âYouâre beautiful, sweethearts! Brianna thanks you for coming tonight. And if you havenât come yet, thereâs always later!â
The performer blowing extravagant, double-handed kisses from the red-curtained stage would have been a stunning woman if she were a woman: large dark eyes with heavy lashes, delicate features, plump and roseate lips. Her hair was a wild, piled-high stack of scarlet, her gown built from chips of orange flame, sequins flashing as she kicked a long leg from the thigh-high slit, the slender ankle ending in a glittery, sling-back stiletto heel.
âYou go, girl!â someone called, and the crowd roared approval as the sound system played the signature sign-off, Elton Johnâs âThe Bitch is Backâ. Brianna Cass â né Brian Caswell â winked to the crowd and ran caressing hands down the deep-cut décolletage of the gown to cup breasts built of neoprene foam. Her eyes widened in mock surprise.
âI think they love you! Theyâve grown a full size tonight!â
Raw, raucous laughter and good-natured catcalls accompanied Briannaâs stage-step descent into an adoring crowd of gay men, the air a mix of alcohol, cologne and pot. Brianna flamboyantly sashayed to a large table beneath the stage. Someone handed her a Japanese fan, and she sat, fanning herself as laughing men clamored to buy her drinks.
âHey, waiter. Hey!â
Alone at a tiny table in the corner of the shadowed club, Debro waved his hand to catch a serverâs eye, but the waiter ignored him to take orders from a quartet of fortyish queens partying in a nearby booth. Debroâs table initially had three chairs, but heâd pushed two to another table. He had things to do and tablemates couldnât be allowed.
The waiter took the queensâ orders and angled toward the bar.
âHey, you,â Debro called. âWaiter!â Debro hated to yell â it garnered attention, which caused his invisibility to falter â but now that Brianna had finished her ridiculous, mocking act, he had to move fast.
âWaiter!â
The waiter looked toward Debro, sighed, walked over. âYaas, do you need zomething?â he said in a faux accent, nose in the air. For a split second Debro imagined punching the manâs face and raping him on the floor of the nightclub. Instead, Debro nodded to Brianna, surrounded by well-wishers.
âWhatâs Briannaâs favorite drink?â
The twink gave Debro an appraiserâs stare, but Debro knew the waiter could only see himself in the wide mirroring lenses of his outsize sunglasses, the black knit hat pulled almost to the tops of the shades, a turtle-neck tee snugged beneath his chin. It helped make him invisible.
âChom-pine,â the waiter said. âBrianna like zâchom-pine.â
âChampagne? Whatâs her favorite?â
âZâmost expensive, of courz. Creeesh-tal ⦠Two-hondred-eighty dollars.â The waiter barely avoided sneering at Debroâs drink choice: Miller Lite beer.
âBring me a bottle of the stuff,â Debro said, reaching for his wallet. âAnd one of those long champagne glasses.â
The server regarded Debro with new eyes. âA bottle of Creees-tal and a flute, zen?â
âYeah, a flute. Whatever.â
The man bustled away and Debro shot a glance at Brianna, standing and waving at well-wishers before turning for the hall leading to the restroom. âDo you see the bitch, Brother?â Debro whispered into the darkness. âWill Brianna come home with us tonight?â
The waiter returned with the champagne and glass. âDo you vish me to pop zâcork?â
Debro nodded and the man unwrapped the wire and tugged the cork without success. âGoddamn things are impossible,â the man muttered in his real voice, Midwestern nasal, probably Ohio. Debro took the Cristal and his strong hands easily twisted the cork loose, wisps of vapor floating from the bottle. The waiter bowed and backed away, money in hand.
Sitting and sliding the table a foot deeper into the shadows, Debro reached into his jacket for his cell phone. Taped behind it was a tiny vial of amber liquid. His fingernails pried the cap from the vial and he tapped the phone above the flute as the vial emptied. Anyone looking his way saw only a man appearing to send a text.
Brianna re-entered the room, a half-dozen full glasses on her table, gifts from admirers. Her long red nails began doing an eenie-meenie-miney selection of what to drink first.