Page 111

A WOMAN’S TOUCH

“Drinking alone?”

I climbed onto my usual stool at the bar. Spectrum had an ebb and flow to it. Tonight, it appeared as if the waters had rescinded. There was only one other person at the far end of the bar, nursing his beer. No DJ. No queens. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was another hole in the wall.

“Yeah. Jason’s watching his kid, and Amanda is busy having phone sex.”

Patrick froze in mid-shake, the tumbler high above his head. His eyebrow inched up his forehead. “Just because I’m your bartender doesn’t mean you need to share everything with me.”

“ That’s where you draw the line?”

Patrick smirked as he continued mixing my cocktail. The man’s body vibrated as he shook the silver cups like his arch-nemesis. When he finished, he cracked them open, pouring the clear liquid into a martini glass. With an orange wedge hanging off the side, he slid it in front of me.

He had always been handsome. The straight bartender in a predominantly gay establishment had a certain mystique to it.

It didn’t help that he’d frequently show up in a leather harness or chaps.

Unlike me, he had a firm stomach, still bearish, but it was obvious one of us did sit-ups. It certainly wasn’t me.

Patrick leaned back, his eyes fixated on me. “Something’s going on.”

I looked down, not understanding the statement. “Nothing’s going on.”

He reached for a white cloth, slinging it over his shoulder. “You know what this means?” He pointed to it as if the answer should be obvious. “This is the official bartender code for ‘Spill your problems.’”

“I’m fine.” Even I wasn’t convinced by my statement.

“The towel knows . You can resist all you want, but I will get the truth out of you. Nobody can outrun the towel.”

I almost laughed, but he crossed his arms, face dead serious.

Was he relying on a stereotype, or did Patrick have some supernatural ability to coax the truth from his patrons?

I wouldn’t be shocked to find out he was a superhero masquerading as a bartender.

By the thickness of his biceps, it might be closer to the truth than I imagined.

“Fine!” I blurted out.

“Nobody resists.” He winked. The towel had won.

“Firefly is supposed to have a carnival, but all our volunteers are going to a baseball game in Boston. Without them… I stupidly told everybody I’d figure out a solution.”

“It’s just a carnival.” I could see the confusion on his face. It took a moment before he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter. “It’s not just a carnival, is it? Does this have to do with a…” I must have given it away. “The guy from my bathroom?”

The heat in my cheeks had me drowning myself in my cocktail. Patrick’s superpowers were impressive indeed.

“His name is Tyler. I met him twenty years ago. We had a kiss under the fireworks and?—”

“You want the reunion to be epic. Now, I’m understanding. Can’t the people in Firefly help?”

“It’s a small town. There aren’t really enough people.”

Patrick’s lips pursed to the side. I don’t think he quite understood how much the men frequenting Spectrum wanted to feel that beard scratch their nether regions. His looks intensified as he brainstormed.

To my side, somebody pulled out a stool and took a seat. I glanced over to see a muscular man with short-cropped hair. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about him looked familiar. The eyebrows? Something about them… I don’t think I had ever admired another man’s eyebrows before.

“Scotch on the rocks.” A deep tenor. He knew exactly what he wanted.

“I know you’ve become a small-town country boy,” Patrick said.

“But you know plenty of people outside of Firefly.” His eyes drifted to the new gentleman as he dropped a sphere of ice into a glass.

Pouring, the man next to me put his finger on the back of the bottle, raising it until the glass filled.

“Good boy.”

“It’s not like I can ask the designers at work. A carnival run by corporate artists? Not exactly a riveting time.”

“I’m offended,” the man said.

Patrick smirked.

The gentleman to my side turned toward me, his glass lifted in the air. “Darling.” Wait. He knew— Oh. My. God. “This is what fairy godmothers are for.”

“Mabel?” I had never seen him out of drag. Without the sequins, accentuated cheekbones, and lashes long enough to create a windstorm, I hadn’t recognized him.

“Always.”

He… they … could have been the cover model for Rugged Weekly . My mind applied the makeup, the wig, the dangerously long fingernails. How could I have not seen it? Gender didn’t matter to Mabel. Either way, they were a stunning human.

“Are you done having a meltdown?”

“I just— I’ve never?—”

“Being fabulous is a curse,” they said. They sipped their whisky, eyes closed as they savored the amber liquid. “What is this I hear about a carnival?”

I filled them in on the details. They nodded along, taking sips as I explained the dilemma. Of course, Patrick added in the details about the fine piece of beef we had all seen at the bar. That’s when Mabel leaned in, taking interest in all the juicy—and naked—details.

“That’s all? Child, please.”

Mabel set the empty glass on the counter, giving it a little shake. Patrick rolled his eyes before adding two fingers of whisky. “Uh huh, dear. Keep pouring. This dilemma is going to require a little extra bite.” They snapped their teeth in my direction. I loved Mabel’s tenacity.

“If this were a fairy tale, you’d be a damsel in distress. Your fairy godmother would swoop and sing a little ditty.” They held up a finger, taking another swig of alcohol. “The woodland creatures would come together and solve all the poor princesses’s problems.”

“Life isn’t a fairy?—”

Mabel pushed a finger pushed against my lips. “Neither of you fine gentlemen could handle Mabel breaking out her magic wand.” Was that a euphemism? “Deary, you best be thankful I’m feeling downright energized right now.”

“Also known as intoxication,” Patrick said.

“Hush, nay-sayer. Your negative vibes aren’t welcome in the queen’s court.”

Mabel set down the drink and reached into their pocket. When the cell phone came out, a single click was made, and they held it to their ear. I’m pretty sure I witnessed a hairless hair flip. You might take Mabel out of the drag, but never the drag out of Mabel.

“We have an emergency.” They eyed me. “A tragic emergency.”

Patrick snickered. Without another word, Mabel set the phone on the table. They returned to sipping their drink, ignoring both me and Patrick. After a minute, I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen.

“Am I missing something?”

“Shh. You can’t expect miracles without giving them time to tuck.”

Tuck?

The tapping started in the back of the bar by the stage.

For a moment, I thought the DJ equipment had turned on.

It turned into clicking, loud enough to fill Spectrum, but it was the vibration that stood out.

Within seconds, I watched the liquid in my drink rippling as if a dinosaur were about to jump out.

“Situations like this require more than one fairy godmother.”

From the door leading to the back of the bar, I spotted a man striking a pose. As he approached, I spotted the stiletto heels. He… they were part of Mabel’s entourage. One turned into two, and then a half-dozen drag queens without makeup or wigs sat at the bar.

“Glitterati Guild, up for a little charity work?”

“Only if this one’s name is charity.” The person on my other side hooked a finger under my chin.

I blushed at the compliment. Mabel was sweet, but six drag queens wouldn’t be enough to fill all the volunteer slots.

Though, the thought of Mabel and their sisters manning the volunteer table left me smiling.

Firefly barely knew what to do with Mabel…

six queens in carnival outfits? Their heads would explode.

“I appreciate it, Mabel. I do. But you’re just?—”

“Just what?” Mabel’s tone didn’t leave room for objects. “Ladies, our adorable man-cub needs a little fairy godmother magic for his carnival. Think we can raise an army?” Mabel took a sip of their drink, giving a quick eyebrow waggle.

“Activate the Glitterati.”

It had been a setup. Each of Mabel’s friends pulled out a cell phone. They didn’t just pull them out; they did it in a sequence. This was another well-rehearsed routine for them. I couldn’t help but chuckle. Mabel wouldn’t waste an opportunity for a dramatic reveal.

Fingernails clacked against screens at lightning speed.

Mabel raised their phone, clicking a single button.

Holding it to their ear, I couldn’t help but smile as their lips pursed.

Between the attitude and mannerisms, there was no doubt who I watched.

Mabel wasn’t the alter-ego. This was their authentic self.

“Ivy, it’s Mabel. Yes, that Mabel! How many Mabels do you know, girl?

” I could hear screeching on the other end.

“Remember when I did that thing for you that time?” I wish I could hear the other side of this conversation.

“Ivy, I’m calling in my favor.” There were drag shows throughout Portland, and the performers were well-connected. I didn’t expect our Mabel to have pull.

“Thank you,” I mouthed.

“Do the Ladies of Misfortune still have their Halloween costumes from 2017?” Not only was Mabel connected, but they knew the wardrobe of them all. “Good. I’ll text you the details. Consider it a favor repaid.”

When Mabel lowered their phone, each of the Glitterati Guild followed suit. Had they sat around and practiced this? Or were they so tight-knit that they intuitively knew how to put on a performance?

“Girls?” Mabel said.

Phones vibrated and dinged. None of them spoke, instead leaning forward on the bar with smiles stretched across their faces. Mabel waved their hand about as if they held a wand. It ended with them holding my chin.

“Never doubt your fairy godmothers.”