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Anti-Anti-Drag Gathering.
Starts outside the Village. Saturday 12pm.
Category is: Dressed to protest.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
“Good,” said Jordan. “Don’t be late.” He hung up before Will could say anything else.
* * *
•••••••••
The next day, Will arrived at the Village at twenty to twelve to find half of Birmingham’s queens already lining the pavement. Faye Runaway and Tamil Nitrate were among them, along with Sadie Chatterley, Elle Fire, Lexa Kimbo, Paris Social, Izzy Uno, Hennessy Williams, Auntie Dot, Evelyn Carnate, Julie Madly Deeply, Alicia Tryed, Raina Shine, and Gaia Gender, all seemingly dressed up with nowhere to go.
Will spotted other familiar faces: punters he recognized from the Village, a handful of bartenders from other gay venues on Hurst Street, some guys he only identified from their profiles on Grindr. Ry waved awkwardly from the crowd. There was no sign of his new boyfriend, and Will determined that it was a sign of personal growth that he felt nothing, not even the slightest pang of Schadenfreude, at this observation.
“Well, there’s a bloody turn-up for the books,” somebody commented beside Will. Somebody whose platinum blond hair and Bleu de Chanel scent, even in his wig- and lash-obscured peripheral vision, were instantly familiar.
“Jordan,” he said, turning, “I’m glad to see you.”
“I think this might be the first time you’ve ever been on time for anything,” Jordan remarked. “Let alone early. I suppose we should be honored.”
He wasn’t forgiven, then. Will wasn’t surprised. Had not expected to be.
“This is a good turnout,” he said, nodding to the growing mass outside the bar.
“Well, it’s important,” said Jordan. “People care. This idea that drag queens aren’t safe to be around children, that they’re predators…it’s the same shit they used to say in the ’80s. When you see history repeating itself, you have to do something.”
“Safe for children.” Will tsked. “What does that even mean? We’re reading them Peter Pan, not American Psycho. It drives me mad. The number of straight comedians who’ve been absolutely filthy in their stand-up, have been known and celebrated for it, then gone on to voice an animated bunny or play the dad in some Disney film, it’s fucking infuriating.” He clutched his vape tightly, thumb worrying over the button like a rosary.
“It’s absolutely clapped,” Jordan agreed, seemingly forgetting that he had yet to absolve Will. They shared a look, and Will found himself momentarily grateful for the bigoted little shits who had brought them back together.
“I am still very angry with you,” said Jordan, reading his mind. “Don’t think I’m just going to let you off the hook. You said some really fucked up things to me.”
“I know, and I’m so—”
“But I still fucking love you and that won’t change just because you’ve been a heinous idiot. So you will simply have to make it up to me later.”
“I know. I will, I promise. But just for the record…”
“Yeah?”
“There’s nobody else I’d rather ride into battle with.”
Jordan pouted. “I mean, obviously same,” he said, just as Faye stepped onto an upturned beer crate, which was, both at her age and in those heels, probably an unwise thing to do.
“Oh my days,” Will whispered. “Who gave Faye a megaphone?”
“She brought it from home,” said Jordan. “You know these old girls come prepared.”
“Thank god for her, honestly,” Will said, but Jordan was already shushing him, holding up his phone ready to stream Faye’s address.
“Raise your hand, clack your fan, make some noise,” she began, “if you have ever been called a name, some disgusting word, for no reason other than simply being who you are.”
The crowd around Will and Jordan clicked, clacked, snapped, stamped, and whooped around them.
“Let’s hear some of those names,” said Faye.
