“Should I ask what pole shorts are?”
“You’ll see,” I said with a smile.
Agent Mozzarella formally introduced himself (real name: Agent Lanagan) and told me he’d be providing my security. A combination of Boise PD, capitol police, FBI, and ATF would monitor the area near the stage during my performance. If Ralphie or Errol appeared or tried to nab me, they’d be arrested on the spot.
Nate’s gentle hand on my forearm made my scalp and toes tingle. “Good luck,” he said. As if realizing he sounded worried, he added, “Oh, and break a leg!”
“In the shoes I’ll be wearing, I just might.”
With Agent Lanagan trailing behind me, I made my way toward the stage. A giant banner with a drawing of a rhinestone-encrusted platform shoe and the wordsCheyenne’s Sentient Strippershung from the front. No way would the City of Boise have approved that thing, but I figured Cheyenne preferred to beg forgiveness.
Layna, Zhang Xiu, and Gucci were waiting for me backstage.
“You are going to be so great!” Layna said. “I’ll be right here, hyping you! I even brought an air horn.” She waved the obnoxious courtside accoutrement enthusiastically.
“Thanks,” I said. It was so sweet I didn’t have the heart to tell her no comedian wants that kind of distraction during her set.
A gorgeous monochrome drag queen in a ruby-red corset and tiered ruffled tulle skirt sashayed up to us. Between her platform heels and feathered headdress, she was easily over seven feet tall.
“Shade!” I yelled. “You look amazing!”
“Shade?” the towering queen said. “Who’s Shade? I’m Ida Hoe,Idaho’s Most Daring Diva. Despite the state legislature’s fears that nothing is more dangerous to toxic masculinity than a drag queen, I am ready to crush this! These lips don’t synch, baby!”
After wishing Ida Hoe good luck, I went to find Cheyenne, who was limbering up. When the raven-haired woman next to her popped up from her forward fold, I yelled: “Salma Hayek!”
“Nikita!” she said, giving me a hug.
“I had no idea you were the friend Cheyenne was bringing!”
“One thing I learned on my ayahuasca retreat was that I need to be of service to my peeps,” Salma said.
“That’s where you disappeared to! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Salma Hayek grinned. “I wasn’t sure you were cool enough. Now that you’re helping Cheyenne get major exposure for her Sentient Strippers, I’m sure. My retreat was a gamechanger. I threw up, tripped balls, healed core wounds, made lifelong friends. Highly recommend.”
I gave her the “must be nice” look I often leveled at child-free people when they told me about sleeping in on weekends or drinking lattes in a slow and uninterrupted manner.
“Let’s huddle up and make a plan!” Cheyenne said.
The three of us talked through my set as Agent Lanagan stood nearby. Ideally we would’ve rehearsed. But Cheyenne was an experienced stripper and Salma Hayek was a regular contender at national pole competitions—I could trust they’d kill. It was my own set I worried about.
Once we’d locked in our plan, we stripped down to the outfits we’d perform in and strapped on pairs of Cheyenne’s Sentient Stripper pole shoes. I felt so anxious I was disassociating a little—though I couldn’t tell if I was more worried about walking in those shoes, being shot by Ralphie and Errol, or bombing my set.
“Okay, my lovelies!” someone yelled. “It’s time. Take your places.”
The Pole Virgins, Cheyenne, Salma Hayek, Agent Lanagan, and I all moved to a backstage spot with a good view as the emcee from theMash the Patriarchy wrestling contest took the stage. After welcoming everyone to the festival, they said, “There’s no one who loves this beautiful state more than our first performer. So let’s give it up for the drag queen with the most state pride, Boise’s very own Ida Hoe.”
Ida Hoe catwalked out to take the microphone. On-stage, she was a glittering vision of rubies and feathers and tulle. She waited for the raucous cheers to die down before saying, “I’m here to perform a little song for you by a gal named Taylor Swift. It’s called ‘The Man.’”
Zhang Xiu, Gucci, Cheyenne, Salma Hayek, and I hollered encouragement as Ida Hoe began to strut, swivel, and sing, giving new meaning to the campy Swiftie anthem. The crowd bellowed along to the chorus. By the time the song ended even Agent Lanagan was tapping his toes. As the other Pole Virgins rushed to hug Ida Hoe, I wiped my sweaty palms on my bare thighs and prepared to make my comeback.
“That performance was like if RuPaul and Céline Dion had a baby!” the emcee told the crowd. “Phenomenal. Let’s hear it for Ida Hoe!”
The crowd cheered as if they’d seen Charli XCX perform at San Francisco Pride.
Meanwhile, Gucci, Zhang Xiu, and Layna carried the three portable poles onto the stage, setting them up in a triangle formation. Salma Hayek silently offered me a dollop of resin to keep me from slipping, and I rubbed my palms together with a smile of thanks. I was terrified. Of doing comedy again—half-naked, no less. Of being seen. Of standing out there like a target for Ralphie and Errol. But I was ready to wrap up this gloomy, infertile period of my life. Ready to get out of the fear and into the light.
“It’s time to introduce a true Boise local,” the emcee continued. “This gal was born and raised right here, and she’s trying out new stand-up material under her stage name. Some of it might be PG-13, so now might be a good time to take your little ones to the Kids’ Tent. Now let’s make some noise for: Nikita!”
