This is the last worthless evening that you’ll have to spend—just gimme a chance to show you how to love again.
 
 

Bianca sighed out a huge plume of cigarette smoke, threw her wig onto the table, and rolled her Mac-enhanced eyes at the cop sitting across from her.

“How many times do I hafta tell ya? I didn’t see nothin’. Flo’s the one who called you guys. Why you want to keep me here? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been tucked?”

The cop just smiled patiently and said, “You were there when it went down, Bianca. We just need to know what happened.”

“I didn’t even know those guys,” she protested. Then she crushed out her cigarette and asked in a less strident tone, “Are they okay?”

The cop gave her another patient look, and replied, “They’re fine. We got their statements, Mobile patched the guy up, and they’ve been released.” A pause. “They were from the States.” Another pause, gauging the queen’s reaction. “You never saw them before?”

Bianca pulled another cigarette out of the pack in her purse. The cop lit it for her.

“Come on, hon, I just need to know what you saw. Then you can go home and untuck, and I can go home and get laid. It’s been a long night, whaddya say?”

Another sigh from a perfectly painted mouth. Another cloud of smoke. The cop watched expectantly.

“All right. But only 'cos you’re cute.”

BIANCA’S STORY: “They came in just as I was finishing what I must tell you was the finest rendition of “From New York To L.A.” that Boystown had ever seen. I mean, I was so on, Mary! I did my usual kiss- kiss-bow to the crowd thing, and Izora got back on the mike, reminding everyone of how fabulous I was. It was only when she faltered that I looked over to the back bar, where they were standing in line. Now you know someone’s hot if they can shut Izora up!

I could tell right away that they were together.  They were just standing there, not, like, pawing at each other or anything, but after a while, you get so you can tell. It looked like a May/December thing to me, if May was a dark haired hottie and December had shoulders out to there!

Then I realized that Izora was talking again—not to put too fine a point on it, she was telling me to get the fuck off the stage, and I realized that I had let my concentration slip while checking out the new guys. Oops, my bad. Whatever. I shot her a dirty look, took one last bow and slipped behind the curtain, already tugging at the hook and eye nightmare that was the front of the dress I was wearing, getting ready to change for my next number.

I couldn’t make out what Izora was saying, but I suspected she was commenting on Shoulders and his friend, and the wolf whistles and applause a moment later confirmed it for me. Then Roxy was rushing by me, nearly knocking me off my heels, and the music for her number started. She was doing Liza Minelli—I love that number, I never get tired of seeing it. Oh, well, just makes me look better.

I changed into a fabulous white satin evening gown, with all these sequins and bugle beads and all that—it looks so good on me! I love that it just slips on, too, so I don’t muss the hair, there’s no buttons to fuck with—and with nails, believe me that can be a real bitch. Sorry, moving on.

I snuck a look out front, checking to see if Roxy was sucking as bad as I figured she would be, and she was. And then, of course, I had to look for those guys. 

See, over there, those stairs on the side? We use ‘em when it’s not busy, but for shows and stuff, people sit there to watch, and they were sitting there, right up front! 

The young guy, he was smiling at Roxy’s nasty chicken lady lip-synching, but not in a bitchy way—he looked like he was actually enjoying her ‘Liza circa nineteen seventy *snort*’ shtick. They were much closer now, and even though he wasn’t my type, I could see he was making an impression on a lot of the folks around him, and he was pretty cute. He was wearing jeans, and a long sleeved v-neck t-shirt—blue, I think, maybe mint, hard to say, once the lights get going and all, and we keep it pretty dark most of the time, but, anyway, whatever. The shirt was tight, and he had a pretty tasty body going on under it, that’s what I noticed.  He was drinking water, and when he put that bottle to those pretty lips and sucked, I almost revised my opinion on what exactly my type was.  Then the other guy slid a hand through hottie guy’s hair, and it was all about Mr. Shoulders!

Holy butch, batman! He was like, super hot, great chest, chiseled features, tight pants, but not too tight. Bald, which totally does it for me, don’t ask me why, it just does. I had a moment when I wondered just how those glasses would look folded ever so neatly on my headboard, and then I was distracted—and just a little pissed about it, I might add—by applause as Roxy finished tormenting the crowd. I pulled back so I would be out of her way as she ran back stage to grab a cocktail before her last number, and waited while Izora took a couple of cheap shots at her, then began introducing me again. 

It was my last number of the night, and I was doing Cybil’s Blue Moon, which of course is my signature song. It’s smoky and bluesy and totally romantic, I think, and apparently so did Hottie and Shoulders. I glanced over at them, and realized immediately that number one, the big guy knew the song, and number two, I no longer existed in their universe. 

Now, I’m not vain or whatever, but normally this would piss me off. It’s like ‘hello! Fabulous queen on stage! Pay attention!’ You know what I mean? And if you’re going to get all gushy like, for god’s sake, get a room! But this was different. I don’t know why, it just was, okay. 

They were staring at one another, and the big guy still had his hand in the younger guy’s hair, and he was just finger-combing it, y’know—brushing it back outta the guy’s eyes. Hottie had a hand on his lover’s thigh, and that was it. It wasn’t like they were jacking each other off, or anything nasty like that. But you could just tell that they were totally into each other in a way that you don’t see very often. Whatever they had goin’ on, it was hotter in its way than the stripper I’d seen last night, and I actually flubbed a line—unheard of, for me! I mean, look who you’re talking to! But I couldn’t help it. It was—there are no words for it, man, it just worked, you know?

I kind of eased my way over in their general direction, y’know, still singing my heart out and not wanting to intrude on their ‘thing’, their ‘moment’, their ‘whatever’, but at the same time wanting them to know that I was singing for them, at least a little. Okay, so maybe I was singing for the wage, and for Steve, the DJ that is the current object of my affections, but I was singing for these two guys too. I’m sentimental that way, ask anyone!

I poured as much soul as Aretha Franklin in Harlem into that last chorus, and the big guy suddenly looked up. I caught the tail end of the smile he’d been giving the other guy, and holy shit it nearly knocked me on my ass! And I mean in that good way—in that gooey sweet I-love-you-so-much way that I have never actually encountered yet—maybe some day, but in the meantime, I almost popped my tuck, just from that smile.

He brought the thing down a notch or two once he realized he’d passed it on to me, but he didn’t frown or anything. Just kind of nodded like he knew I was giving them something special, and then his eyes—which by the way were super dark and sexy—I know that’s probably not relevant, but at the time it sure was to me—anyway, then he looked back at his partner there, and I’d lost them again. The young guy hadn’t even glanced in my direction—he only had eyes for his big guy—not that I blame him, and I wasn’t jealous, if that’s what you’re thinking. 

I finished up the song, took my bows, and smiled and winked at the guys, who had stopped falling into one another like tricks into Roxy’s hoop long enough to toss some enthusiastic applause my way.

Instead of going backstage, I wandered off to the main bar, figuring I deserved a cocktail or maybe two, just because I am, after all, me. Plus singing in heels is thirsty work!  You should try it some time.

Roxy did her thing—more Liza—ooh, big surprise there. Then Izora finished up the show with that cover of The Dance—the rockin’ out one that she does so well.  I kept one eye on the stage, thinking about stealing some of her moves, but I kept an eye on the couple of the year, too, just ‘cos they were so darned cute. 

When Izora was finished, they moved with everyone else off of the stairs, and took up a stance next to them, where the railing is. Hottie guy leaned on the railing, still sipping at his water bottle in that “I give great head!’ way, and Shoulders leaned up against him, kind of sandwiching him in between the railing and his big ol’ bod. Okay, so now I was getting a little jealous. 

I could see them talking, but couldn’t hear them over the music. The young guy kept looking over at the dance floor, which, now that the show was over, was filling up with guys and girls shaking their thangs all over as Crazy Steve turned up the jams. I suspected one of them wanted to dance, and I think if Hottie had convinced the other one to step out onto the floor, I really would have popped my tuck. I was far enough away that my appreciation of his hips and ass were going unnoticed, but I just knew he’d be a hell of a dancer. I know, I know, I’m getting there.

They didn’t argue, but they did disagree, I guess, but they made up pretty damned quick, with a kiss that made me drop my drink. And I wasn’t the only one. You seen the Princess Bride? No? Figures. Well, it was that kinda kiss. Long and slow and I could feel my lipstick heating up just watching. If I had a picture of it, I’d give away every stroke book I own—it was that hot.

If I kept watching, my head was going to explode, and I do mean both of them, and that dress is too tight and too white to be messing around in, so I took off. I made my way back to the dance floor, intending to go backstage and hang out in the DJ booth, maybe give Steve a little of what that couple was making me feel, and I just happened to see them heading towards the front door as I slipped through the curtain. I gave the dark haired guy a little mental salute, thinking that if I had just been kissed that way, I’d be heading home light speed myself.  I could only imagine what Mr. Perfect-n-bald-n-tasty would look like from above—phew!  Jesus, let me get another smoke!

Roxy was still in the back, and Flo too, and they looked up as I came in, looking all furtive and secret agent man, and I immediately knew what they were doing. And I wanted in.  I decided that if I wasn’t going to stalk the sexy boys back to wherever it was they were going to fuck like bunnies, I should take the edge off the night, and go smoke up with the girls.

That decided, I suggested we take it outside. Not that anyone would really mind if we did it there in the dressing room—god knows pot is the least illegal thing that’s gone on back there—should I be telling you this? Aw, hell, it’s my word against yours now, right? I’ll deny everything—oh, okay, then. Now where was I? Oh, yeah, I said we should take it out to the alley, ‘cos ever since Izora’s last boyfriend OD’d, she’s had a real bug up her ass about the drug thing. Not that I blame her, but, you know, whatever.

So the three of us slipped out the back door, and Flo had just lit up a fat one when we hear this scuffle-like noise, and someone swearing.  I looked out to the parking lot, and there, beside this super sweet Blazer—what? So I know cars—so what? Like, just because I wear a dress means I don’t know from rack and pinion steering? Come on, buddy, ditch the stereotypes! 

Hottie guy was on his knees, holding his stomach, and this absolutely icky guy was standing over him, calling him a fucking faggot! I freaked immediately, and started to run forward, wondering briefly where Shoulders was. Flo grabbed my arm and made a shushing noise.  I didn’t want to just stand there, but then Flo did this dumb charades thing, miming a phone call, and I realized he was gonna call the cops. Roxy was as helpful as ever, slipping back inside as soon as she realized what was happening, and I thought maybe I would serve her a shooter full of sewing machine oil at the next function. Flo pointed at my eyes, then at the guys, and I realized he wanted me to keep watch. Then he was gone to find the phone.

I pressed back against the door, willing the bad dude not to see me, even if I was looking fabulous. But he only had eyes for his prize, as it were, and I winced as he swore again, and booted my hottie in the head. Hottie guy crumpled to the pavement, and again I wondered where the hell the big guy was. If anyone should have been swooping in to save the day, it was the guy with the pecs of steel, not Bianca the big queen. 

Then I heard Hottie say, quite clearly, “Fuck you.” And I thought for sure the other guy was going to kill him.

Wait just a minute; I need another drink, and another smoke. I’m getting to it. Now look, you’re the one who wanted me to tell you what happened, and now you can just hold your water till I’ve got it straight in my head, okay. Jeebus!

Okay, that’s better. You ever had a KeKe and orange? It’s key lime-a-licious! Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, it all just happened so fast.

The asshole grabbed Hottie by the hair, and was about to put a fist in his face, when I heard what at first I thought was a car backfiring. I know, I know, it’s Calgary, redneck capitol of Canada, but I’d never actually heard a gun before—not in real life, anyway. Then I saw the dumb homophobe back off so quickly he dropped my hottie guy, and I could hear the poor bastard retching—I assume from the punch to his stomach.

The Neanderthal looked up and so did I, and I almost cheered when I saw Shoulders approaching with a gun in his hand. He was holding it like a seasoned pro, and I had a moment where I wondered just who the hell these guys were, and then he was telling the jerk to put his fucking hands up, and I wondered if I should do anything.

The asshole said some rather uncomplimentary things about Shoulders and his partner, and started to back away. The big guy told him to freeze, and the son-of-a-bitch responded by kicking the other guy again.

I remember thinking, “Fuck! Shoot him!” But Shoulders just told him again to stop. That’s kind of when you all showed up. At least, we heard the sirens. The jerk looked towards the road, but the big guy wasn’t so easily distracted. I should’ve guessed then that maybe he handled guns for a living. He does, doesn’t he? I knew it.

What did distract him though, and I’m not judging here, cos god knows I would have been distracted too, was his partner’s groan. He glanced down, and asked if the guy was okay—I think he called him buddy, or bobby, or something. For a big guy, he had a pretty quiet voice, and I was still pretty far away.

As soon as he looked down, the dumb fuck who’d just knocked the shit outta some guy for no reason whatsoever showed exactly what he was made of, and ran like his ass was on fire.  I saw Shoulder’s track him with the gun, and again, all I could think was “shoot him!” I wish he had. But for some reason, he just stood there, gun raised, but not aimed properly. Then I clearly saw his broad beautiful shoulders slump, and he lowered the gun. Then he was on his knees next to his partner, and you know the rest.

I don’t get it. He could’ve got the son-of-a-whore. He could have put him down like the rabid dog he was. The guy certainly deserved it, as far as I’m concerned. But he didn’t shoot. And I don’t know why.

Can I go home now?”