Page 31

Back in the dressing room, I perused the outfits hanging on the wardrobe rack. Vee had changed her wig and outfit for her final song and asked what I was looking for as she touched up her contoured cheeks.

“I need something not as flashy for my encore, but I’m not sure what,” I responded.

“What kind of look are you thinking?”

“Maybe something flowy. Perhaps black and white,” I said, sliding hanger after hanger down the rack. “I’d like to keep wearing leggings, just not these purple ones.”

Vee stood and walked to the rack on the other side. “This blousy white tunic top would look great with black leggings. You’re already wearing black stilettos. And keep the same wig on,” she offered.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have black leggings in my bag,” I replied with a sigh.

“Ahhh…don’t fret, doll. Mama Vee has you covered.” She dug through her large tote to produce a pair of three-quarter-length black leggings. “We’re close to the same size, so these should work.”

“You really are a drag queen’s lifesaver, Vee,” I replied, taking her hands in mine.

“Just don’t let that get out,” she whispered with a sly wink.

I slipped out of my purple outfit, then put on the black leggings with the white tunic, pulling the top off one shoulder, and stood in front of the full-length mirror.

“Perfection,” Vee said from behind.

“I hope so. The song I’m doing is personal, not only for me but for someone in the audience.”

“What song are you singing, by the way?” she asked.

“I Love You by Donna Summer. It’s a classic, and I haven’t sung it in a while.”

“Ohhh, doll!” she exclaimed with a chef’s kiss. “Whoever you’re serenading tonight, I hope they know how incredibly lucky they are.”

I thanked her with an air kiss, then walked out with my phone to give the DJ the music I needed. I showed him the music file, and, as luck would have it, he already had it in his collection. After comparing the files, we were satisfied they were identical, which prompted me to review the lyrics as a refresher. I knew I needed to raise the register slightly to fit my tenor voice, but I was confident it would sound good.

Standing backstage, I asked the stage manager how much time I had before going on. Twenty minutes. My nerves got the better of me again as I paced. I wanted it to be perfect—not only for me.

The youth center’s director took the spotlight in front of the closed curtain after the last queen finished. He thanked the crowd for their generosity and said the online donations were almost twenty thousand dollars, drawing exuberant applause and cheers. I knew that number would only increase as all the queens had decided to add their tips to the mix. Indeed, it was a successful night.

“As a bonus, I’d like to present a very special performance as the night’s finale,” the director finally said. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you…Onyx Storm!”

More applause erupted. I knew what I was about to do would be the most daring outpouring of affection I could muster in a public setting. I knew my identity was masked by Onyx, but I needed to prove something to my boyfriend in the audience.

The music began, and a few seconds in, the curtain opened to reveal me standing in front of a microphone. People were still applauding as I began. The song's lyrics were geared toward a conventional straight audience, but the version I sang had a queer dynamic, changing the female pronouns to male. It made sense in the nightclub, and for the man to hear the words I needed him to hear.

Before the chorus, the words hit home as I stared at Craig, making sure he knew how I felt. His expression began with slight shock, but then I noticed the shimmer in his eyes as they filled with tears. I refused to let his reaction affect me, since I didn’t need tears to make my throat tighten. That wasn’t good for a singer.

Once the song reached the musical bridge, I had time to take the mic from the stand and walk slowly into the audience. Money was thrust forward by eager hands wanting to tip me, and I gladly accepted it. It soon became too much to hold the bills and accept more with only one hand. Luckily, Gavin brought out a container so people could place their appreciation in it after I dropped the bills I held into it.

As I sang the last verse, expressing how much you need to tell someone you love them with three little words, my eyes locked onto Craig’s. He had both hands covering his mouth, tears streaming down his cheeks. I noticed Marcus slowly rubbed his back to comfort him.

During the last chorus, I walked to the table and reached out to the man I loved. He took my hand, eyes red from tears, and mouthed, ‘I love you, too.’ The crowd didn’t miss it, and they cheered and applauded. I didn’t linger, but walked back to the stage to set the mic, let the music trail off, and let the curtain close.

I knew most people in the club had no idea what our connection was, but the song wasn’t meant for them.

It was meant for the man I loved.

16

CRAIG

Iwas beyond wrecked. The look in Jonesy’s eyes, even as Onyx, told me everything as he sang those three words. I’d listened to the Donna Summer song, I Love You, for years, but I’d felt no emotional connection until his penetrating gaze and heartfelt rendition ripped through to my core.