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So yeah, I drank a little more than I usually did and apparently divulged more than I usually did, too.
“Where the hell was my drunk call?” Amelia asked, a hand to her chest, two silver snake-shaped bracelets clinking together.
“I think he got distracted after mine,” Billie said. “I could hear some smooching happening.”
“Oh Lordy, I hung up the phone, right?”
Billie nodded, laughing. “Yes, thankfully.”
We reached the Library just then, a really cool spot that had been converted from a ruined library into a spectacular bar that attracted people from all over. It had landed in a lot of “Best Of” lists and even showed up in a couple of popular television shows. On Friday and Saturday nights, there was usually a line of people waiting to get in, rare to see in a small New Hampshire town tucked away between the mountains and the sea. Thankfully lines didn’t form on a random Tuesday evening, so we said hey to the bouncer and walked right in.
The interior was dim and moody, with chandeliers strategically hanging above round tables and high-walled booths. There were shelves of books all throughout, organized so that the colors of the spines complemented each other and the wallpaper, which changed depending on which room you were in. There were signs above the bar and tables that displayed different genres.
“How’s the investigation going, anyway? Is this sexy detective as good at his job as he is at making you smile?” Amelia asked as the host led us to a booth in the far corner of the bar, underneath a sign that read “Non-fiction.” The sconces in the wall threw off a warm amber light that smoothed out whatever wrinkles or blemishes someone might have.
“It’s going,” I said, not wanting to acknowledge that whole “smile” bit, even though it was the obvious truth. “Ryan seems really hopeful, and I believe him. He was able to nail down an interview with that Walter Hooper guy. I think he might be able to catch him in a lie. Fingers, toes, and titties crossed.” I scooted into the booth, Billie following in after me.
He put a hand on my shoulder. “I just need this over so you can get back onstage again. I hate seeing my first drag daughter out for the count, not when you’re a star, honey. A certified star.” Billie wiggled his fingers around my face, as if he were sprinkling some magic dust over me.
I lifted the drink menu and tapped it. “Cheers to all of that, girl.”
“Does that mean drinks are on you?” Billie asked, cocking his head and placing his hands flat under his chin, pastel-green fingernails drawing my eye but something else holding my attention.
“Um, what is that?” I grabbed his hand and flipped it over, a clear bandage wrapped around his wrist. “A tattoo? Bitch, why didn’t you tell me.”
Amelia leaned over me for a better look. The tattoo—a black-and-white, realistic and expertly done depiction of a fat little bumblebee with a big white tail— looked like the ink still hadn’t even finished drying. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” he answered, looking down proudly at his new ink. It wasn’t entirely unusual for Billie to do things without telling me, but damn, I would have thought a new tattoo deserved at least a text message.
“It’s so cute,” Amelia said. “I fucking hate insects, but I really love that tattoo.”
Billie gave a belly laugh. “Bumblebees are harmless, and without them, we’d all be dead anyway.”
“True. Very true.”
“I really love it, too,” I said, deciding it wasn’t worth it to figure out why Billie hadn’t told me about the tattoo beforehand. Even though I’d gone with him for the past five of his tattoos, helping with some of the designs and staying with him for hours while they got done.
I really hope this doesn’t have anything to do with Ryan…
That’s the last thing I wanted to happen. I hated when a close friend got boo’ed up and drifted away, only to be seen again once a breakup was on the horizon. I wanted to make sure Billie and Amelia both knew that my friendship with them remained solid, no matter who I slept next to.
We ordered our drinks and got settled in. Amelia got to talking with Billie about the other tattoos he had, focusing mainly on the massive back piece he had depicting a pantheon of Greek gods. The drinks arrived, and the conversation grew racier as the evening unraveled. Two close drag queens and a bestie equaled some outrageous topics: how five-star dick tastes and could it be bottled into hot sauce, a charity organization called Plugs for Pugs, how to style a wig after you’ve had sex in it, etc., etc.
It felt good. Hanging out again, laughing and joking and just living. I couldn’t attribute it all to Ryan, because I was an independent-ass woman who didn’t need no man to be happy— but, with that being said, knowing that I was going to Ryan’s place after this so we could cuddle and kiss and watch stupid shows together in bed… how the hell could I not smile?
