“This.” I burst out laughing when he grabbed me in a playful tackle and started dotting kisses all over my face.
11
Kit
Twenty-four hours later, I was standing backstage at a drag club in downtown Austin and trying not to hyperventilate. I’d shown up for amateur night at a relatively small club with a welcoming atmosphere, and I’d put my name on the list to perform. Now it was almost my turn to take the stage.
My heart was racing, I was sweating in places I’d never sweated before, and I couldn’t really take a deep breath, because I was cinched to within an inch of my life. If it wasn’t for the fact that Devon, Hal, and Ryder were in the audience, I would have absolutely bolted out the back door.
There was a mirror on the wall beside me, and my hands shook as I adjusted the cluster of red silk roses pinning up one side of my puffy, black wig. I’d spent two hours doing my makeup, but I looked like a teenager going to prom instead of a drag queen who was about to take the stage. I’d managed a smoky eye, false eyelashes, and red lipstick, but I’d blended the rest of my makeup so much that it was nearly invisible.
My dress was beautiful though, even if it weighed a ton. It was deep red with a fitted off-the-shoulder bodice, a snatched waist, and a long, fit-and-flare skirt with an off-center slit. Whatmade it special was that the whole thing was covered in silk rose petals, cascading into full silk roses near the bottom of the gown. I’d made it for myself while I was in school, hand-stitching it over countless hours, and it had never seen the light of day.
And, okay, it was totally wrong for this venue. All the other queens were old-school with huge hair, fake boobs big enough to be seen from space, bold makeup, and gowns with tons of sequins. I didn’t even sort of fit in.
Well, whatever. I was going to go out there, totally choke, flee in utter humiliation, and never see any of these people again—aside from Devon and my friends, obviously, but I figured they knew me well enough to brace for disaster.
The queen who was on ahead of me left the stage to thunderous applause, and then the emcee stepped up and said, “And now, all the way from San Francisco and performing for the first time anywhere, please give a Texas-sized welcome to Kit Corazón!” I winced at my sappy spur-of-the-moment stage name, but it was too late to do anything about it now.
Passing out felt like a very real possibility, but I stepped onto the stage anyway. I did that for two reasons. First, I’d promised Devon I was finally going to do this, and I didn’t want to let him down.
The second reason, though, was that I’d been dreaming of this since I was a kid. I owed it to twelve-year-old me, that little boy lip synching to the radio night after night with a hairbrush microphone and a wonky, handmade dress. Even if this was terrifying, and even if I totally screwed it up, I still had to try it. Just once.
I made myself hold my head up as I crossed the stage and came to a stop on the faded star painted on the floorboards. The lights were so bright that I could barely see the audience. I’d planned to focus on Devon when I performed to make this less scary, but it was impossible to pick him out of the crowd.
Then I heard him yell, “I believe in you, Kit! Show them what I already know—that you’re an absolute star, baby!”
The audience liked that. There was a chorus of, “Awwwww,” and a stranger joked, “I believe in you too, Kit!”
All of that was a good distraction. As some of my tension eased, I took a breath and exhaled slowly. A moment later, Adele’s “Set Fire to the Rain” began to play. I’d sung and lip synced to this song countless times, and it was one of my absolute favorites—which was why I’d designed this dress for it.
I performed it with everything I had. Then, when I reached the chorus, I stealthily tapped a hidden button on my hip, and the entire dress lit up in a red, flickering glow, as if it was on fire. A gasp came from the audience, which was gratifying.
Fortunately, whoever was manning the stage lights realized they were too bright for what I was trying to do. They cut all but one small spotlight, which was perfect, because it allowed the dress to literally shine.
Now that my special effect had gone off without a hitch, I relaxed a little more. Muscle memory took over, and I performed the song like I was alone in my bedroom, infusing it with all the emotion and drama it deserved.
As the final notes faded out, I struck a pose and held it. The lights came up, and the audience began to cheer and applaud. I blinked against the glare and saw the crowd was on its feet. I was totally overwhelmed. After taking a quick, self-conscious bow, I hurried off the stage.
Two more queens were waiting for their turn to perform, and they both congratulated me. I murmured a thank you as I hurried past them, and I kept going right out the back door of the club.
The cool night air was an instant relief. I breathed as deeply as I could in my corset, doubling over and bracing myself with my hands on my knees.
I felt like I’d just run a marathon. I was winded, and my legs were shaky. After a few moments, I realized my dress was still putting on its show. I tapped my hip to shut off the fiber optics and went right back to concentrating on breathing.
I was still doubled over when Devon found me a couple of minutes later. “There you are,” he said, as he hurried over to me.
I straightened up and asked, “Did I do okay?”
He grabbed me in a hug and exclaimed, “You were incredible! Didn’t you see that standing ovation? Everyone loved Kit Corazón. That’s a great stage name, by the way.”
“It’s corny. As I was filling out the sign-up sheet, I decided not to use my real name, because I expected to totally bomb. I thought of that name because my dad used to call me his corazón when I was little—his heart.”
“Now I like it even more.”
When I shivered, he took off his jacket and draped it over my bare shoulders. I asked, “Are you sure I didn’t screw that up?”
“You totally nailed it. Didn’t it feel like that?”
