Chapter 18 Drag #2
“Hello, gorgeous!” Carol Ruby exclaimed with more excitement than I had ever heard in my life. “I can’t believe it: the most handsome King Beneath Lutesse is here to see my little variety show. I’m flattered.”
Carol Ruby had deep brown skin and wore a tall, gently curling platinum blonde wig.
Her makeup was more over the top than anything we wore on stage at the opera, her lips a ruby red befitting her stage name, her lashes so long they brushed the top of her painted-on brows.
Her dress was pure silver, accentuating an impossibly curvy figure.
“And who did you bring me? Is this the dancer? Or was she a singer? It doesn’t matter, I’ll take you!” Carol was gesticulating wildly as she spoke, showing off perfectly manicured bright red nails.
“This is Seraphina. The dancer and singer,” Ciaran clarified. “Seraphina, this is Carol Ruby, preeminent Drag Mother Beneath Lutesse.” Ciaran introduced us, making sure to over exaggerate the title of Drag Mother.
“Ciaran, you’re making me sound so old!” Carol feigned shock.
She looked to be in her fifties, but she had a youthful aura that made her seem younger.
“I’ve been performing here Beneath Lutesse for many years now,” Carol admitted in a stage whisper behind a theatrically held up hand, “but in all my years, my dear Ciaran has never once brought a girl to one of my shows.”
“Oh, I’m not… he didn’t bring me… I mean. We’re just friends.” I was stumbling and fumbling over my words again. Carol, to her credit, just nodded and gave me a knowing tap on the nose.
“Okay, friends, sure.” She winked. I wanted to melt into the floor. “I remember having friends like that.” She chuckled.
“Seraphina is very new to our ways here.” Ciaran cleared his throat and changed the subject. “This is her first drag show.”
“Well, we will be sure to show her a good time,” Carol said.
“You know, Beneath Lutesse is a haven for magic wielders, but it’s been a refuge for queer people as well.
Why, I myself barely have a tiny spark of magic.
But here I am free to be who I am. We are free to love who we love.
We don’t have to worry about being hunted or persecuted.
And for that I’m so grateful. I hope you find a true home here, as I have. We look out for each other.”
“Thank you, Carol. That means a lot. It’s wonderful to meet you.” I was moved by her sentiment. A similar one that I had been hearing all day: we look out for each other. No one had to be this kind and welcoming to me. I was no one. And yet.
“It is wonderful to meet you, darling. Us theatre people have to stick together. We understand each other.” Carol made a gesture linking us together.
“Drag queens are the keepers of our stories, you know. We may look and act like silly clowns, but we’re the ones who record all our histories,” Carol explained.
I nodded. I understood, truly, the need for hope, for art and entertainment.
It could be both serious and playful. That was life, after all. If you were lucky.
“I can’t wait for the show.” I didn’t know what else to say. I looked over at Ciaran, who was watching me intently.
“Honey, I’d love to stay here and chat all night long, but the show must go on!” Carol turned toward Ciaran.
“We’ll see you out there.” He grinned broadly and led me back out into the main area of the speakeasy.
It had become crowded while we spoke with Carol, but we managed to find a spot at a tiny round high-top table overlooking the elevated stage and dance floor in the centre of the space.
The one table that was suspiciously empty.
I suspected this was King Ciaran’s regular spot.
He hadn’t been worried about finding somewhere to sit.
But it was so crowded that we had to sit shoulder to shoulder, and I was keenly aware of every infinitesimal move Ciaran made.
“Is everyone Beneath Lutesse here tonight?” I murmured, scanning the crowd and noting just how many people were crammed into the narrow speakeasy.
“A good number of us are here, yes. Carol is an institution. She’s definitely a local celebrity. You’ll see,” Ciaran responded as the lights dimmed around us. He stretched his arms, casually draping his right arm over the back of my chair. A thrill went through me.
The music started. A jazz band played off to the side of the stage, the bass heavy, drums pounding; the brass was energetic, the piano dynamic.
Carol appeared from backstage and walked with as much charisma as I had ever seen on a stage performer.
The “stage” consisted of a narrow elevated catwalk and a dance floor on the ground in front of it.
Carol was elegant and gregarious. She did a short monologue which was absolutely absurd and hilarious and introduced the first act in the variety show.
There were more comics and musicians, some in drag, some not, all interspersed with Carol Ruby’s hilarious interludes and introductions.
Finally, the dance troupe was introduced.
Ciaran leaned in and whispered that this was Elena’s number.
His breath was hot in my ear, sending a frisson up my spine.
I shifted in my seat, unable to move away from him in the crowded space.
The lights overhead changed from warm yellow to deep red; the music went from upbeat and celebratory to unctuous and slippery.
And then the dancers appeared. There were perhaps fifteen of them, male and female, all of them wearing impossibly high-heeled shoes.
They dragged black chairs behind them as they strutted across the stage, through the audience and into the middle of the floor.
They were all clothed in black, technically, but they were barely covered up, each costume slightly different, showing off the dancer’s uniqueness.
There was not a lick of modesty to be found.
Seff and his father would have been thoroughly scandalized.
The dancing was equally scandalous. I felt my face heating as I watched them writhe and turn, flipping their hair, dancing on the chairs as if they were dancing on a lover’s lap.
It was hypnotizing, and I had never seen anything like it before in my life.
Even the “risqué cabarets” in places like Montmartre were much more tame than this.
Elena was breathtaking. She moved as gracefully as Maren, but the style of dance could not have been more different from the prim and proper ballet I was accustomed to.
Her lush hips undulated, her long legs splayed wide as she rolled across the floor, flipping her hair to the music.
The audience was whistling and cheering along.
No one had any shame, they were all just celebrating the dancers’ movements, their daring nerve, their talent.
The men moved in a way that was just as overtly sexual and feminine.
It was strange to see such a thing; gender roles were being turned on their heads before my eyes.
Heat was leaking from my body and I swore I felt the music in my core.
My body was reacting on instinct: I wanted to try it.
I desperately wanted to try my hand at this style of dance. My feet itched to get up there.
I turned to Ciaran to ask him what he thought of the show so far and found his eyes were already on me, burning into my body.
His tongue flicked over his lower lip as he dragged his eyes up from my torso to my face; his gaze was so intense that I had to look away, back to the dancers.
I cleared my throat and tucked a stray curl behind my ear.
Ciaran shifted in his chair beside me. Neither of us said a word for the rest of the show.
But the rest of the show was just as enthralling: there were more drag queens, more dancing, more comedy, and the whole show closed with a big finale number where Carol Ruby danced in the centre surrounded by the rest of the performers. I clapped and cheered as loud as anyone in the audience.
Once it was over, I felt exhaustion wash over me. Had it really been just this morning that Ciaran had taken me through the catacombs and introduced me to this place? It felt like I’d been here for a week already. My eyes grew heavy, and I told Ciaran I needed to go back to his place.
He agreed and we walked back through the catacombs in silence.
I didn’t know what came next. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do with the pieces that were left in the wake of the wreckage that had been the last few days.
But I did know one thing with certainty.
I was safe here. I was safe to stay and try to figure it out.
And that was something I had to admit I hadn’t felt in a very long time.