Last Olive Bistro ✓

Chapter 10: Drag

My face burned red and I hoped he might think it was just because of the summer heat. Here was this bourbon-drinking, Bentley-driving, drop-dead handsome man telling me that I was attractive; who was I?

"Really?," I asked, bashful and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

He found my reaction amusing and my anxiety wasn't sure if he was taking me seriously or not.

"Would you like to have dinner sometime?" he asked.

While I wanted to scream yes to the heavens, a part of me condemned his offer. It put me in an awkward situation; that ring on his finger might as well have been up against my eyeball. There was no way in hell I'd date a married man.

"I—I'm not sure. I'm sorry Jacob, but—" I gestured towards his left hand.

He glanced down and slowly lifted his hand. He understood what I implied, then said, "This isn't anything. It hasn't been for a long time."

My annoyance heightened over his cryptic explanation and the alluring mystery of him was beginning to wear off. "What is it then?"

He lowered his hand. "I'm not married anymore."

It took every bit of strength not to roll my eyes. I breathed out, trying to control my impulsive response. "I've heard that one before."

In my short experience navigating the NYC dating scene, I encountered married men trying to hook up with other women. It was a big enough metro to get lost in, but in my opinion, it still took guts not to get caught. Plus, it was downright wrong. Once in the middle of a lunch date, the guy broke the "I'm in the middle of a divorce" news. I didn't know he was ever married in the first place.

A tinge of disappointment flashed over Jacob's face, but I wouldn't buy whatever reasoning he concocted in his mind.

"I have plans tonight," I told him, then got up. There wasn't a reason for me to stick around anymore; it was too uncomfortable. "I'll see you sometime."

"Wait, Chloe."

I waited, but didn't bother to look back at him.

"I meant, my wife's dead."

~ ~ ~

I rushed to finish my make-up, but knew that no matter what, I could never match the elaborate looks I expected from the performers that night.

"Are you ready yet? This is the first time that I'm done before you!" Rory yelled from by the front door. "I have to be there early!"

"Almost!" I added an extra coat of mascara to my fake lashes and painstakingly held back a sneeze. Finally, I slipped on my strappy platforms and hobbled out to meet up with Rory.

"About time, sister."

We hopped on the subway towards uptown and walked the rest of the way to the small club. It was only a block, but long enough for me to regret not wearing comfortable shoes and changing upon arrival.

The club was already filled with drinking patrons. We headed backstage where I could wait until Morgan texted me when she got there. Of course Attorney Tom needed her for a late meeting that afternoon.

The performers were just starting to apply their makeup. Their costumes hung along the walls and were draped over chairs; the sparkling dresses and bodysuits shined in every color imaginable. Champagne bubbled over in flutes along their vanity lineups, and their laughter rang out from the effects of the sparkling wine, even above the bumping music.

Rory led me to his space in the back where the background models prepped. Most of them were young like us, stagnant in front of the mirrors, applying makeup as if it were the most important night of their lives.

"I can't believe your last drag show was back in high school," Rory said as he unpacked his make-up case. He laid down a clean towel and set out his brushes.

"Me neither. I wanted to go to more but life got in the way." I waited a few seconds for Rory to remark about my past, but he didn't. Tonight wasn't the night for such a heavy topic.

"What counts is that you're here now and I'm so grateful you are," he said. We wrapped each other in a long hug. "Love you, Clo."

"Love you too, for everything" I replied, laughing at how tightly he squeezed me.

We pulled apart slowly. "You've always accepted me for me."

A moment of silence fell between us and I thought back to the difficult times Rory had in high school; it was hell for him. The worst people should have been the bullies, the members of the football team—wannabe macho guys who felt empowered by mentally knocking others down—but it was the school administration who turned a blind eye to the problems. They were the real bullies.

One day after school, I caught him with a busted lip and a black eye. He swore it was an accident—that he fell and landed face first into his massive history textbook, but I knew him better; he sucked at lying and he wasn't clumsy. We got to his home and he burst into tears. We didn't say much that evening; we held each other for comfort. He wasn't like a brother—he was my brother, in my mind.

I playfully pinched his cheek to lighten the mood back up. Then, my phone buzzed with a new text from Morgan.

"Morgan's here. Do you need my help getting ready?"

He unzipped his outfit from the dust bag and hung it neatly beside the vanity. "Nope, you get out there and get ready for the best damn drag show you've ever seen."

~ ~ ~

The show was the best fun I had in years and I regretted not attending them more often. The energy from the crowd was electric with boisterous cheers and hooting for all the performers. Rory looked his happiest, and for me, seeing him smile to the point of tears was the best part of the show.

"You killed it!" I squealed as the three of us strode towards the subway.

"You fucking killed it," Morgan chimed in.

"Thanks. Everyone was insanely great. Did you enjoy the whole show?"

I squeezed his arm. "I enjoyed every minute. God, I wish I had that kind of confidence."

"It's in you, we just need to bring it out. If only you'd let me!"

We laughed and I made a mental note to let Rory finally do his personality makeover on me. As we got to the subway station, I felt my phone buzz inside my clutch. A gut feeling told me who it was probably from.

I waited until we were seated to check my phone. It wasn't Angela looking to ruin my night.

"I'm glad we talked today. Will be seeing you again at the Last Olive soon."

I lamented over giving Jacob my number earlier that day. At the moment, I felt sorry that he lost his wife from a sudden stroke more than a decade ago. Apparently, perfectly healthy people can unexpectedly drop over. He seemed genuine about the story—nothing was projecting on my bullshit radar. While I was alright to form a connection with him, I was hesitant to let down my guard. I'd been betrayed in the past, and I didn't want to be a fool again.