“Okay,” I say, trying not to smile. I know exactly what he means. The counselor talent show is one of my favorite events of the summer.
NINE
“I’m Diana Loan. And I’ve come to terms with that.”
Mark winks, his purple eye shadow sparkling like amethyst under the stage lights, his burgundy-painted lips twisted up in a slight smile. Not Mark, I should say, but Diana, his drag persona. She’s got black hair up in an oversized bun, studded with a few white flowers, and is wearing a long-sleeved red gown, showing off her padded curves. It’s sequined in some places, and patterned with white flowers in others. Her makeup is painted for the cheap seats, and a pair of long earrings flash as she turns her head in the light and stalks back and forth on stage. The spotlight follows her. It would be impossible not to.
“Welcome, young queer people, to Camp Outland. For you first-timers, hello, I promise to go easy on you. And for you returning campers, well, I guess they didn’t want you at one of the good camps.” The crowd chuckles. “Don’t worry! We take anyone here, long as they’re queer. Just look at Nurse Cosmo!” He points at Cosmo, who’s sitting in the front row, grinning. “We let him work here and he’s been dead for seven years.” Everyone, Cosmo included, laughs, even though she’s told the same joke about him since I’ve been coming here. There’s just something about her delivery. Mark might be high-strung, but Diana is cool and confident.
“I’m only kidding,” Diana says, waving at Cosmo. “Cosmo is a piece of living queer history. Actually at Stonewall during the riots. He was in a crowd of people who fought the police for our rights. And it made such an impact on him—being right up against all those warriors. You know how some people don’t wash their hands after meeting a celebrity they admire? Well, Cosmo hasn’t bathed since Stonewall. You can really smell the history on him.” That’s a new one, and everyone, including me, laughs. Hudson laughs, too, I’m happy to see. I was a little worried after he said it was a lot that it meant he never enjoyed this drag show. And that would be crazy. I don’t mind the masc-only thing, but if you can’t enjoy a drag queen, you’re probably a soulless monster. We’re sitting to the left in the back—we were a little late. But I can see George and Ashleigh a few rows in front of us. They glance back once at us, and see us holding hands. George looks impressed. Ashleigh rolls her eyes.
“So, Joan is pointing at her watch, which means ‘move it along, Diana,’” Diana continues. “Honestly, Joan always seems in a hurry to get to the next thing and the next and the next. I think if she had it her way, the summer would be over tomorrow at noon. No, no, we owe Joan a lot. She built this place, keeps it running, so a big round of applause for Joan.” Everyone starts to clap and Diana immediately says, “Stop,” into her mic. “We have to move it along. So, to open tonight’s talent show, we have …” She pulls a list out of her sleeve and checks it. “Oh … all right. I’m sorry about this, but it seems Marguerite from the arts and crafts cabin is going to be singing an original song for us. Everyone, round of applause for Marguerite!”
Diana exits, stage right, as music pipes in over the sound system and Marguerite comes on and does what it essentially an imitation of Björk, something she seems blissfully unaware of. The show continues, Diana introducing each counselor’s act—Tina and Lisa, who drive the motorboat, do a decent cover of a Tegan and Sara song; Crystal does a tap number; Rebecca, who runs the canoeing trips, does a cover of an Indigo Girls song (she has a long-standing rivalry with Tina and Lisa); Karl, the German twink who runs the farm and usually is in overalls, comes out in sequined short shorts and a crop top to dance to a Years & Years song; and various other counselors do magic tricks, acrobatics, sing, dance, and are celebratorily, unashamedly queer. Some of the audience even starts dancing for some of the musical numbers. It’s like being at a dozen gay clubs in one night—or what I imagine gay clubs are like, having never been to one (not many to choose from in suburban Ohio, and with no one to drive me to the ones in Cleveland). Hudson even stands and pulls me up to dance when Pablo, one of the tennis counselors, shows off a ten-minute DJ mix of “the history of Madonna.” Hudson puts his hand on my waist and we sway together before I realize that I stupidly never practiced dancing masc, and that I’m shimmying my hips much more than Hudson is. I try to imitate him, a sort of gentle sway side to side, but it feels stiff and awkward, and soon we’re out of synch. He laughs and leans forward as a remix of “What It Feels Like for a Girl” plays in the background.
“Not much of a dancer?” he asks.
I bite back a rude response about how I’m actually one of the best dancers at camp, and it’s just trying to match his lack of style that’s holding me back. This is part of the deal—I can be a bad dancer for Hudson.
“Never danced with a boy before,” I say. That’s true. Oh my god—that’s true! I’m dancing with a boy! Hudson has his hand on my waist and he’s bringing me closer. Our stomachs are touching and I have to tilt slightly so he doesn’t feel my hard-on pressing against him.
“Here,” he says, putting his other hand on my waist. “Just sway to the beat. Put your hands on me.”
So I do. I put my hands on his shoulders, resisting the urge to wrap them around his neck, and we sway like ten-year-olds imitating adults at a wedding until we reach the end of “I Rise,” and one of the chefs comes on to juggle. But when we sit back down, Hudson puts his hand on my leg and squeezes, and I glance over at George, who wiggles his eyebrows at me. Everything is going so well.
The evening always closes with Diana doing an outrageous lip-synch to a song from the show that Mark has chosen for us every year, and this year, she does a sultry version of “Honestly Sincere.” Usually she comes down into the audience and sits in Joan’s lap, or flirts with Cosmo, but this year, she makes a beeline to me, wiggling her padded butt between the seats until she’s right in front of me, and, singing into the mic, leans forward and brushes my hair back behind my ears—or would, if I hadn’t cut it all off.
“‘Write this down now,’” she sings at me. “‘You gotta be sincere, honestly sincere!’” And then she moves back into the aisle, still singing.
Well, Mark was never one for subtlety.
But I look over at Hudson, who grins at me, thrilled I was chosen, and I don’t care what Diana was singing at me. I just feel happy. Sincerely happy.
After Diana closes the talent show to a standing ovation, we all pour out into the night, heading carefully back up the stairs to our cabins.
“So, that rocked, right?” Hudson asks me. We’re not holding hands as we walk up the stairs, but we’re in the middle of a crowd, so that would probably make things harder.
“It was amazing,” I say.
“That Madonna mix was so good,” he says. “I don’t know anything about DJing but it just, like, rocked, right?”
“Yeah, and Diana nailed that lip-synch,” I say. “Mark is going to be on top of the world tonight.”
“Like, for me, drag isn’t something I’d seek out,” he says. “But I like it once a year. Sometimes, though, I feel like the normal one in there, but like, in a good way.”