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Hector and Corey each wore suits that lovingly hugged their physiques, and Will reminded himself once again that looking that way was their full-time job. He resisted the urge to ask them both to turn around (because was there a greater sight in the world, outside of a sunset or a baby’s first steps, than a man’s bottom in tailored trousers?), and instead turned to Audra.
“I can’t see Patrick looking like this,” he said. “Is there somewhere I can freshen up?”
Audra was already riffling through the duffel bag he’d brought with him, tutting at its contents.
“And there goes the myth about gay men having style,” she said, taking him by the hand. “I suppose there’s nothing for it. You need a makeover.”
“A makeover?” Will asked.
“Well, sure!” Audra’s eyes sparkled. “You’ve just arrived in Hollywood. Time to change everything about yourself. Estelle!”
“We got you, man,” said Corey, and while Audra discussed the particular “challenges” of his Irish skin with the makeup artist, Will allowed himself to be led over to a rail in the corner of the room, where several garment bags hung like vampire bats.
“They always send over a bunch of different options,” said Hector, not pausing to explain who “they” were. “Take your pick!”
The tuxedos before him were, without a doubt, stunning. They were also, even more certainly, never going to fit Will, whose proportions were considerably slighter than those of Patrick, Corey, or Hector.
“This isn’t going to work,” he said. “I’ll look like a kid who got dressed up in Daddy’s clothes. And anyway, I’m not even going to the premiere. I’m supposed to just wait here.”
“Never mind that,” said Audra, joining them. “Will, go take a shower. First door on the left. Then go into the room next door. I have this completely under control.”
Too exhausted and overwhelmed to argue, Will obeyed, taking his duffel into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth with vigor, then stripped down and stepped under the rain shower. He didn’t know how long he stood there letting the water cascade over him, washing away what felt like days’ worth of grime. When he finally exited the bathroom in a fluffy white robe, he felt like he had been reborn.
Audra was waiting for him in the next room, along with another rack. She had shed her own robe and put on her outfit for the premiere; a glittering silver cocktail dress that, combined with her makeup and tousled updo, made her look like an editorial Tinker Bell: mischief refined and distilled into its purest form.
“Take your pick,” she said, gesturing to the clothes rail. “They sent me some gorgeous things, but half of them aren’t my color.”
Instantly, Will’s attention was captured by an exquisite piece of tailoring among the dresses: a double-breasted suit in a bold vermilion. The trousers, when he pulled them off the hanger and they slid into his hands, were wide-legged and high-waisted.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he whispered. This, far more than the black-tie garb donned by Hector and Corey, was his kind of suit. Womenswear as menswear, worn by a man who made his living dressing like a woman. Drag on drag on drag.
“Good eye,” said Audra, turning to face the wall so he could get dressed. Will pulled on the trousers and then slipped the jacket straight onto his bare torso, enjoying the feel of the unlined fabric on his skin. He went to button up the coat, but Audra stopped him, fussing over him until it hung open in precisely the right way, his nipples barely obscured by the broad lapels.
“You have a great body,” she said. “Show it off a little, won’t you?”
“Are you sure?”
“Trust me, I’m an actress,” Audra told him. “Learning my lines and crying on cue are only the first part of the job. For the women in this industry, the red carpet is the real final exam. And I happen to be something of a prodigy in that department. There, perfect…Now we just need to figure out what to do with your hair. Oh, and you need shoes.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Will asked, but Audra was already calling in Estelle and the hairstylist, an olive-skinned man in a tracksuit and a topknot named Javier. Corey followed them into the room, excitement written all over his face, and held up a spotless pair of white sneakers.
“I figured we’d be around the same size,” he said, tossing them to Will, who, in possibly the butchest moment of his life, caught them with ease.
“Thanks, man!” he replied, genuinely touched by the gesture, and then he was steered toward a chair, where Javier sprayed some of the world’s most expensive salt into his hair, teasing the damp frizz into slick, bouncy waves, and Audra offered a director’s commentary as Estelle lightly contoured his cheekbones. It was not entirely unlike getting ready with the girls upstairs at the Village. And in her own way, he realized, Audra Kelly’s job was doing drag just as much as any queen he had ever met.
“I feel like Cinderella,” he said.
“I played her once,” Audra replied dreamily. “My first gig.”
“Pantomime?”
“Theme park.”
When Estelle had finished lining his eyes with kohl, Audra loaned him several silver necklaces to layer across his bare chest, and a single dangling earring. Once he had put on the sneakers, which had such a thick tread that they were functionally no different from high heels, Will felt as mighty as if he were in full femme mode. Glimpsing his own reflection, his breath caught in his throat: Here he was, but so was Grace. Clark Kent and Superman in the same room at the same time, the moon in a midday sky.
He had proudly spat in the face of an angry mob. He had faced his fear and sung live. He had swallowed his pride and won back his dearest friend. Will Wright felt in that moment like he could do anything. Kick down a door, slay a dragon, or maybe even have a conversation with his ex.
Will reentered the main room to a wolf whistle from Hector, but the rest of the room was oddly still. Simone, who had been quietly absorbed in her phone since she first escorted him in, now paced the length of the room, hitting call over and over again and exhaling through her nose with increasing force each time that she got no reply.
