior.
“All in a night’s work for your friendly neighborhood drag queen,” she said, dipping into some curious mix of bow and curtsy.
“I’m sorry I won’t get to see you perform.”
The queen laughed. “You ain’t missing much, love!”
“Well. Thanks anyway.” Patrick gave a corny wave and headed toward the car. At the last moment, he turned back and asked: “What’s your name?”
“Grace.” She put a hand on her hip and drew herself up to her not-inconsiderable full height. “Grace Anatomy.”
Patrick grinned. “That is superb.”
“I know,” she said. “Now fly, my pretties! Fly!”
Chapter 4
Will watched the car turn off Hurst Street and took a moment to collect himself.
Patrick Lake and Audra Kelly. He couldn’t wait to tell Margo. And April, his shift bestie at the bookshop, would simply die. An encounter with a celebrity felt auspicious. But an encounter with two? He wondered idly whether it was a full moon, or if Mercury was in whatever the opposite of retrograde might be.
He took a long drag on his vape, tucked the pen back into his bra, and went inside, emerging from the door next to the DJ booth just as Kylie Minogue’s “On a Night Like This” began to play. Will grinned and didn’t even stop when Jordan appeared to place a tray of shots on his outstretched, upturned hand.
“Skittle bombs, three quid each or four for a tenner,” Jordan instructed. Usually, the task of hawking these vile things would make Will dry heave: Neither Cointreau nor Red Bull had passed his lips since an emetic house party several years ago, and already the sickly aroma threatened to turn his stomach. But tonight, he decided, was different.
“Three quid each, four for a tenner,” he repeated, and now that official business was dispensed with, he and Jordan shared an agog look at what had just transpired.
“Patrick Lake!” Jordan squealed. “In my bar!”
“Doing poppers?”
“I know! I know.” Jordan waved his phone in the air, shaman-like. “It’s already on our socials. Just think. The Village Inn, Patrick Lake’s local pub.” His eyes misted over. “This could be great for us.”
The Village, like lots of gay bars up and down the country, was under near-constant threat of closure. COVID shutdowns had almost been the death of the place, and then there were the ever-encroaching property developers in shiny suits who wanted to bulldoze all of Hurst Street and build luxury apartments and coworking spaces. Each time the vultures swooped in, the Village managed to beat them back, but the incursions were becoming more frequent.
Jordan had taken it upon himself to make a case for the cultural significance of queer spaces, which so far had consisted largely of him ranting to camera on TikTok wearing a tank top and smoky eye. A photo of movie star Patrick Lake enjoying himself in the venue would certainly help their cause, but Will was surprised by how uneasy the thought made him. People came here to have fun, to shed their self-consciousness and truly be themselves, without fear of being surveilled or harassed. Shouldn’t that right extend to all their patrons, even the straight ones?
The clamor caused by Patrick Lake and Audra Kelly’s appearance rapidly subsided into the usual buzz of the hive, tonight’s punters already seeking new entertainment. Up onstage, Tammy introduced Gaia, and in between peddling his pungent wares, Will watched longingly as she undulated her way through a lip-sync to “Whip My Hair,” by Willow Smith, intercut with a seamless lip-sync to Reese Witherspoon’s perm monologue from the climactic courtroom scene in Legally Blonde. It was stupid, and genius, and Will yearned to be up there with her.
He wasn’t the kind of person who considered himself above slinging shots. There were rules here, a hierarchy, and dues to be paid. Drag queens had been eating shit since the days of Divine. It was just that Will had finally thought he was beginning to make progress with his stage presence. The last couple times he had been up there, he understood fully that the transcendent sensation he got from performing was being experienced by the crowd, too. This is it, he had told himself. This is where I am supposed to be.
And then he actually ate shit. He’d decided not to lip-sync but to sing live, like the greatest dames did. It had started so well; gay audiences loved a power ballad, and an expertly executed rendition of “Alone,” by Heart, lit up the pleasure centers in their drama-loving brains. But then came that big note in the final chorus, the moment when Ann Wilson channeled every ounce of euphoric longing into her voice.
Maybe he hadn’t warmed up properly. Maybe it was simply out of his range. Either way, even Will had been shocked by the flat caterwaul coming from his own mouth. Not since the crowning of Camilla had sentiment so rapidly turned against a queen, and Will plummeted back to the bottom of the pyramid.
Will sold another round of stomachaches to a trio of twinks—who insisted on showing him the selfie they had taken with their new bestie, Audra Kelly—and willed himself to not dwell on defeat. Onward and upward and all that. Tonight was auspicious, he reminded himself. There were portents.
And then who should emerge from the throng, as if summoned by the universe in that very instant to challenge his resolve, but his all-too-recent ex, Ry? And who should be clinging on to Ry’s arm but a new beau, a handsome specimen seemingly acquired sometime in the last two and a half weeks? It appeared that the early bird had caught the worm and feelings.
