“It’s not a contest!”
“Sure it is!”
While he was gone, I quickly scrolled through my phone. I didn’t have an internet connection, but I’d downloaded a few of my favorite songs, so I cued one up for when it was my turn.
He returned a minute later with the guitar and a pick. “I really need to buy another acoustic guitar. I had one that I traveled with, but I traded it in when I bought my electric guitar a couple of months ago,” he muttered. “This is going to sound tinny without the amp, but it’ll have to do.” Devon stood on the other side of the firepit and began to play. I didn’t know what he was talking about, because it sounded great to me. After a few moments, he said, “I give you my rendition of ‘Free Falling’ by Tom Petty.”
He ended up changing the pronouns from she to he at the beginning, which made it wonderfully gay. I thought he was just going to do a fun, campy version of the song, but when he began to belt out the chorus, I got goosebumps.
Devon had a voice that should be filling stadiums. I’d heard him sing before, but now that we were alone out here in the middle of nowhere he held nothing back, and it was glorious. When he finished, I leapt to my feet for a one-man standing ovation, applauding and cheering while he took a bow. As he circled around the fire pit, I exclaimed, “That was sensational!”
“Glad you liked it.”
“I loved it.”
“I know we said we’d take turns, but if you don’t want to?—”
“Oh, but I do. This is one time only, and only for you, Devon.” I flashed him a playful smile and added, “So pay attention.”
I peeled off my oversize sweatshirt and tossed it onto my chair before handing him my phone. “Hit play when I tell you to.”
He read the words on the screen. “Oh nice, ‘Shut Up and Drive’ by Rihanna. That’s a great song! Can you really sing in that high key?”
“Nope. Good thing I don’t have to.”
I strutted around to the other side of the firepit, struck a dramatic pose, and nodded to Devon. When he hit play, I lip synched the hell out of that song. More than that, I performed an entire, choreographed routine, one I’d practiced alone in my bedroom for years.
To pull this off, I had to imagine myself in full drag, including an ultra sexy short skirt and very high heels, instead of my T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. That was easy, though. I’d imagined it a million times.
What I’d never done was perform in front of anyone, but I trusted Devon. He’d appreciate what I was trying to do here, and he wouldn’t make fun of me. I was sure of it.
As soon as the song ended and I struck my final pose, Devon jumped up and started whooping and applauding. Then he ran to me and lifted me off my feet as he exclaimed, “That was fantastic! Andsexy! My god was that sexy. You’re a natural performer.”
“Not really. That was the end result of years of practice.”
He was buzzing with excitement as he put me down. “I knew you had this in you. I just knew it. Your love of drag doesn’t end with making fabulous outfits. You were born to perform.”
“We’ve talked about this. I’d get stage fright. I’d freeze up.”
“You’d blow away the entire audience! Don’t you realize how incredible you are? It wasn’t just that your lip sync was dead-on, or that your choreography was flawless, which they were. You have charisma, star quality, that spark. It’s the thing thatseparates a good performer from a great one, and it can’t be taught. Someone has it or they don’t, and you have it, Kit.”
“That’s very flattering, and I’m glad you enjoyed it. But like I said, that was a one-time-only performance.”
“You can’t give up on this,” he said, “because I know how much drag means to you. It’s been a huge part of your life since you were a kid, and you deserve to be in the spotlight, wearing your fabulous designs instead of letting someone else wear them.” I planted a kiss on him, and he grinned against my lips and murmured, “You’re trying to shut me up.”
“Yup. Also, I know that definitely didn’t qualify as singing a song around a campfire, but I knew you’d bring your A-game. I had to bring mine, too.”
He wasn’t ready to let this go. “Do you have routines to other songs, or just that one?”
“I have dozens,” I admitted. “I’ve been practicing since I was ten.”
“You’re ready for the stage, Kit. I get that stage fright is a concern, but muscle memory would kick in, no matter how nervous you were.”
“But what if I tried it and failed miserably? It would be so embarrassing.”
He looked so hopeful as he said, “What if you tried it and succeeded beyond your wildest expectations? Come on, Kit. Isn’t it worth a try?”
I considered that for a few moments before saying, “I will if you will.”
