Page 22 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

Carlos looked as glamorous outside of drag as he looked when he was dressed as Carlita. When I had gone to the center, under the guise of helping out the community, I was hoping to run into Andrew. After Oma had thrown a fit about going to see Andrew, and Lucas had made it clear that he would never be okay with the idea, going directly to Andrew was a decidedly bad idea. If I went to his office building—or God forbid, found out where he lived and went to his home—I’d have a grandmother and a boyfriend out for blood. Running into him at the LGBTQIA center was pretty innocent, though. It couldn’t possibly be my fault if Andrew and I showed up at the center on the same day.

It wasn’t the best plan I’d ever come up with, going to the LGBTQIA center in Toledo to find Andrew, but my head hadn’t been right for half a day. When I had touched Lucas’ face—my boyfriend’s face—I had the same experience I had had with Teenage Ghost Rob. And Ernst. Were these memories? Alternate realities? Dreams? Hopes? Wishes? What were these odd memories flashing through my brain?

After dinner, Lucas and I had had sex. A lot. In fact, we had fallen asleep so late in the night that I was afraid Lucas would not get out of bed for work in the morning. Even if he did, I knew he’d be sore. We had done it every which way we could think of, though my mind had been somewhere else the entire time. Not that I hadn’t enjoyed having sex with my boyfriend—he was pretty stellar at it—but I couldn’t help but feel a cluster of nagging thoughts and questions in the back of my mind.

When morning came, Lucas and I were roused by his alarm, and I had decided that it would be a good day to find Andrew. Lucas would be at the school, teaching young, fertile minds, and then helping at the hardware store, so he wouldn’t be able to check in on me. Oma didn’t follow me around much, thus avoiding her wouldn’t be an issue. Ernst and the other Kobolds didn’t leave the house as far as I knew, so I had to take advantage of the situation. Andrew might show up at the center. And, if he did, I would be there waiting with a laundry list of questions.

However, the only person there when I arrived, shortly after breakfast, was the center director, who promptly put me to work stuffing envelopes again. Apparently, the LGBTQIA community had need of a lot of reading material. I wanted to feel snarky and put out by the whole thing, but as I stuffed envelopes, I found myself wishing that someone had been sending out brochures and information to me when I was a teen—hell, even as an adult. It would have made everything about being a gay teen, and then a gay man, so much easier. At the very least, I wouldn’t have felt so lost and alone. The thought that maybe one of my envelopes might be opened by a confused and lost teen caused me to smile as I performed the task. I had been like that, all alone, for an hour, before Carlos walked in the door.

Carlos was wearing jeans and a sweater, a stylish jean jacket—all of it well fitted to his slim body—a scarf around his neck that practically had its own wind machine, huge sunglasses, a large tan purse…and Louboutins. Apparently, even out of drag, Louboutins were acceptable footwear to Carlos. It made me smile. Not that he was wearing the shoes I had bought for him, but that he enjoyed them so much. He did look good in them, so why not wear them any chance he got, I figured.

“Well, look at you!” He whipped his overly large sunglasses off and smiled over at me as the door shut behind him. “I didn’t think I’d see you here again, Rob, honey!”

I smiled as Carlos sashayed over to the table in his fancy heels. Carlos whipped his scarf off with a flourish and deposited it onto the table along with his sunglasses and purse. As he slid into the folding chair across from me, I continued stuffing envelopes but turned my focus to him. The fact that Carlos had remembered my real name and hadn’t called me “Jacob” made me smile internally. Most civilians weren’t so conscious of what they called me and when they called me it. Leave it to a drag queen to know when to use an alias and when not to—wise and magical creatures, drag queens.

“I thought I’d come help out a little today,” I replied.

“Well, aren’t you a doll?” He replied as he grabbed some of the envelopes and inserts to help out. “I hadn’t seen you or Esther Jean since you first came here, so I figured you weren’t coming back. Of course, I should have known better. I’m sorry for thinking you thought you were too good for us, baby.”

Carlos gave me a wink from an eye that seemed to perpetually twinkle, causing me to laugh.

“How are you, Carlos?”

“Oh, lawd, help me.” He fanned his face with the envelope in his hand then went about stuffing materials into it. “I have been trying to get a space to do my drag show at because the last place—Pixxxies?—it shut down a week ago. Apparently, after fourteen health code violations, they just shut you down. Who knew?”

“Fourteen?” I coughed.

“Well,” Carlos sighed, “it might have been more, honestly. They didn’t have real bartenders so things weren’t as clean as they should have been. You’d think with all of the damn customers and money I brought through that door twice a week, they’d have had money to get at least one good bartender. Sleazy ass Enrique—he’s the piece of shit who ran the place?—well, he cared more about money than quality. He never paid me enough to even keep a one-legged hooker in fishnets, and that’s why all my wigs look like they were harvested from JC Penney mannequins. Bastard. Didn’t even get paid for my last show.”

“Wow.” I shook my head. “That’s…well, that’s fucked up.”

“To say the least.” Carlos nodded, his lips pursed. “I find that motherfucker the soles of these heels will get even redder.”

I laughed loudly.

“How you doin’, baby?” Carlos reached across the table to swat the back of my hand. “You’re lookin’ like you might have put on a pound or two. You’re simply glowing, baby.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. “Oma has been making sure that I eat.”

“Vieja loca can throw down in the kitchen, I’m sure,” Carlos responded. “All old women can. Even the white ones. So…that doesn’t explain the glow…”

I shrugged.

“Mm.”

“What?” I chuckled.

“I think you might be getting’ a lil’ sum sum lately, that’s what I think.” Carlos nodded as if affirming something to himself. “You have that, ‘I’m getting laid regularly’ look to you.”

Whether or not I liked it, I felt myself blush.

“I knew it.” Carlos was nodding again. “Baby, ain’t nothin’ wrong with gettin’ the bottom knocked out every now and again. Or doin’ the knockin’. Just play safe. You can’t be volunteering at the center and not know how to take care of yourself. You need some condoms?”

Carlos was reaching for his bag.

“No.” I reached out pushed his hand away from his purse with a laugh. “I’ve got condoms. Plenty.”

“Mmhm.” Carlos grinned comically. “I knew that’s what was going on with you. Well, good for you, baby. He any good?”