A Fluid State Read online

  “It is a big deal. You don’t think this is why he’s dressing like he is?”

  “Peter was already dressing like that before we started watching it. All the show did is let him know it’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay, Christy. Fuck. I know you wanted a girl but-”

  “Watch yourself, Patrick. Peter is our son, and it doesn’t matter what he wears.”

  “Are you trying to make him grow up gay?”

  “Clothing won’t change anything. If he’s gay, he’s gay. Are you saying you don’t want him to be gay?”

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “See? Homophobic.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I mean, if he’s gay, that’s fine. But... fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  “Butt fuck, hey?”

  “Jesus, Christy!”

  She laughed. “Calm down, Patrick. Spend some time with him. Find out why it’s important to him. Whatever you do though, don’t you dare make him feel like there’s something wrong with him. “

  “I never would. I love him. I want him to be happy. It’s just...”

  “Just nothing. Spend some time with your son, Patrick. I’m going.”

  “I’m not happy about this.”

  “It’s not about you. Goodbye, Patrick. See you tomorrow.” She hung up.

  Patrick turned around. Through the window, he could see Peter sitting on the floor, his chin in his palms, his elbows on his knees, hanging on every word, smiling.

  Which is what mattered, right?

  He wished he could believe his own words.

  §

  The reading ended, and it was all Patrick could do to not race over, scoop Peter up, and get him out of there. But when the drag queen closed the book, she wandered among the kids, talking to each one individually. Peter’s eyes followed her around. What kind of cross dressing cult leader was she? Was he? Was he she?

  One by one, kids were collected by parents though, so Patrick stepped closer and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Ready to go, champ?”

  “I just need to say goodbye to Ann.”

  “Oh, she seems busy. Let’s grab some lunch, okay?”

  “Dad!”

  “Okay fine, you can say goodbye.”

  Peter walked over to Ann, who was talking to Monica and Kim. “Peter,” she said, still in that breathy voice. “I hope you enjoyed today?”

  “Yes! I can’t wait for next week. Will Sara be able to use the sword?”

  “I guess we will find out,” Ann said, smiling, and then she looked over at Patrick. “Is this your dad?”

  Patrick felt himself stiffen up and reached out with his hand. “Patrick.” He immediately kicked himself for the way his voice subconsciously deepened.

  The look on Ann’s face showed she hadn’t missed it, as she gently laid her hand on his. “Charmed.” He pulled his hand away. It was soft like a woman’s touch, but it was a man’s hand, and it was just all too much.

  He wasn’t homophobic, but he was a simple, small-town army boy, and shaking hands with a drag queen was not what he had planned for his Saturday. “Let’s go, Peter.”

  Peter sighed. “Okay. See you next Saturday, Ann.”

  “See you then, Peter. Nice meeting you, Patrick.” Was he hearing things, or had she dropped the face voice a bit for his name? Was she making fun of him?

  “Yah. Nice meeting you.” He took Peter’s hand and almost dragged him away. Embarrassing or not, Cabo or not, enough was enough.

  ANDREW

  Why he had ever agreed to do Saturday morning drag was beyond him. Sure, it was important for drag queens and gay people to be normalized, and what better way to do that than by family-friendly events like Drag Queen Storytelling, but it wasn’t a paid gig, and Andrew didn’t think those housewives appreciated that for him to be in full drag to entertain their kids for an hour, he had to start getting ready at nine.

  Nine!

  What gay man in his right mind was up at nine am on a Saturday?

  All his drag sisters were still in bed, and here he was, already scrubbing out. He had a midnight performance at Torch, but there was no way he could spend the whole day in face. The beard wouldn’t allow it. No, he would wash out of drag, have a nap, and then start the whole process over again. At least the library gig was only once a week.

  The kids sure loved it though. That’s really what Andrew loved most about it. They liked the book, and they liked him. If anyone had told Andrew ten years ago, when he started doing drag, that one day he would be reading to a bunch of kids, he would have told them to quit the drugs.

  Still, here it was, quarter after two, and he was already untucked and feeling super irritable. Which was unusual because it wasn’t a feeling he normally left these with. What had happened today that annoyed him?

  The awkward dad.

  That was totally it.

  Peter was such a sweet kid, and Andrew loved Christy. They were big drag fans, and it was clear Peter was exploring some gender issues of his own. The dad though – Patrick, was it – was a typical straight man. Andrew had noticed the way he tensed up talking after the event, and then the way he deepened his voice when saying hello. Yes hunny, we get it. You’re straight. Don’t worry. Cruising guys was the last thing on his mind when he was in drag.

  (Even if the guy was super hot)

  Now where had that thought come from?

  That question was far easier for Andrew to answer. It came from a place of simple horniness. A world where straight women and their kids loved drag didn’t change the fact that for a lot of gay men, a drag queen was still persona non grata for dating. MASC4MASC was on half the profiles on any dating app, and sure, gay men at the bar might love to party with drag queens, but they certainly had no interest in getting to know the man inside the dress.

  Andrew had been single for two years. Two years! And not just single – totally celibate. At least drag queens off TV had that starfucker draw. Local queens? Not so much. He was horny and he was lonely. It had to be pretty bad if some random straight jarhead – or whatever the army equivalent was – had gotten under his skin.

  (You wish he’d gotten under your skin)

  Whatever, he thought, silencing his inner drag queen commentary. Nap first. Then dinner and gin and back into face for tonight’s show.

  §

  The Torch was River City’s main gay club, and certainly one of best stages in town for queens to perform on. It had been easy for Andrew to get a semi-regular gig there. That was the point of his drag identity really. He was already advertised in most shows. It had worked back home and it worked here. Tonight’s show, hosted by the Torch’s headliner, the Queen of Hearts, featured Lucy Lewd and more.

  (Ann Moore. Get it?)

  The club was packed by the time Andrew got there. He got ready at home. Aaron and Rodrigo (the Queen and Lucy respectively) got ready at the club, but too many queens made for chaos in the green room. Besides, Andrew liked making an entrance.

  (What queen doesn’t)

  He walked into the club, collected his double gin and soda from Brandon behind the bar, and mingled with the crowd. There was still half an hour until the show started, longer before his one performance. The music was great, the men were beautiful. He loved this place. He loved gay clubs. They weren’t just places to get wasted. They were family.

  (They’re OUR family)

  “Ann!”

  He turned around. There, at a table by the stage, was a bunch of women. The one waving at him was Christy, Peter’s mom. He waved back and they beckoned him over.

  “Ladies’ night?” he asked.

  “Long overdue,” Christy said, and she introduced him to the other people at the table. “Now that Patrick’s home, I have a Saturday night free for the first time in I don’t even know how long, and we figured, hell, let’s go check out the gay bar. I hope the show is a little raunchier than what I see at the library.” She winked and nudged him.

  “Oh, trust me. Let’s just say thi
s. Lucy’s number has a bag of dildos in it.”

  The girls squealed. “We can’t wait!” Christy said. “Did my ex husband behave himself today?”

  “He was certainly awkward.”

  She held a hand over her eyes. “I told him to behave.”

  “He did. He was just clearly uncomfortable.”

  “I didn’t warn him,” Christy said, and the girls laughed.

  “That would explain it. I hope he lets Peter keep coming. Your son is amazing.”

  “Agreed! And don’t worry. Patrick is a good man. He just needs to leave some of that macho shit behind.”

  “He’s certainly good looking.” Now why had he said that?

  “I’ll be sure to tell him you said that. That won’t make him less awkward at all.” She laughed again, and he laughed along.

  “Not my type though,” he said, winking. He sucked back his drink. “Enjoy the show, ladies, and remember, tip your queens!”

  He walked away.

  No wonder poor Patrick had been so uncomfortable. It had basically been an ambush. Chances are, Patrick would be making sure Christy was the one bringing Peter to future readings, so really, there was no point in wasting another second’s thought on some random straight guy he would probably never see again.

  (No matter how good looking)

  §

  He needed groceries.

  Which sucked, because the gin hangover was real, and he did not want to leave his bed.

  Why had he had so much to drink?

  Oh yah. Because he was a drag queen and it had been free. And top shelf at that. His over-the-top campy drag was quickly gaining a following in a crowd that was mostly served killer looks and amazing choreography. He wasn’t that kind of queen. He was a man in a dress, and he didn’t care if he looked foolish. As long as he got laughs, he was happy.

  And when he got laughs from them, he got gin from them. Which is why it was the middle of a Sunday and he was still sprawled out in his (empty, king-size) bed. He was thirsty. He was hungry. And he knew his fridge was as empty as his bed.

  “Fuck it,” he said, rolling out of bed. He tossed on some sweat pants and a T shirt and headed to the grocery store. He didn’t live downtown in the gayborhood; he didn’t need to make himself presentable before heading out. His hair was short and easily managed just by running a wet hand through it.

  Twenty minutes later, he was pushing his cart down the aisle, making his way towards the most important part: the ice cream. His intentions had been better. He had planned on vegetables, maybe even salad. He had planned on maybe some roast chicken, like a real sit down meal. But food shopping for one was almost as depressing as cooking for one, which was almost as depressing as eating for one.

  He was feeling single, and when he was feeling single, he was feeling Rocky Road. He turned down the frozen aisle and bang!

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he immediately apologized to the cart he’d collided with.

  “My fault.”

  Andrew looked up. Patrick. Of course. “No, it was mine entirely.”

  “All good, man.”

  “How’s Peter?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Your son? You don’t recognize me, of course.”

  “No. I-” Realization dawned. “Oh. Oh! Oh.”

  “Yes. I’m in disguise.”

  “Sorry?”

  “It was a joke.” Andrew looked around. “Is Peter with you?”

  “No. He’s at his mom’s. But he pointed out I need some different food around the house if he’s going to be over more often, so here I am.” Patrick waved at his cart.

  Andrew looked in. The cart was full with fruits and vegetables, and boxes of frozen vegetarian options. “You didn’t strike me as a vegetarian.”

  “I’m not, but Peter is, I’m told, so...” Patrick shrugged. “Me, I like meat.”

  Andrew hadn’t meant to smirk but of course he did. When a hot straight man started professing how much he liked meat? It was impossible not to. Patrick clearly noticed the smirk and realized what he’d said, because he turned bright red and started to sputter.

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant meat, not like, you know, meat.” His eyes jumped to Andrew’s crotch at the second “meat” and then bounced back to his face. “Sorry, I just meant...”

  “It’s good. I know what you meant. You meant meat.”

  “Exactly. Look, sorry, this is just very different to me.”

  “Because you’re straight.”

  “No. I mean. Yes, I’m straight, but it’s not because you’re g-g-gay. It’s just because... you know, because...”

  “Because I’m a drag queen?”

  “Yes. Sorry. That sounds awful.”

  “Look hun, can I call you hun, thanks hun. I know . I get it. I get it even from other gay guys. I certainly wouldn’t expect any less from some straight guy with your background.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know. Small town. Army.”

  “I’m not a bigot.”

  “I didn’t say you were. I’m sure you have gay friends.” Andrew rolled his eyes.

  “I do. Well, actually, I don’t think I do, but not because I have a problem. I just...”

  “Have a problem?”

  He grinned, and Andrew couldn’t help but think how cute that grin was.

  (In a straight homophobic kind of way)

  “Yes. But it’s not like that. I’ve just never been around it.”

  “It?”

  “Drags. Gays. That whole scene. It’s just a lot for me.”

  “No one is asking you to join us, you know. Just to let Peter enjoy his own journey.”

  “I know. I’m trying. I’ll try. I guess I just need to spend more time around it.”

  “Fine. We can hang out.”

  (Why did you say that?)

  “What? That’s not what I meant. I...”

  “It was a joke. I know you wouldn’t...”

  “No, wait. Maybe it’s a good idea. I mean, if you’re going to be around my son, getting to know you is a good idea. I could make us dinner?”

  That was unexpected. Was this straight army guy really making a dinner invite?

  (He’s just being protective of his son. Do not get carried away. This is not a date)

  (Shut up)

  “Sure, but Patrick?”

  “Yes?”

  “None of that tofu stuff. I like meat too.”

  Patrick grinned.

  PATRICK

  How had this happened? How did a Sunday run to the grocery store end up with a dinner date with a drag queen? No. Not a date. Just a dinner.

  Patrick looked up from the grill where their steaks were sizzling, into the house where Andrew had offered to chop up stuff for a salad. Andrew glanced up and saw Patrick looking at him and smiled. He looked so normal. Just a regular guy. Looking at him, Patrick couldn’t even tell it was the same guy who’d been a woman only yesterday. Well, a man dressed as a woman, anyway. Patrick didn’t really know how to describe it.

  Not it.

  Him. Her. Them. Fuck. He’d have to ask.

  “How do you like your steak?” he called, through the open window.

  “Rare,” Andrew replied.

  “Good answer. These are almost done then.”

  “Salad is ready too.”

  “I’ll be right in then.”

  Patrick pulled the steaks off the grill and turned it off. They smelled great. How Peter could not enjoy the taste of barbecued meat, Patrick just didn’t understand. One of the many things Patrick didn’t understand.

  He stepped up onto his deck and then through the open door into the kitchen. Andrew was leaning against the counter. He just didn’t look like a gay guy. He had a much smaller build than Patrick, for sure, but that was to be expected. Most guys did. When he’d taken his own groceries home, Andrew had changed from the sweats and T into jeans and a button-up. He looked so regular. The green in his shirt matched the sparkling green in his e
yes.

  Now why had Patrick noticed that?

  “Looking good,” Andrew said.

  “What?”

  “The steaks,” Andrew said, with a nod to the platter in Patrick’s hand.

  “Oh. Thanks. Can you grab a couple plates from the cupboard there?”

  Patrick set the meat down on the table while Andrew brought over two plates. “I don’t know what I have to drink,” Patrick said. “I was going to have a beer myself, but...” He trailed off. What did drag queens drink?

  “What? No fruity little cocktails?” Andrew asked, with a raised eyebrow. Those eyebrows couldn’t be all natural. They were too perfect. And how had Andrew known exactly what he was thinking again? Was he that easy to read? “A beer would be fine, Patrick.”

  Patrick grabbed two bottles from the fridge, cracked one, and handed it to Andrew. The bottle was cold, but when their hands touched, Patrick felt himself warm up. He took a swig of his own and sat down. “Salad looks great.”

  “Thanks. I’m starving actually.”

  Patrick passed Andrew a steak and then helped himself to a scoop of salad. There were so many things he wanted to know. Did Andrew want to be a woman? Is that why he did drag? Is that where Peter was headed?

  “What are you thinking?” Andrew asked.

  “That obvious?”

  “Straight guys are easy to read.”

  “That seems like a generalization.”

  “True though. I think it’s because gay boys have to grow up hiding all their feelings and watching others for clues that they’ve figured it out.”

  “When did you figure it out? That you’re gay, I mean.”

  “I was a late bloomer,” Andrew said. “I didn’t admit it to myself until I was thirteen.”

  “That seems so young.”

  “I know guys who knew when they were four.”

  “Four? Wow. Really?”

  “Yeah. When did you know you were straight?”

  “Point.” Patrick took another swig of beer. “Salad is good.”

  “Thanks. Are you worried about Peter?”

  “Yes, honestly. When I left for my last tour, he wasn’t like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Into dressing like this, and hanging out with drag queens and stuff.”