Rock Chick by Kristen Ashley

  His eyes crinkled their approval, his arm snaked out and pulled me to him. His mouth went to the skin below my ear.

  “You done pretending to be mad at me to hide bein’ scared?” he murmured.

  My whole body stiffened.

  “Don’t be a jerk.”

  His head lifted and he looked me in the eye.

  “You’re right. That was an asshole remark.”

  Holy shit.

  What did you say to that?

  “I’m tired, it’s been a long day,” he continued, his hand coming up to pinch his nose between his eyes.

  “That’s all right,” I said. “And no, I’m not mad at you or pretending to be mad. But I need to put makeup on and all my good stuff is at your condo so I have to visit Chez Burgundy.”

  I had put my Lynyrd Skynyrd outfit back on for Beau Jo’s. I changed my top to a thin, black, silky, partially-beaded, spaghetti-strapped affair that was in the Sushi Den section of my closet. This necessitated no bra and since Lee seemed quite happy laying back on my bed with his arms crossed behind his head, watching me change (and I would have felt like a naïve fool locking myself in the bathroom), I had to pull a Jennifer-Beals-Flashdance move and take the bra off after I put the top on. I kept the jeans, but exchanged the belt for the one with rhinestones and the boots for high-heeled sandals with jet beads sewn across the front strap. I added about two dozen shiny black bangles on my wrist and some dangly earrings.

  When I was done, I turned to the bed. I thought Lee was watching me, but he was asleep.

  I sat next to his hip and the minute he felt my weight on the bed, his eyes opened.

  “Why don’t you rest?” I asked. “We’ll come back after the show.”

  His hand came from behind his head and his finger traced the silky strap at my shoulder.

  “I’m not lettin’ you out of my sight.”

  My breath had started coming faster when he touched me.

  “It’ll be okay. Everyone’ll be there.”

  His eyes locked on mine and I read that nothing more could be said, Lee had made up his mind.

  His finger hooked in the strap and tugged it toward him. Either I could resist and risk the fragile strap breaking or I could acquiesce. I liked the top so I leaned into him.

  His arms circled me and I rested my hands on his chest.

  “How long is this gonna last tonight?” he asked.

  I thought about it.

  “It should be over around one or two. I’m on drag duty so I have to stay until the bitter end.”

  His eyes had become melty-chocolate but now they hardened with impatience.

  “I’m never gonna do anything but sleep with you in my bed, am I?”

  God, I hoped that wasn’t true. That would suck. Now that I was kind of coming to terms with our togetherness, I was looking forward to certain things we hadn’t gotten around to doing, like the exchange of bodily fluids.

  I opened my mouth to speak but the melty-chocolate had come back into his eyes.

  “You don’t have to answer, your face said it all.”

  Great.

  We went out the back and through the adjoining gate to Tod and Stevie’s. I knocked at their backdoor and put my head in.

  “Yoo hoo!” I called.

  Stevie yelled from the bowels of the house for us to come in and we entered the kitchen. Chowleena came clicking through and she butted my legs with her head, then she stepped back and barked twice at Lee, her front paws coming up with each exertion. When she was done with her warning, she butted his legs too.

  “She likes you,” I told Lee. He bent over to scratch Chowleena’s ears and I called, “I’ve got Lee with me.”

  Stevie appeared in the doorway and blatantly and thoroughly looked Lee over.

  Then, he smiled his approval at me.

  “I’m Stevie,” he said, his eyes moving back to Lee and he came into the room.

  “Lee.”

  They shook hands then Stevie gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  Chowleena barked again and then clicked out of the room, her bottom swaying pertly, full of attitude.

  We followed.

  The living room-cum-dining room was closed up tight from any looky-loos. The Burgundy Rose transformation was firmly hidden behind drawn curtains and a closed front door. The dining area looked like the backstage of a New York fashion show had exploded in it. There was makeup scattered across the dining room table, two lighted mirrors and three foam heads with wigs on them. Formal dresses in every color and fabric were strewn across the backs of chairs, sequins sparkled and feathers swayed slightly in the breeze of the ceiling fan. Shoes were lying around everywhere.

  Tod was in semi-drag. He was sitting in a robe, panty-hose on and I could tell he had his girl figure already sorted under the robe. His hair was in a skull cap ready for a wig, his base makeup was heavy and his eyes were mostly done. He had the spidery shape of a false eyelash dangling from his fingers and a cigarette dangling from his lips.

  He narrowed his eyes through the smoke at Lee.

  “No one and I mean no one but Indy’s Hunk of Burning Love would be allowed to see me this way. You talk, you die.”

  It was an empty threat and everyone knew it. Firstly, who was Lee going to tell? Secondly, Lee could kick anyone’s ass.

  “Anyone want a drink?” Stevie, ever the good host, said into the void.

  “I need makeup, my stuff is at Lee’s,” I told Tod.

  Tod extracted his smoke from his mouth and gestured to the dining room table.

  “What’s mine is yours.”

  * * * * *

  It took nearly an hour to get Burgundy to BJ’s Carousel. She was not only performing but MC-ing so she had several dress changes. Stevie and I carefully slid the dresses that Tod indicated into garment bags. We schlepped them, three wigs, six boxes of shoes, a Louis Vuitton tote-bag of emergency provisions (extra hose in case of runs, packets of cigarettes, lighters, smaller bags filled with bracelets, earrings, necklaces and other accessories, fingernail polish remover, etc.) and Tod’s enormous, steel-encased MAC tackle box filled with cosmetics into the CR-V.

  Lee and I followed Tod and Stevie to BJ’s in the Crossfire. The bar was on Broadway, about a mile or so south of my store, just past the I-25 overpass. It was a small, dive bar but you couldn’t tell because it was dark and the Diva Queens on the tiny stage could make it come alive.

  We went in the back way, all of us loaded down with Burgundy’s stuff and entered the small area set aside as a dressing room. It was so smoky you could barely see and it was chock full of drag queens, their partners, fag hags and other hangers on. The minute we walked in, everyone, man, woman or queen, turned and stared at Lee.

  “Sweet Jesus,” a Shania Twain look-alike standing three feet away breathed, her hungry eyes riveted on Lee.

  Burgundy forged ahead announcing, “He’s straight, he’s taken and if he turns, I have first dibs.”

  Stevie dumped his load and Lee handed him the garment bag he was holding, then turned to me. “I’ll get you a drink.”

  “Good idea. You don’t leave, they’ll jump and tear your clothes off.”

  Lee winced. “That’s a pleasant thought.”

  “Don’t think I’m kidding,” I told him. “If you wouldn’t mind getting me a…” I started to give him my drink order but he interrupted.

  “I know what you drink, Indy.”

  Panic overwhelmed me again, fast and fierce.

  Lee smiled, it was The Smile except magnified, warm and intimate. All air was sucked out of the room as surreptitious watching turned obvious when people saw The Smile. My reaction included both a quivering in the nether regions and a swelling of the breasts.

  Lee’s arm slid around me and his lips found mine for a quick kiss.

  “Don’t look so scared, I’m not gonna eat you,” he murmured and then his hand slid down my ass and pressed my hips against his in a promise that belied his words.

  Holy shit, shit, shi
t.

  He left and half of our audience were fanning themselves, the other half adjusting their trousers.

  Stevie and I got Burgundy sorted. By the time I made it into the bar, it was a crush. The Savage/Nightingale contingent found a table front and center. Everyone was crammed into it, Andrea had forked her children off on a babysitter and forced her husband to come and he looked about as comfortable as a Republican at a Rainbow Gathering. For Tex, on the other hand, this was another day at the office. He sat relaxed, his feet on a chair that likely could be used to rest someone’s ass but no one would have had the balls to ask for it.

  Two other seats were empty, one for Stevie, one for me, drinks in front of both.

  Lee wasn’t at the table, he and Hank both had their backs against the wall by the entrance, both holding a beer bottle by its neck, their arms crossed on their chest, effortlessly and unconsciously exuding aggressive heterosexuality. Even in the crammed bar, they were given a wide berth.

  The show started late and Burgundy came out giving some lip to someone who’d been imbibing too much, was getting impatient and yelled his thoughts about it.

  Take my advice, never heckle a drag queen. They’ll make mincemeat out of you.

  The show was great, the drinks kept coming and I’d scoot out when Stevie and I got the high sign it was time for a costume change. Backstage, we’d struggle Burgundy and her foam rubber hips out of one heavy, sequined extravaganza and into another and we’d return to the table. Our group was generous with tips during the performances, handing the queen a dollar for an air kiss on the cheek and we quickly became a favorite, and thus the focus of all the divas.

  It was going well, I was relaxed, happy, enjoying myself and I was remembering a life that was fun and exciting without bullets flying. I was well into my fifth spiced rum and diet when Burgundy took the stage and made a surprise announcement.

  “Many of you know her and love her and now we’re gonna get her up here to show you what’s she’s got. Get your tips ready, ladies and tramps, we’re breaking tradition and bringing a real woman on the stage. Give it up for India Savage!”

  Um, what?

  Holy shit.

  Holy shit, shit, shit.

  That’s when I heard it, the piano and strings starting Barbra Streisand and Donna Summer’s “No More Tears.” I’d sung it a gazillion times with Tod in Stevie and Tod’s living room after over-imbibing chilled sparkling wine and a marathon of Yahtzee.

  Never in front of an audience.

  Never.

  Ally pulled me out of my chair, Marianne, Dolores and Andrea pushed me to the stage, which was tragically too close and Stevie shoved a dead microphone into my hand. Burgundy had already done her Barbra hum, I had no choice but to lip sync my Donna “ooo”.

  Then I was on the stage, doing the slow introduction, singing about what lacked in Donna’s romantic life and trying to play off Burgundy, trying to look her in the eyes like I felt the words deep into my very soul.

  Problem was, I was stiff as a board and the disco bit was coming up.

  Lee was watching. The last thing I wanted to do was dance around on stage in front of a hundred people, one of them Liam Nightingale, lip syncing badly to fucking disco.

  I had to pull it together, this was for charity. I had no idea what charity but what did it matter? I’d look more of a fool if I didn’t loosen up, and fast.

  There was nothing for it.

  We sang eye-to-eye while Barbra and Donna harmonized. Burgundy shot me a “for God’s sake, pull yourself together” look and I shrugged my shy discomfort.

  Burgundy gave it her all on Barbra’s long note, closing her eyes with feeling and holding her hand to her throat. I stayed stiff on purpose, pretending to be uncomfortable and wanting to be anywhere but there.

  When the disco hit, my “ahs” came on and I shuffled with discomfort, keeping up the sham.

  Then the horns kicked in and I pulled out all the stops, strutting, shaking my hips and stomping across the tiny stage like a white, pissed off Tina Turner, throwing attitude that would do Chowleena proud.

  The crowd went wild and jumped to their feet. It helped that front and center were all my friends and family, not to mention it was well into the show and most everyone was shitfaced. They lifted their arms, fingers pointed towards us, wrists snapping and bodies bouncing to the beat.

  I used Donna’s lyrics to lecture the audience then Burgundy and I got nose-to-nose screaming at each other, shaking our hair in tandem with the angry words and the crowd began chanting the chorus.

  It was Barbra’s song, Donna was only dessert so I worked the crowd, leaning double at the waist, my hand at my hip and got in the faces of the people who dared to approach me with dollar bills, snatching notes out of their hands like the tip was my God given right. I scrunched up my face with mock-pissed-offedness and didn’t give a single kiss. I even went so far as placing the sole of my sandal into a butch biker’s chest and sending him careening backwards giggling himself silly.

  The crowd ate it up, shouting, cheering and sending up deafening whistles and cat calls.

  It was beautiful and the biggest fucking happy rush I’d had in my life.

  It was when the disco slowed to the funky bit that was a wind up to when Barbra gets so pissed off her voice goes husky that I saw Pepper Rick standing across the room, pointing a gun at me.

  I froze.

  Then, without my brain telling my body to do it, I whirled and threw myself in a body tackle, bringing Burgundy down. Both of our tip money and microphones flew out of our hands and Burgundy shouted a very male, “What the fuck?”

  The crowd began to cheer, thinking it was part of the show but the cheer turned to screams and shouts when gunfire rang out.

  “Crawl,” I hissed to Tod, “stay low and crawl the fuck out of here.”

  We almost started to crawl as more gunfire rang through the bar, then I jumped back on Tod, covering him with my body. Once the sound of the guns cleared, I could hear Dad and Malcolm shouting orders to people trying to keep calm and stop a stampede.

  We started crawling again, all I could see was Tod’s sequined ass. I heard heavy footfalls on the stage and, all of a sudden, I was lifted up. I let out an half-enraged, half-startled scream and tried to twist away but I no sooner got a look at who had me when I was thrown, like a human discus, off the stage.

  I flew through the air and hit Lee with a grunt, both his and mine, and his arms came around me as he staggered back a step to brace himself. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Tex, who had made it to the stage, and me, before Lee. Tex executed the stage dive to end all stage dives, his bulky weight toppling the unfortunate and unprepared people who’d been in his way.

  I didn’t get a chance to process this because Lee lifted me up by the waist and carried me to the door, moving anyone out of our way by either shoving them, punching them or just plain old body slamming them with his shoulder.

  I saw Hank in front of us with Ally in a similar hold just as Malcolm pushed Kitty Sue out the door.

  Lee dragged me to Ally’s car, a newish, convertible Ford Mustang. Hank was shoving Ally in the driver’s seat. Lee shoved me in the passenger side.

  “Indy!” Dad shouted from somewhere.

  “Here. Safe,” Lee shouted back.

  My eyes found Dad and I noticed he lifted his index finger and snapped it smartly at Lee in a “you the man” gesture. He got in with Malcolm and Kitty Sue as Lee started talking to me.

  “Stay here, lock your doors, stay down and out of sight.”

  I turned to him.

  “Tod, Stevie, Tex. Ohmigod, Andrea’s a mother!”

  But he wasn’t listening, he slammed the door and ran back to BJ’s.

  “And now you,” I whispered, watching him go.

  Ally’s hand took mine.

  “He’ll be okay,” she said. “You know, you wouldn’t even want a man who wouldn’t go back to save someone’s mother and a drag queen.”
r />   This was true.

  Her hand went from mine to my neck and forced me down and my torso explored the limits of the seat belt Lee buckled on me.

  “I’ll tell you what’s happening,” she offered.

  I bent forward as far as I could to hide myself, heard the locks go on the doors and she started the car in preparation just in case we needed a fast getaway. I listened as Ally counted off Duke and Dolores, who roared off on their hog. Marianne came out with Hank, who took her directly to her car. Andrea came out with Lee, trailed by Andrea’s husband. Lee made sure they were in their mini-van before he went back in. Tex raged out on his own power but this included from Ally an, “Uh-oh, I think he’s bleeding again”. I nearly shot up but she kept me down with a hand at my neck.

  The locks went, I was pressed further forward as the back of my seat was tilted, the seatbelt strained to its limits and cut into my chest, and Tex threw himself in back.

  “Holy fuck, pandemonium at the gay bar!” he yelled.

  I reached out and closed the door, the locks went again and I turned my head and looked back as best I could in the position I was in.

  “You okay?” I asked Tex.

  “Think I tore somethin’ lose either throwin’ you or doin’ the dive or maybe when I got in a fight with that guy in leather. Doesn’t matter. I feel fuckin’ great! It’s bedlam in there. Fuckin’ nuts!” He stopped, leaned forward and looked out the windshield. “Hey, that’s the guy that shot me!”

  My head popped up and sure enough, it was Pepper Rick.

  He ran to a car with people in it, a little Mini. The people had left the bar and were trying to get away. I could hear sirens as I watched Rick yank the driver out, the passenger throwing himself out the other side. Rick got behind the wheel and burned rubber.

  “Go! Go, go, go!” Tex shouted and Ally didn’t hesitate, she laid rubber too.

  I turned my head to her.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted.

  “He can’t get away!” she shouted back.

  With my head turned, I saw Terry Wilcox’s boys, Goon Gary and The Moron as they exited BJ’s.

  Jeez, it was like an Indy Torture Squad convention.

  Then I could notice no more as Ally jerked around a car trying to exit the parking lot and jumped the curb, screeching south onto Broadway, cutting off a car as we swerved across the two lanes going north and pulling right out in front of a squad car coming south.