Life can be a drag sometimes...

Chapter 2 -- Lonely Forest

Aaron watched me as I worked, eating the rest of his sandwich and lingering over his glass of milk. "So, you going to tell me what happened? You got laid off?"

I shook my head. "Bankruptcy. The marshals actually came in and locked everything up like in an old two-reeler from the Depression. Caught us all by surprise--well, except for the suits in the front office. None of those bastards even showed up today, they knew this would happen but didn't tell any of us. Raelynne's costumes, her white piano, my iMac, tons of stuff that didn't belong to the club--all locked up by the court and we have to fill out claims to get our stuff back along with everyone else the Lewises owe money to."

I hiccupped, trying not to cry again. "The club's gone, Aaron. That moron on the city council and his apeshit District Attorney drove us out of business. Eight years!" Then I did cry.

"Dramatic as hell," he commented.

"Oh, fuck you," I said.

"No thanks," he said, just a bit too quickly, like the whitebread, hetero-straight middle American he really was but with that self-aware ironic twinkle in his eye. I wanted to hit him but I laughed instead, hiccupping again in the middle of my tears. It wasn't his fault, it wasn't anyone's fault probably. Maybe a small Midwestern city just wasn't the right place for a nightclub specializing in drag acts.

We'd done reasonably well. Saturdays at least, Lola's had usually been full, and Fashion Wednesday and Amateur Thursday had gone over well. We had some hot music acts to go with the drag shows and Raelynne had enough talent for any six women, or men. The others varied from strictly comedy to hot stuff. I worked my ass off as stage manager, often ran the lights and sound, held the hands of the girls when they needed it and hadn't been paid my salary in three months.

The city had been after us from the start, trying to get our liquor license, business license or food license revoked. They harassed our customers, they tried to get us on zoning violations, they sent in cop decoys as johns and hookers--we beat them in court time after time and we finally got a $250,000 judgment against them last year for the harassment--but we'd never collected a dime. Five months ago, Jody Lewis, one of the owners, and nearly our second headliner had committed suicide in a messy and public way right in the foyer of the club.

Jody had always had emotional problems but I felt her suicide belonged to those downtown assholes like a wart on an eyelid. Just an ugly fact. Not that they admitted it or even seemed to feel any guilt, in fact, they redoubled their efforts and mentioned the death as one more justification for their jihad on our asses.

Her brothers, Dustin and Russell, hadn't had their hearts in the business. You couldn’t really blame Dusty and Rusty for that, even if I hated that they hadn’t been upfront with us when everything finally went to hell. Suppliers started taking the club to court for non-payment of bills. The restaurant had to close about the time they stopped paying me but we kept drawing crowds on Fridays and Saturdays. Still, you can't run a bar without booze to sell and no club can stay open on just the gate and the sale of beer and sodas two days a week.

I wanted to be mad at someone but I felt too sad to be angry.

Aaron stared at me from across the room with an expression I couldn't read. "What?" I asked. I thought about the fact that I hadn't paid my one-third share of the rent in three months and now I had no hope of doing so until I could find a new job -- a paying job. I'd only paid a third because I did most of the housework and had the smaller bedroom and Aaron got paid a lot more than me, even when I'd been getting semi-regular paychecks.

I felt terrible about the situation and feared that I might say something to start a fight so I could leave without... without him having to tell me to go. My face twisted around my misery and I started to cry again. Maybe I wouldn't have to start the fight, maybe he would. But if I left, where would I go? What little money I'd saved in eight years had already disappeared, eaten up by expenses and "loans" to the girls in my show. And no way could I move back in with my mother.

"Um," he said. He came around the table to me. "Don't get me wrong," he said, "but normally for someone dressed like you I'd be offering a hug." He had a very peculiar expression. "Maybe if you had on that wig and some makeup?"

My sandy brown hair was cut in an androgynous style but it was what I normally walked around with in boy mode. Like any professional drag performer, I kept it short since the reveal at the end is part of the act. Not that I was really a performer but I’d always had dreams. And Aaron had always professed discomfort with any halfway mode.

I wiped my eyes with the heels of my hands. "Are you kidding?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "You probably need a hug, it's just ... awkward." He made a gesture with one arm.

I laughed. "A wig and some makeup?"

"Well, it's just ..." he stopped himself. "I mean, from the neck up, you're still Willie Van Koek, the kid who used to climb my dad's fence to skinny-dip in our pool. I know you're a guy..."

I laughed again, startled. "I was what? Eight years-old?" I hadn't thought of that in probably years; that child I had been seemed almost like someone else.

He nodded. "My dad made sure that one of us was always watching when you snuck over. I was in high school and I kind of resented it." He blushed.

I stared at him.

"I mean, you know, watching out for a little kid who was being a nuisance...." He trailed off.

"You used to watch me swim naked? When I was eight years old?" I said.

"Uh. It wasn't my idea? Nothing sexual in it, hey!" He looked offended. "We knew your dad would likely beat on you if we told, so... but Dad, my dad, didn't think we ought to let you know it was okay, 'cause like it really wasn't." He sighed. "You could have gotten hurt."

I shook my head. "We moved away at the end of that summer. I never knew." The idea of Aaron and the other Packards watching me as I played in the shallow end of their pool disturbed me. That had been a very private experience for me and now my memory of it had to change. "I never knew," I said again.

He nodded. "You never came to any of the pool parties we gave for neighborhood kids, either."

"My dad wouldn't buy me a suit. I wasn't going to show up in underwear..." I trailed off.

My father, a complicated man, loved despite myriad unlovable attributes, had killed himself my last year in high school. I still felt guilty about that some times; he'd committed suicide after... well, after a rather public scandal made my oddities public. It took some time for me to forgive him for that; guilt I could deal with, everyone feels guilty when a parent dies. But I'd come close to hating that sad man and it almost destroyed me. Forgiving him was easier after I forgave myself.

"We figured that," said Aaron. He shrugged. "Then ten years later I went back to school to get my MBA and there you were getting a liberal arts degree at State and needing a roommate...." He trailed off.

"You were the one who needed a roommate," I pointed out. "Your girlfriend had moved out."

He grinned. "She poured Liquid Drano on my clothes. Then she took the teevee, the microwave...." He shook his head, still grinning. "She never could cook like you can, who needs a microwave?"

"Hey, microwaves are good for... some things." I noticed we were still standing close together, my skirt almost brushing against his pants leg. Maybe I could stay while I looked for another job. I could owe Aaron the money, do all the work around the house including the things I hated doing like yardwork and windows and ....

He reached out and touched me. "I'm sorry the club closed."

My arm tingled where his hand had brushed my skin. I sniffed. "Knew it was going to happen for months."

He stayed there within easy reach, looking down at me. Even in my two-inch heels, he stood several inches taller than me. I felt some force between us, one that had existed for some time. I didn't want to discuss that or a lot of other things so I said. "Why are you home so early? Your turn."

He turned half-away from me, maybe looking a bit relieved. "If a tree falls in a lonely forest does it make a sound?"

"Huh? What?"

He smiled. "I quit my job and no one noticed."

Chapter 3 -- Voyage to the Bottom

There went my hope of mooching a place to stay. "You quit your job?" I asked, stunned. I leaned against the counter to keep from falling down; my knees were as weak as canned spaghetti.

He nodded. "Went in to HR and turned in my two week notice. They sent me home early while someone decides whether to waive the notice and just let me have two weeks paid terminal leave. I walked out and no one even said goodbye." He looked like he considered this a notable accomplishment.

"Yikes," I said, knowing I was close to tearing up. Aaron had worked for the national headquarters of the local maker of farm machinery since he'd gotten that MBA. He'd worked his way up to director of inventory services and just a few months before he'd told me he had a shot at a vice-presidency if one opened up. "Why -- why did you quit?"

He sighed. "They ordered a twenty percent staff reduction in my department. I had five vacancies I hadn't been allowed to fill, but still, I'd have to lay off seven people. And I can only think of two I'd really want to get rid of. So I told Hi," Hiram Jacks, his vice-president, "that the first person I wanted to lay-off was me since all the management at our company were just bloated ticks anyway."

"Ouch," I said. Even describing a personal disaster, Aaron could make me smile. Hi Jacks and he went way back and could never really insult each other, however much they pretended to. I couldn't figure out why he looked pleased, though. "I thought you liked your boss and your job?"

"I did," he said. "That's why this cloud has a silver lining."

"I don't get it? We're both out of work and, and ...." I couldn't maintain anymore. I burst into tears and ran for my room. Talk about drama, none of my girls at the club could hold a candle to me.

"Willie," Aaron said softly.

A louder voice wouldn't have reached me. I stopped in the hallway and turned back toward him, his image blurry through my tears.

He hadn't moved, still standing in that open space between the kitchen and the dining room. "When you want to hear the rest, come back," he said, his voice gentle. "It's not all bad."

I either shook my head or nodded. Tears ran down my face as I turned to finish running and hiding in my room.

I took my time and cried myself out. The failure of the club had wrecked all of my plans and hopes and now my only fallback position had crumbled, too. Aaron wouldn't have quit his job without a lily pad already picked out and he had talked of moving out to the coast for years. He must have a job offer out there. It would be a good one, probably, but there would be no place for me.

The only future I could see would be moving back in with my mom and that was no future for either of us. All of the girls from the club were already doubled up or living with their folks, none of them had room for me. And frankly, queens and t-girls just have too much drama in their lives. I didn't have the stamina for that life at the moment, I needed a quiet room somewhere and a job that didn't involve loud music, screaming, drunks, cops, and crossdressed divas.

Which really meant that moving in with Mom was out, too. I love Mom but she had never recovered from my father's suicide. She blamed herself more than me and punished both of us by trying to drink herself to death. She hadn't succeeded yet but she kept on trying. I couldn’t move in and just watche her slowly kill herself.

That left only one thing to do. Jody and my father had already shown me the way.

I felt scared. I lay on the bed clutching the plush tiger Aaron had won for me when we'd gone to the Iowa State Fair. I cuddled the big orange cat-shape and kissed it on its rubbery nose. "I don't want to die," I told the toy. "I don't want to kill myself."

I liked living. I liked cooking and I liked managing details for creative people who had no time or mental agility to do it themselves. I liked being useful.

But what choice did I have?