“Here,” I passed the phoneover. “Arizona Tease in all her sequined glory.”
“Love the wig,” Logan said,smiling wryly. “Must take you hours to do this. That looksnothinglike you.”
“It did take hours when Istarted, but I’ve gotten faster. Makeup is like anything else, you learn. Yousaw me just… slapping it on earlier. The nice thing about drag is you canalways just wear too much. Unnatural is kind of the aim. It’s supposed to beover the top.”
“Y’know, if I didn’t know, Iwouldn’t know,” Logan said. “That you were a drag queen, I mean. If that makesany sense?”
“It does. If you met Martinduring the day, you’dneverknow. He’s sweet and soft-spoken andquick to smile, but he’s a kindergarten teacher with a big strawberry-blondbeard and a deep belly laugh. I feel like it’s easier to imagine Gabe in drag.He’salsosweet, but… I dunno. There’sbite to him even in the real world. It’s ‘cause he’s a nurse.”
“I’m about to ask a stupidquestion,” Logan said. “But what doyoudo? Because Inotice it’sa beautiful Wednesday morning and you’re not at work.”
“You saw me doing what I do,”I said. “I film makeup videos for YouTube.”
Logan raised an eyebrow. “And that paysyour rent?”
“Almost,” I admitted. “Iquit my day job because of the stalker. I mean, not… I was scared to leave thehouse, and my job was basically putting paperwork in the right folder. I couldn’tdo it from home. But the YouTube channel was already a side hustle. I added anextra video a week and it’s helped. It’ll definitely cover my existence backhome. Might even be able to afford to head out to the crappy gay bar one townover and have a few drunken hookups out there a couple of times a month.”
I tried to say it like thatwas a happy thought, but I knew I hadn’t kept the tremble out of my voice whenLogan’s face fell.
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.” I put my phone backin my pocket. “Yeah, that about covers it. But… I dunno. Maybe it’s onlytemporary. Maybe if I’m away for… for a year or two…”
“That’s a long time,” Logansaid. “Believe me.”
That sounded like personalexperience talking.
“You wanna talk about it?” Iasked. Someone else’s problems would have been a welcome distraction from myown right about now.
“Not particularly. Not rightnow, anyway,” Logan said. “Besides, you only told me half the story. We onlygot as far as nine-year-old Ashley wanting to be a showgirl.”
I laughed. Ihadwanted that, back then. To sparkle and show off and have people look at me andbe amazed.
The way I’d found it was alittle odd, but I wouldn’t have given it up for anything.
“Okay, well, long storyshort, being very gay in small town Arizona isn’t easy, and I spent most of mytime miserable. So at twenty-one I got a job out here in San Francisco—justoffice admin, nothing special—and rented an apartment with a nursing studentcalled Gabriel Diaz.”
Logan smiled at the mentionof Gabe. I got the feeling he liked him, acquired taste or not.
“You know, I fell in lovewith him on day one,” I said. “Not, like, romantic love. But he was everythingI’d never been allowed to be and he was so fuckinghappy. I was lost andalone in a new city—in abigcity—and he was so kind and so patient. Anda drag queen.”
“Wow.” Logan chuckled. “Must’vebeen a shock.”
“Oh yeah. He didn’ttellme at first, soI had to stumble across a wig and makeup one day and awkwardly ask if he wastransgender and if he wanted me to call him by a different name when we were athome. He actually cried with laughter.”
The look on Gabe’s face when shy,awkward twenty-one-year-old me had so sincerely wanted to make him ascomfortable as possible had stuck with me. Before he’d started laughing, he’dgiven me this look like I was the most precious thing in the world, a babyrabbit or a newborn foal or something.
That was the moment we’d become bestfriends for life. We’d had hundreds of great moments, but that was the first.
“You were trying to do theright thing,” Logan said, supportive as ever.
Howwas he stillsingle? I assumed women were looking for the same things I was—hot, great inbed, kind…
I was guessing at thegreatin bedpart, but it was hard to imagine him any other way. Logan wascomfortable with himself and other people, and quick to take their needs intoaccount. Those were the basic ingredients of a great sexual partner.
Not that I had a whole lotof experience withgreat.
“I was,” I said. “It was agood bonding experience for us. He took me to his next show, but it was fouryears before I was ready to get up on stage with him. And look at me now. Twoyears in the wig and my very own stalker to show for it.”
