How kind!Thank you for your support, it’s always nice to recognize familiar accounts regularly posting here!I do most of my photography here:www.theendisneigh.com,don’t have an official portfolio yet lol.
I had no idea who this stranger was, but they’d been an invaluable marketing resource for promoting Armand,Surrogate Goose, and the anniversary issue that was approaching way too quickly.
I’ll have done my job and probably be replaced with anactualmarketing person.
Armand announced that we’d arrived, pulling me out of my spiral.I put my phone away and focused on taking in the club’s vibe.Boogie Le Bouge was a warm, almost rustic place with a speakeasy aesthetic: low lighting and exposed brick walls.
A small group at the table nearest the stage waved Armand over.“Armo!”
We’d barely reached them when Armand was scooped up by someone round and sparkly, who lifted him clean off the floor.“Wotcher, cock!”
Armand, once he’d had the life squeezed out of him, met my amused gaze with a cleardon’t evenin his expression.“Belle, this is Lucas.Lucas, Florabelle.”
Ah, sothiswas First Kiss Florabelle.“Nice to meet you.”I grinned, then gestured to her outfit, which made her look like a human cupcake.“Love the fit.Very cotton candy.”
“Innit?”She beamed, pink and rosy, and struck a pose, her long, high pony flipping around.
I was immediately ushered into the rest of the introductions: the gang included Abigay—Florabelle’s wife, equally round but more muscular with lovely coiled braids and classic sleeveless jean jacket—who was the newest addition to the friend group.Small world, she worked at The Hench Bench as a personal trainer.There was also Craig—a chubby, real life Dilbert who just seemed happy to be there.
“There’s Sam too, but they’re getting ready to perform,” Armand explained as the group hauled over extra chairs.“They’re ...er.You’re gonna have to see for yourself.”
“Okay.”I focused on keeping track of everyone’s name.“Right.”
Abigay stood, jerking her head toward the modest counter across the room.“What’ll it be tonight, lads?”Her eyes flickered to Armand.“Obviously we’re doing chips.”
He shifted in his chair before responding, “Er.Fanta, cheers.”
Everyone put in their drink orders, and I was so proud of Armand I could scream.He hadn’t had alcohol since California, which—given what appeared to be regular behavior at our shared apartment—was a huge move in the right direction.But we’d never expressly talked about it, which meant I didn’t know if I was even in a position to congratulate him for his hard work.Officially speaking, at least.I brushed my knee with his under the table, hoping he’d get the sentiment anyway.
We only had a few more minutes of schmoozing before the first act started, and while Armand’s friends were delightful and eclectic—truly a baffling combination of people—I harbored a growing certainty that the shovel talk was coming any second now.
The lights dimmed, and an androgynous dancer with a pageboy haircut stepped out onto the stage, intimately close to the audience.There actually wasn’t a whole lot of dancing.Instead, their routine consisted mostly of swaying, contorting, and smearing their body paint (half done as feminine makeup, the other half masculine) until they were a multicolored mess.
By the end of their routine, I had more questions than answers about burlesque in general.
There was another brief intermission, and the paint-streaked performer slid lithely into the open chair at our table.They said something completely incomprehensible.
I blinked.“Come again?”
Florabelle snorted, somehow still feminine and dainty, and Armand fondly rolled his eyes.“That was hello in Scottish,” he explained.
Sam grinned, even their teeth bearing smeared paint.“Must be the American then, aye?”
“Hi, yes.Sorry, I’m still getting a handle on English accents, wasn’t prepared for Scottish.”I shook their hand.“Lucas Barclay, ignorant Yankee, pleased to meet you.I’m sorry to say I haven’t been told much about any of you.”
Florabelle poked Armand’s cheek with a fry, giggling as he tried to dodge.“Seeing a man for a month and barely said a thing.The little tyke’s proper ashamed of us.”
Armand grumbled.“Can’t imagine why.”
“He knows we won’t pull any punches where embarrassing stories are concerned,” Sam pointed out.“And there aremany.”
I heroically stifled a laugh.“Oh I bet.”
“And pictures!”Craig piped up excitedly.“I’ve brought my old scrapbook along, just in case.”
Florabelle perched her chin on her fist, leaning toward me like a casual interrogator.“Tell us more about you, mate.We know about the camera and the horses, but that’s it.”
Was this what a job interview felt like?“Well, I’m a bit compulsive about cooking and cleaning,” I offered, figuring honesty and vulnerability was the best move.“Armand used to call me Martha Stewart before we’d officially met.”
