Upstairs, Clara and Royal Travesty finished their set of performances. I sat in the office/dressing room waiting for them. Down the stairs they stomped, both of them out of breath.
“Where is that fucking bitch!? Who the hell does he think he is, shaming me in front of everyone?”
Clara pleaded with Royal Travesty. “Come on. Kay is new. Maybe he took it too personally. He just needs some fineeeeeeesse.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck if he took it personally. This is a drag show, not art therapy.”
The door of the office/dressing room slammed opened. Both Clara and Royal Travesty were drenched in sweat. Their made-up faces had melted onto the surface of their necks. At that moment, Clara was Long Faced Henry. Royal Travesty was Old Man Arthur. Only, both of them happened to be wearing dresses with wigs askew. The magic spell was over.
With the same rage she had displayed onstage, Royal Travesty glared at me, then glared at the steaming-hot large pepperoni pizza sitting on the desk. Three clean paper plates and three cold cans of cola sat next to the box. The rage shifted to confusion.
“I’m sorry to have hurt your feelings, Royal,” I said while delivering the deepest of bows. “Pizza is on me.” It was worth sneaking through the back door of Epic to Pizza Pizza in my full costume to see the look on her face. She warily grabbed a piece of pizza and took a bite, as if the flavour of the slice would confirm whether it was a gesture of humility or yet another insult. I exited the room and changed back into my street clothes just outside the office. While stepping out of my tights, I watched through the crack in the door as they devoured the pizza like pigs at a trough. I felt a thrilling combination of amusement and satisfaction at hearing nothing save for their breathy bites through the crust and the occasional belch. Sure, it wasn’t a family of four, but feeding two angry queens felt just as triumphant.
Years later, during yet another dinner at the Bridge Restaurant, Nadine gestured to the waiter. “Is this asshole going to give us our check or what?!” She kissed her teeth in frustration. She piled the cutlery onto the plate, now stained with maple syrup and icing sugar, so she could reach over and cradle my hands. “Are you doing okay?”
“Yes.” I actually was. My newest place was a second-floor walk-up in the gay village. It was a small apartment just above the Pizza Pizza at Church and Wellesley. I shared it with two other queens named Fanny and Nolan. I explained to Nadine that I had first met Fanny during the 20-Minute Drag Workout, where a dozen of the city’s most renowned drag queens guided spectators in high-heeled eighties aerobics during Pride. I was just a baby queen back then, so I watched on the sidelines in full costume and awe. It was all fun and games until someone in the crowd threw an egg at Fanny and called her a tranny ho. The front of her leotard was covered in yolk.
“No!” Nadine covered her mouth in disbelief.
“Yes. I had to think quick. She was about to cry. It was so humiliating. I stepped forward, removed my own dress and gave it to her. I happened to be wearing this Donna Summer wrap-dress, so it was easy to take off, it was easy for her to put it on over the mess, and she still blended in with the rest of the queens. Even though I was out there in my skivvies, the crowd cheered for us. Next thing I know, I’m over at her place while she’s cleaning herself off, she’s letting me search through her wardrobe for something else to wear, and she tells me she’s looking for a roommate.”
“Okay, how easy was that?” Nadine said with an absent smile while still looking for a waiter to give us our check.
“Well, finding our third roommate wasn’t as easy, let me tell you. We had a whole whack of jokers messaging us on Facebook saying they had seen our ad. Because of how desperate everyone is nowadays, lots of them didn’t have jobs. Some smelled funny. Some of them, you wanted to disinfect the house after they came by for their interview.”
“Nasty.” Nadine waved at another waiter. He looked right at her and walked on by. She sighed.
“It was. Then I met Nolan. He was doing drag at Throb Nightclub, performing his famous Miss Saigon number with a tiny helicopter. I watched him work the room. Girl, he would earn his tips by hitting audience members with his red fans and demanding they cough up some crisp bills. I knew he would never be short on rent.”
“But are they treating you okay? No more stolen money? Or fighting?”
I explained to Nadine that there was always body hair on the floor of the washroom, at least three ruined razors in the wastebasket every Friday, but there weren’t any bedbugs. I gave her the impression that living in the heart of Toronto’s gay village was a dream. I told Nadine about the topless gender-Queer youth who wore the Pride flag like a cape and ran down the street screaming, “Check out my top surgery scars, motherfuckers!” and I told her about watching the Wednesday-night American Sign Language class through the windows of the 519 community centre. I did not tell her that Epic had been vandalized yet again, that I had watched Henry sweep up the destruction one dust bin at a time, his dejected reflection shining off endless pieces of shattered bar mirror, or about Clara McCleavage’s dwindling audiences. I did not tell her how we all avoided darkened alleyways at night, the rumours of our disappearances. I did not tell Nadine about the woman walking down the street, going from stranger to stranger showing them a photo, asking if they had seen her Trans sister who had gone missing the week before. Instead I told her it all felt like magic to me, living where I felt safe, despite being down the road from where I was assaulted by my mother’s church folk. I could see from Nadine’s face that her life was not so magical, either. I had to shift the conversation and unlock the mystery of her far-away looks.
“How’s your mom doing?”
Nadine raised her eyebrows, and the edges of her lips twitched away a deeper emotion than she was allowing me to see. “She’s okay. Her new boyfriend couldn’t handle the breast cancer thing, so he’s history. Probably for the best.”
“And your dad?”
“The usual. Travelling constantly. Might see him having breakfast when he’s in town. But he spends his time ignoring me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I’m fine by myself in that house. Once I pay off my student loans, I’ll be ready to move somewhere else. Maybe closer to my Kay.”
In a rushed flurry towards another table, a waiter finally placed the black check folder in front of Nadine.
“Uh, thanks! Finally.” Nadine rolled her eyes. The waiter rushed off before she had a chance to pass her credit card to him. “Jesus Christ. I swear this city is getting shittier by the minute.”
I shrugged. I was finally feeling more like myself in ways I had never thought possible. “For reals? You don’t think so?” Nadine looked around her conspiratorially. “Like, I noticed things shifting around here. Like, people are getting more and more brazen with their actions.”
“What do you mean? Who is getting brazen?”
Nadine looked around again. “White people.”
“Not all white people . . .”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I really don’t want to hear it.”
“You’re half white.”
“Yes. I know. I see my white dad when he comes home. I know my dad is white. It’s not like he’s not part of the problem. He’s become more brazen too. After everything that happened during the flood, you can’t tell me things didn’t get fucked up and they didn’t show their true colours.”