Thirty #2
The dance lasted for about five minutes, during which Mark’s attention was laser-focused on Trojan. But then he offered Trojan some bills, and Trojan stood, joining the others for a bow before heading offstage. Mark looked down at his drink. And then turned in his seat, as if he intended to get up.
“Shit shit shit, where is she?” Joan hissed.
Mark caught the server’s eye and signaled for a check. He then proceeded to pat down his pockets, as if looking for something.
“I’m going to have a heart attack,” Frances said. “He can’t go yet. We don’t know where she is!”
The dancers came back onstage, this time in police uniforms. They were playing to the crowd, encouraging touches, twirling handcuffs, and threatening arrest for salacious infractions. Joan stood up as they began to dance. “Trojan!”
He tried to ignore her, but Joan was practically crawling onto the stage. She held up several bills—the roll Frances had given her was about half the size it had been when she’d first removed it.
“One more time. Please!” Joan said.
“Fine,” Trojan said, thrusting his pelvis forward to receive the bills. “But this is the last time. I’ve got other customers, babe.”
“I think he’s looking for his keys,” Marcy said frantically.
Joan shoved the bills into Trojan’s pouch with such force that Trojan winced. “Easy, babe.” He went across the stage, ripping open his shirt, then ripping off his police pants to reveal—no surprise—nothing but the G-string underneath. He squatted down before Mark.
Mark shook his head and held up a hand, as if he’d had enough.
“No!” Joan cried. So loud, as it happened, that one of the drag queens next to them turned to look at her. “What’s the matter, love?”
“That’s … that’s my friend. I’m trying to give him a … gift. Right, a gift! But he’s shy.”
The drag queen followed Joan’s pointed finger. “We can’t have that.” The drag queen stood up. “Come on, big boy! Don’t be shy!” she shouted. “Enjoy yourself!”
The drag queen’s companions figured out what was going on and joined the chorus, banging on the stage, cat-calling Mark Wachtel.
Mark looked startled by the attention. And terribly embarrassed, if Edie was reading the big guy right.
But now half the bar was calling for him to accept the attention of Trojan, who, by the look of it, was enjoying this turn of events very much.
His movements grew more suggestive until he was practically mimicking oral sex in Mark’s face.
He put his hand out to Mark. With the encouragement of the crowd, he coaxed the big man onto the stage.
Mark tried to resist, but the peer pressure was too much for him.
He went stiffly, his head down, and sat uneasily in the chair while Trojan danced around him, his body undulating and stroking Mark’s in various suggestive ways, all the while dangling handcuffs over Mark’s head. The crowd howled with approval.
Edie still could not see Irene. She looked at Frances, who shook her head. Her heart was beating out of her chest. Irene had been caught, she was certain of it.
It wasn’t long before shy Mark had had enough. He shook his head and came off the stage. He grabbed his jacket and threw some bills on the table. He patted himself down again, looked around, then bent down, picking something up off the floor before heading for the exit.
Joan pressed her hand to her abdomen. “I can’t breathe.”
“Neither can I,” Edie agreed as she frantically searched the crowd.
“Shouldn’t we look for her? Shouldn’t we help?” Marcy asked.
“No,” Frances said. “If she’s caught, we can’t risk the rest of us being caught.”
“We can’t just leave her!” Marcy cried, and moved to stand, as if she meant to go and find Irene.
Frances grabbed her arm. “Listen to me. We never go back. We all agree, if they get one of us, they won’t get all of us. Do you understand?”
Marcy blinked. She looked toward the exit.
“Sit, Marcy,” Edie said sternly. She hated the rule, but it was a steadfast rule they all agreed was necessary.
Marcy sat, but it was clear she didn’t approve. They watched Mark make his way to the door and go out.
They turned back to the stage, uncertain what to do next. Edie’s thoughts were racing ahead, how they might get Irene out of jail and make a run for it.
“Why all the glum looks?”
Irene popped up, seemingly from nowhere, smiling like a Cheshire cat, startling Edie enough that she yelped.
“Oh my God,” Joan said, a hand going to her heart. “Did you get it?”
Irene held up a USB drive. “Not only did I get it, but I was also able to put some mirroring software on his computer. Now everything that happens comes to my burner phone.”
“Are you kidding?” Frances asked breathlessly. “Did we just pull that off? I’m sincerely asking because I think I might have passed out for a little bit.”
Irene laughed. “Well, I just pulled it off. But yeah, we’re in. And now, I need a drink.”
Edie called the server over and ordered a round of shots. And because they’d been so helpful, shots for their new friends, the drag queens. Trixie Bish, the one who’d been most helpful, asked about the occasion.
“Our friends here just got married,” Edie said giddily. “We’re celebrating!”
“No way!” Trixie cried. “That’s amazing!”
“And I have party favors,” Joan added. From her purse she pulled a plastic bag filled with homemade pink gummies. “Congratulations to us.”
“Congratulations to us,” Trixie corrected, and gingerly extracted one of the gummies Joan offered.
And so the party began. For Edie, it felt more than just relief that Irene had not been caught.
It felt like they were celebrating a marriage, but also a friendship.
And freedom. And age. This party had all the feel of a swan song—four women, molded by circumstance and trauma, together again after all these years, for one last time around the block for old times’ sake.
She was probably being overly sentimental, which would surprise no one, seeing as how she was drunk and high.
(What had happened to her? She hadn’t gone near any substance for years and suddenly she was high every night.) But she didn’t realize just how drunk until she allowed Trojan to pull her onstage to dance with him. Oh, but Edie danced.
She danced like she was in her twenties again, with no thought of yesterday or tomorrow.
She danced with love and joy exploding in her when Joan and Irene joined her onstage.
And then Marcy with Trixie Bish. And there was Frances, her feet propped on the edge of the stage, smiling as if she was watching her children.
It was weird, ending up in this dive bar, drunk and high and old all at the same time.
Wearing sensible shoes and elastic, no less!
She was so far removed from the life she’d curated.
So far removed from the woman she’d forced herself to become.
Tonight, she was the Edith Smith she’d been in the beginning.
It was one of the best nights of Edie’s life.
It was perfect.