Forty-Six
Saturday
The day of the Winter Will Never End Festival dawned cloudless and springlike. For the first time in almost four months, the
cap of gray clouds over the Treasure Valley had disappeared to reveal a deep dazzling sky. I should’ve been elated. But after
so much bleakness for so long, the bright blue above disoriented me. By two o’clock it was warm enough for shorts, and even
though I wished I knew where Connor’s body had disappeared to, for now I was just relieved it wasn’t thawing out in my yard.
In the park in front of the domed Idaho State Capitol, ice sculptures of yetis and pine trees dripped dramatically. A hydraulic
pump pulled snowboarders and skiers at lightning speed so they could launch off a rapidly melting snow ramp. In the Kids’
Tent, volunteers put their face-painting skills to work turning sweaty children into snow leopards and ice crystals. It was
a small town doing its best to celebrate big.
When I’d called Layna the night before for babysitter ideas, she’d hooked me up with a pal’s daughter. Alma was a senior at
Boise State who was more than fine with being paid with a gift card to Ruby Lou boutique I’d bought for my mom but hadn’t
had the chance to give her. She’d shown up ten minutes early with tiaras from the Dollar Store. For the twins, it was love
at first sight. The three of them told me not to hurry home.
At the northwest corner of the park, I met up with Nate, Agent Mozzarella (who’d gotten an ill-advised spray tan and now looked more like Agent Cheddar), and several of their colleagues in SWAT vests and ATF T-shirts.
I told myself my impending set—not Nate’s proximity—was the cause of my rapid heartbeat.
He glanced at me shyly. “I guess we’re really doing this?”
“I’m not wearing velour pole shorts under my jeans for nothing,” I said.
“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 words Cheyenne’s Sentient Strippers hung 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 the Mash 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!”