Chapter 4 #3
I sat on a stool, my eyes scanning the dimly lit room. Jazz drifted from the corner stage, where a performer, dazzling in
a sequined dress, captivated the crowd. Their movements were exaggerated, grandiose, as though every sway and twirl was meant
to defy the laws of gravity. The crowd roared with applause and laughter, their voices swelling with the rhythm of the performance.
“There is . . . a man dressed as a woman?” I said, my voice hushed, in awe, as I watched the performer glide across the stage, their heels clicking against the black wood.
Jay laughed—a soft, musical sound. With a smooth spin, he turned his stool to face me, his eyes glowing with curiosity. “Have
you never heard of a female impersonator before?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think I have.”
Jay raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Where are you from?”
“Oklahoma.”
He snickered, like it was amusing. “Well, that explains it.”
Strange as it was, I liked that he laughed. There was something comforting in it—like my past could be as light as a joke.
The performer onstage continued their dance, their long, frilly gown shimmering like starlight. Their eyelids glittered with
powder; their lips were painted red.
“So, this is normal in New York?” I asked, my voice softer now. “For men to dress as ladies?”
Jay’s eyes didn’t leave the stage. “Not everywhere, but here it is. The Green Light has drag shows every Thursday. It’s where
the men dress up as women, and vice versa. I guess you could say it invites people of the queer variety.”
“Queer as in strange?” I asked, trying to make sense of it.
Jay nodded toward a booth at the far end of the room, where two men sat across from each other.
They were speaking quietly, their hands grazing on the table.
They were intimate—too intimate to be just friends.
I could hardly fathom the sight, yet it made my stomach churn with both fascination and discomfort.
No one seemed to mind. Everyone else went on with their drinks and laughter, as if the sight was normal.
“Yes, strange indeed,” Jay said. “It’s become attractive to artists and vaudevillians of all sorts. People like the places
that let them be free and loose. It’s why my father gives donations to the owner every year.”
I glanced around again, taking it all in—the expensive chairs, the ornate wooden bar where people in fine suits sat with people
in dresses, the plush curtains that separated different parts of the room. The air was thick with freedom and rebellion.
The waiter appeared with our drinks in hand—two delicate, triangular glasses.
Jay slid one toward me with a smile.
“For me?” I sniffed the glass, and a sharp, chemical scent hit me—something faintly like nail polish. “What is it?”
“Gin and soda,” Jay said, casually.
“Gin?” I gasped. “That’s . . . that’s alcoholic! They serve alcohol here?”
“Shh!” Jay whispered, leaning in a little closer, his smile playful. “Yes.”
“Isn’t that . . . illegal?” My words were hushed, like saying it too loud would get us caught.
“This is why we don’t scream about it. We just drink it in private.” He took a swig of his own drink, his face twisting a
little at the sharp taste. “What do you know about mixology?”
I shook my head, the word unfamiliar. “Is that some sort of science? I never made it past tech.”
Jay grinned, waiting for the waiter to turn his back before he quickly reached over the counter and pulled out two glass bottles—one clear, the other dark. He left the bar, vanishing behind a long burgundy curtain, and motioned for me to follow.
I met him where he was. He poured something and then handed me a glass.
“Try it,” he said, his voice lowered now, like he was letting me in on some secret. “I find a little juice gives it some added
sweetness.”
I eyed the drink skeptically. “Surely, I can’t try this.”
“Why’s that?” Jay asked.
“Liquor makes people stupid!” I whispered. “And you stole it!”
Jay laughed at my reaction. This posh boy with his perfectly pressed shirt, his charming smile . . . a drink thief? What was
this? I had no idea what was real anymore.
“I couldn’t possibly have stolen it,” Jay said. “Did you miss the part about this juice joint thriving by the power of my
father’s money? And who says liquor makes people stupid? I drink it and I’m quite smart.”
“My grandmother,” I said, and realized a moment later how it sounded. Who brings up their grandmother at a juice joint?
Jay took a sip of the drink and shook his head with pleasure. “More sweetness for me!”
Okay, he was out of his mind, so my weirdness blended in, in a way. Half of me liked it, and half of me was afraid I’d get
myself killed by being with him any longer.
“I hate to run off,” I said. “But I should be finding my cousin.”
“Of course. That is what you came to do—my apologies for disturbing your stalking mission.”
Stalking? I believe I said spying.
“What’s your name by the way?” Jay asked, before I could retort.
“It’s Nick.”
“I’m Jay.” He held out his hand.
“Of course.” I shook it, my fingers bunching together in his grip. “Nice to meet you, Jay, and to see this place. Who knew
there was such a population of proud cross-dressers in New York?”
“It’s only the beginning of what you’ll find here, friend.”
The word friend . . . well, that struck something in me. It was as if a string in my heart had been out of tune and the sound of that word
made everything musical again.
Jay noticed the pause it gave me. He seemed pleased by it. Again, excitement beat through my chest. I wanted to stay. But
I couldn’t.
I still didn’t know what Daisy was doing—where did she go? Since she’d taken such good care of me upon my arrival in Harlem,
I needed to keep an eye out for her to make sure she wasn’t getting into real danger. It’s the least I could do. And that
responsibility couldn’t live side by side with becoming a patron of a juice joint, of all places!
I averted my eyes from Jay, gave a slight wave, and turned to go on about my night.