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“Violent?” Will looked to his left and then his right. “Does any of this look violent to you, sir?”
The policeman cast a slightly baffled look around the gathering, and before he could answer, Will continued: “They are staging a protest.” He pointed to the crowd of beige facing them, then gestured at himself and the other queens. “This…is a flash mob.”
“A flash mob.” The second officer did not appear convinced.
“You might want to go and investigate some of the hate speech on those placards, though,” Jordan said, a helpful smile on his face.
“I’d be careful,” said Faye. “They may be carrying.”
“Carrying?”
“Eggs. Concealed cholesterol. Probably not even free-range. In fact, talking of violence, Officer…” Faye stepped just close enough that she towered over the pair of them, but not so close that it might be deemed intimidating. “I reported being harassed and assaulted by this very group of people several weeks ago, and as far as I am aware, sweet diddly-squat has been done about it.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” said Jordan, holding up his phone. “That’s a bad look indeed, Officer…I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your names?”
The two policemen exchanged a glance, and then the first one spoke again.
“You’re going to need to wrap this up soon,” he said. “It’s Saturday, Broad Street is going to be full of drunks soon enough, and we don’t want any of them harassing you ladies.”
“No bother,” said Faye sweetly. “Story hour is almost over.” She cast a cold look over the cop’s shoulder at the protestors. “I’m more than happy to close the book on this.”
“Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen,” said Jordan, still filming. “You both look very dashing, by the way. Not everyone could pull off those neon vest thingies.”
The officers gave them a cursory nod, and ambled slowly over to the protestors, presumably to give them the same marching orders. It was hardly a barnstorming triumph, Will thought. The war, if that’s what they were calling it, was not won.
But this felt enough like a victory that he couldn’t stop smiling.
* * *
•••••••••
The queens did not, in fact, disperse as requested so much as funnel their numbers back the way they came, Faye leading the way, the others following their fairy queen home toward the gay quarter.
“Oh my days, did you see their reaction when we started doing the Macarena?” Jordan cackled. “Their faces!”
“What is the Macarena,” said Will, “if not voguing on the lowest difficulty setting?”
“Voguing for beginners,” Jordan agreed. “And you still fumbled the moves once or twice, don’t think I didn’t see you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Save it for Los del Río.”
“No, Jordan, I’m sorry.” Will touched his wrist, and they both stopped, moving aside as Faye marshaled the other girls into the Village. “All of those things I said, I didn’t mean them. I was angry and upset at Patrick, and I took it out on you because you were there. Which is the story of my life, isn’t it. You’re always there, and I take it for granted, especially lately. I’m sorry.”
“Good,” Jordan said, expressionless. “I’m glad you’re aware of what a bitch you were being.”
“I am, trust me.”
“Fine.” Jordan pouted. “And I suppose I could have been a bit more understanding. You were in an impossible situation, and I expected you to act like you weren’t. It’s easy to have all kinds of principles when you’re preaching into the front-facing camera. Bit harder when you’re in love.”
“You ended up being right, though. I know how much you enjoy that.”
“I didn’t want to be, Will. I wanted Patrick to do right by you. I was rooting for that fucker.”
Will smiled weakly. “Me too.”
“I guess we’re the lucky ones,” said Jordan. “We stopped wasting time resenting ourselves for being different a long time ago.”
