An aging queen returns to her old stomping ground for a final hurrah and is joined by someone starting their journey.

---

A man sitting at the bar whispered to his friends, “Is that Krystal Palace?”

“I think so…”
“She looks … different.”

Waves followed Krystal as she walked through the bar. “Hello darlings…” She called everybody darling.

“It’s been too long.” A big man kissed her on the cheek. “You look great.”

Krystal didn’t have to be a mind reader to know the man was lying. She had logged too many miles over too many years to look good in a simple outfit of jeans and a cotton blouse but she took the compliment anyway.

“Thanks darling.”

Hangers dangled from Krystal’s right hand. In her left was an old makeup kit and several pairs of shoes.

“I reserved your favorite dressing room.”

“Thanks.”

The dressing room was empty when Krystal arrived. A small bouquet of flowers sat on the middle chair. The card read, ‘To our Stonewall Queen.’

It didn’t seem possible, it had been fifty years since 1969. So many faces forgotten. It had been so long she wondered if the mirror recognized the face looking back. Of course she’d had other changes too. Krystal wrung her hands. It was not enough for her fingers to ache. They had started to look like wrinkled gloves.

She opened the makeup kit and began lining up her tools. A look at the door showed several eyes peeping through the frame. Once upon a time she hadn’t minded the stares. Tonight, they’d started when she’d entered the place, a small crowd gathered to see an oddity from the past.

Who was she trying to fool?

The simple outfit she wore hid a body approaching seventy-years-old. There would be no hiding when she went on stage. The stage had a way of exposing a person, making them naked for all to see. At least the costume fit. Many girls her age couldn’t claim the same. Krystal lit a cigarette.

Organizing her makeup took longer than expected. She called it quits on the items in this heavy makeup case a long time ago but it hadn’t been so long she’d forgotten how to do it. The creamy orange foundation made her look like she was auditioning for a circus. A lesser queen might have let the wrinkles get her down but not Krystal Palace.

Krystal smiled at the image staring back, hoping to bolster her confidence.

Confidence was something she had in abundance the last time she’d played here. Perhaps things might have turned out different if she’d had a little less confidence but it’s easy to get used to playing to packed houses with adoring eyes. Of course those days were a long time ago.

She was surprised anyone remembered her at all.

She had no idea how they found her. Both her name and her body had changed a lot in the intervening years. The simple invitation arrived in the mail, along with a proposed flyer with her face in the middle.

‘50th Anniversary Spectacular starring Stonewall legend Krystal Palace’

An old woman’s vanity should have been enough to turn it down but Krystal had always been too stubborn for her own good.
Her trademark blue eye shadow went on thick and sharp and then came the eyelashes. They needed an extra dab of glue after sitting idle for so long. By the time Krystal finished, she thought her face looked as if she’d been hiding in a coffin the past thirty years.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Krystal didn’t expect the intrusion. Back in the day, few would have dared to be so bold. A look showed a child’s smooth skin stretched over an even skinnier frame. He, she, it … it was hard to be sure … didn’t look a day over eighteen.

“It’s a free country.”

“Thanks.”

When Krystal started most drag queens were either straight transvestites or gay men who fancied clothes. The percentages changed over the years. She’d read increasing numbers of drag queens were transgender like her.

“You on the juice?”

The young queen gave an indecisive shrug. She wore more makeup than you’d usually see from someone trying to fool the street but not nearly enough for the stage. A look at her t-shirt showed potential breast growth.

“If you aren’t, you pass better than I ever did.”

“Thanks.” The young queen’s hands shook as she placed her makeup bag on the counter.

“You need a better outfit. I have an extra that should fit … if you’re interested.”

The young queen didn’t respond.

Krystal asked, “Do you have much stage experience?”

The young queen nodded, “I’ve been around.”

“Of course you have.” Krystal smiled a knowing smile.

The young queen’s voice shook but tried to sound more confident. “It’s my first time at the Palace.”

Krystal nodded, “I’ve danced at lots of places but somehow always seemed to end up back here.” Krystal decided to end the young queen’s torment. She held out her hand in a limp manner she’d adopted as part of her persona a long time ago.

“I’m Krystal.”

It took a moment for the young queen to react and when she did, she leaned forward and planted a small wet kiss on Krystal’s hand.

“I know.” The young queen sounded flustered. “Everyone knows who you are. We’ve spoke of little else for weeks.”

A surge of adrenaline fueled Krystal’s old bones, “Do you have a name?”

“Me? Uhhh … I’m Peter.” Peter reached into a purse and pulled out a wallet.

“I don’t need your ID. I’m not a cop.” Krystal laughed, “Do you use he/him or she/her? I know your generation obsesses about such things.”

Peter said, “She/her if you don’t mind.”

“Interesting.” Krystal said, giving Peter a queer look. “She/her with that name?”

“No … uhhh … Peter isn’t my …” Peter looked flustered. “It’s complicated.”

Krystal nodded, knowing when to stop. “What’s your stage name?”

“I haven’t found one I like.”

“Of course.” Krystal smiled. This queen was young. “Do you know how I got my name?”

Peter shook his head. “No.”

Krystal looked at herself in the mirror, “I received the name Christopher at birth but called myself Kris by the time I moved to New York. The group I hung with anointed me, Krystal Palace, soon after my first time on stage. I hated it.”

“You did?”

Krystal took a drag on her cigarette then re-opened her makeup kit. “Sometimes life doesn’t care what you think.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Krystal shook her head. “You think you know.”

“I suppose.” Peter sighed then pointed at the big poster on the wall. “I can’t believe that is you.”

“Why would you say that?” Krystal said. She knew she’d changed a lot since leaving town. Some of it had been on purpose. The rest had been time. She leaned towards Peter so both faces could be seen in the large mirror. “Doesn’t it look like me?”

“I didn’t mean anything …” Peter shook his head. “… you’re a legend.”

“Ha.” Krystal laughed. A legend. A myth. A fable. She knew as well as anyone the person on the wall died many years ago. Now she felt like the Loch Ness monster on full display, wondering if she knew how to swim.

Peter said, “They’re expecting a full house tonight. Standing room only. I can’t believe the manager is letting me perform.”

Krystal raised an eyebrow. A full house? Forgotten pride flashed as she received another surge of adrenaline. “Standing room only you say?”

“That’s what Mama Rosa said.”

Krystal nodded, “I haven’t heard her name in a long time. Is she still dancing?” Krystal tapped her heels against the dressing room floor. Excitement flooded back.

“Not in years. We all begged her to perform but she refused.”

Krystal laughed, “Rosa never was big on sharing the spotlight.” A look in the mirror showed sagging skin. Crows feet. Age spots. The cruelest irony is it took getting old for people to stop wondering about her gender. Society ignored old people and the decades of hormone shots had done enough that few people noticed.

Krystal lit a fresh cigarette.

The makeup went on thicker. Krystal knew what people expected. Practiced hands knew the way even if they no longer had the same strength. Her next attempt didn’t look so annoying. The incessant tap tap tap of Peter’s feet was a bit too much.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah.” Peter nodded as the tapping stopped. “Did you get nervous when you first started?”

Krystal tried to quiet the butterflies in her stomach. “Oh yeah. I was high most of the 70s but I don’t recommend drugs as a coping mechanism. The longer you use them, the less you like the person staring back. When I first started drag I tried to think of ‘stage me’ and ‘real me’ as two different people.

“Did it work?”

Krystal shook her head. “Not a bit, hence the drugs.” She knew the long painted lines of color on her face would look ridiculous anywhere else. She noticed Peter had barely gotten started.

“At some point I came to accept the truth - this is me. Like it or not.” Krystal tried to recognize the person staring back. It was a mix of the old and the new.

Peter said, “I wish I had your confidence.”

Krystal sighed, then stared at Peter, “Why did you come into my dressing room?”

“It was a mistake,” Peter said, turning away.

Krystal looked at the doorway. A group of gawkers stared from outside. “You know, there’s a back door to this place. I could show you the way.” Krystal said the words loud enough for the people outside to hear.

A few seconds later the manager stuck his head in the dressing room. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Krystal said, her voice brusque.

The manager looked at his watch, “The room outside is getting anxious. The crowd’s ready when you are.”

Krystal sat back in her chair, “It’s going to be some time, darling. You’ve got other queens and the flyer says I’m the main attraction. Put them on and let the crowd stew. You’ll sell more drinks while you wait.”

The manager paused for a moment then looked at Peter. “Why aren't you dressed? You’ve barely started.”

Krystal announced, “She’s going on after me.”

“AFTER YOU???? The manager laughed. She’s never been on our stage before.”

“After me.” Krystal insisted before giving the man a dismissive wave.

The manager turned towards the door, muttering as he left, “Diva queens are the worst…”

Krystal waited until the manager had left the room before speaking in a whisper. “Never let them forget who’s in charge.”

Peter shrugged, “Brad’s an okay dude. There aren’t many like him who’d give a shot to a novice like me on a night like tonight. When I asked to perform, he said the crowd should be the biggest they’ve had in years.”

Krystal took a deep breath, “The man needs to learn to trust his talent. I know when a crowd is ready and a star is never an opening act. I’ve waited thirty years for this. These people can wait thirty minutes.”

Peter nodded, “I think Brad got your point.”

“Did you, Peter? The first person who needs convincing is the performer herself.” Krystal said, almost shouting the words.

“I get it.”

“Good. Now … could you be a dear and close the door?”

Krystal waited for the door to close before letting her blouse drop. The mirrors showed an old woman whose body had seen its share of abuse. Peter didn’t say a word.

“Fifty years is hard on a body.”

Krystal worked a long eyelash into place then tried not to move as the glue dried.

She’d forgotten how nice it was to sit in a dressing room with the door closed. No gossip, no clamor, no expectations of others. It was just her and her accessories as her body fueled itself with adrenaline.

“I can’t believe you were at Stonewall.” Peter spoke in a high octave, a sign of many years spent singing.

“Darling,” she muttered. “Who wasn’t?”

Krystal’s eyes drifted to the mirror and she pushed the second lash down to make sure it held fast.

She explained, “We didn’t have cell phones back then. The papers got one photo the first night. Not many more on the second. Ten years later, everyone claimed to be there.”

So many faces. The few who lived. The many more who’d died. Long-forgotten faces.

“I bet it was wild.”

“It was chaos.” Krystal took a deep breath. She looked at the flowers leaning against the wall with her name on them. Cards containing well wishes filled an adjacent counter. Krystal looked in the mirror. Her complicity in the lies stared back.

“I can’t believe you were really there,” Peter said.

“Expect all of us to be dead by now?” Krystal smiled, allowing herself a brief respite.

A glance at Peter’s hand revealed a flyer. In the other was a pen.

“You want an autograph?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Krystal took the pen. She never understood the fascination with signatures. She never signed her name the same way twice. “If I knew you were so sentimental …” Krystal started to write, almost signing her real name, “... I would have sent you out with the manager.”

Peter said, “You can’t kick me out.”

Krystal laughed. “How do you figure?”

“You told the manager I’m on after you. Doesn’t it mean you’re my opening act? That makes this MY dressing room.”

“Heh. Heh.” Krystral said, grinning at Peter’s sudden burst of confidence. “You’ve got brass, I’ll grant you that. Back in the day no one would have dared to enter my dressing room like you did earlier. Few were brave enough to risk incurring my wrath.”

She smiled at Peter. He looked young. Younger than the scars Krystal accumulated over the years. When Krystal arrived in New York anything seemed possible and for a while, the sky was the limit.

“Is it true you threw the first brick?”

Krystal traced a finger along her chin. It’d been fifty years. Few alive could dispute the claim but it was time someone learned her real story.

“No.” Krystal looked in Peter’s eyes. “I wasn’t there.”

“You weren’t?”

The look on Peter’s face made Krystal feel like she’d kicked a kitten. It would be a lie to say she didn’t take a little joy from it.

Krystal said, “I went with friends on the second night.”

“So you were there during the riots.”

“Yeah…” Krystal took a drag from her cigarette then blew a stream of smoke high into the air.

Peter asked, “Is that when you threw the brick?”

Krystal shook her head. “I never threw a brick. To be honest, I was never much of an athlete. Any brick I tried to throw would have been more dangerous to my friends than the cops.”

“Oh.”

“Disappointed?”

“I’m not. It’s just…”

“… it’s not what you heard.”

“Yeah.”

Krystal took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you one thing … the city was a goddamned oven that day. Everyone was on edge after what happened the previous night.” Krystal paused, “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

Peter’s mouth hung open. He nodded again and again. “Oh my god, yes.”

Krystal smiled. Young people were easily impressed but Peter had tapped her ego. No turning back.

“I moved to New York right after graduating high school. I didn’t know anyone but I’ve always had a knack for finding friends. A couple of them said the police burned down the Stonewall Inn and asked if I wanted to check it out.” Krystal took a deep breath, she swore she could still smell the stink of unwashed bodies on the subway.

“The cops had sent reinforcements but they had no idea what they’d unleashed. There were at least a thousand of us there when I arrived.” Krystal closed her eyes remembering the scenes one by one. “I got separated from my friends at the start. I remember standing in lines with all sorts of different looking people. I remember being shoving around and falling down but we stood up every time. I remember the smell of burning trash.”

Krystal blew a cloud of smoke at Peter. “I saw people throwing things at the cops. So I copied them.”

“You threw a brick.”

“No … no … I told you … I didn’t throw a brick.”

Krystal sat back in her chair, enjoying the pleasure as she drew out the retelling and the memories replayed in her mind.

“I threw a heel. Size eleven. Right at a group of cops. Hit one of them in the goddamn head. Everyone laughed, even his buddies, but that cop wasn’t happy.”

“Ha! Served him right.”

“He tried to grab me but I lost him in the crowd. I was so scared I didn’t stop running until I got home. My feet had so many blisters I couldn’t walk right for a week. I could have died happy right then. People talked about it for weeks. I was eighteen years old and I’d found where I belonged.”

“That’s amazing.”

Krystal nodded, “Stonewall started everything and it wasn’t long until more places opened. New York in the 1970s was amazing. Our community had its own thriving club scene but we also had crossover few could have imagined a decade earlier.

Peter said, “Is it true you sang with Bette?”

“Oh yeah.” Krystal said, her mind two steps ahead, “I was headlining this place and she came to watch me perform. She came to this very dressing room after my first set.”

“Bette was in this room?” Peter touched the chair.

“She said she’d enjoyed my performance.” Krystal said, gaining strength from the memory. “I was a cocky little shit back then so I asked if she wanted to go on stage with me.” Krystal took a drag from her cigarette. A long exhale softened her voice. “Once it got out I’d held my own with Miss M, I owned the bathhouse crowd.”

“Heh … amazing.” Peter asked, “What was it like to be famous?”

“It was heaven, darling. Best feeling in the world.” She could see Peter didn’t understand. “I used to believe it was all there was.”

“You don’t now?”

“Now, I’m just old.” Krystal smiled and patted Peters’s hand. She took a deep breath and picked up her eyeliner. Her hand was steady as she applied it to her eyes.

You make it sound … lonely.”

“Lonely?” Krystal laughed, surprised by the insight of someone so young. “Nobody was bigger than Krystal Palace back then. One of the publicists at a club came up with the brick story and I never bothered to deny it. My public ate it up.”

“None of it bothered you?” Peter asked.

Krystal frowned. She knew what he was getting at, and wanted to take her time before getting there.

Peter said, “You had to know it wouldn’t last forever.”

Krystal's voice shook. “I didn’t have time to think. Night after night, show after show. My first run here lasted six months, and I did it six nights a week. It got bigger every week. I had performances followed by parties every night and I slept all day. We did drugs to get ourselves up and calm ourselves down.”

“What about … you know…”

“Don’t push too hard, darling.” Krystal sighed. “You’ve gotta learn patience.”

Krystal finished her eyeshadow and started on her lipstick before taking another drag from her cigarette. It had been a long time since she could reach the high notes but everyone had a vice and this one weaned her off worse habits she’d picked up back in the day. “I like to think I became braver as my audiences got smaller.”

“You mean the AIDs epidemic.”

Krystal frowned. “We thought we were invincible. We didn’t know our world was about to crash but no act never lasts forever.” Krystal hoped Peter understood what she meant. “For a queen to rule she has to have a kingdom and half of mine died.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“No. You can’t.” Krystal’s eyes took on a far-off look. “My drug dealer, Marco, was the first close friend to die. Darius and Lenny from the bathhouse went next. Soon it was a steady stream. I thought they’d never stop calling off the names.” She stared off into space. “I kept thinking it couldn’t be real. We all did benefits and fundraisers. We thought we could make the world listen. We didn’t understand the hate.” She looked in the mirror.

“We got on the local news a few times. They said we were bringing the community together and they weren’t lying. The GLBT community met at funerals. They were our family reunions.” Her hand trembled, and she left a smudge on her lips. “Sorry.” She laughed. “I never have been good at putting on lipstick.”

Peter said, “It looks good.”

Krystal sighed. “By the end of the 1980s, most clubs saw me as a relic from a time they’d rather forget. Only a few would hire me, mostly to warm up the crowd. I hoped to make a comeback but I was close to the wrong side of forty. It seemed like everyone wanted me to disappear so I did.”

“The rumors say you moved to San Francisco.”

“Something like that.” Krystal nodded. “I had the urge to transition for years but with everything else going on, I kept putting it off. I found a great job out west working as a nurse. The hospital paid for my training and everything else. God knows they needed the help. So I stopped being Krystal and went back to Kris,and then Kristine. I haven’t been on a stage since I left.”

Krystal didn’t speak. It felt good to tell someone. She never told anyone at the hospital about her life in New York and no one in New York cared enough to try to look her up. Eventually, she had a new name and a new life until the letter arrived in the mail.

Krystal stared at the ceiling as the exposed light bulbs above the mirror made a clicking sound. The sounds of someone singing on stage buzzed in the background until Peter broke the silence.

“I started HRT three months ago.”

“Congratulations.”

Krystal turned and saw Peter’s face had turned white as a ghost. “I thought you might be on the juice. I’ve worked with a lot of girls like you over the years. Working with trangender patients became an unofficial job duty of mine when I worked at the hospital. I suspect that was their plan from the beginning but I didn’t mind. I’d found a new home.”

Peter stared into the mirror. “I haven’t told my parents. They’re going to freak out when I tell them. I’m sure they’ll freak out if they ever hear about me performing but it’s how I’m going to pay for the drugs.”

Krystal transitioned into nurse mode, “Pharmacy drugs or internet drugs?”

“I’m seeing a doctor and a therapist. I have a prescription.”

“Good. How old are you?”

“Just turned nineteen.”

“So you’re an adult. You can do anything you like. Your parents can’t stop you.” Krystal put her hand on Peter’s back. “Do you have a day job?”

Peter nodded, “One of my Dad’s friends got me a job working in an office in midtown. Accounts payable department. Dad wants me to go to college to study finance but I’m not much of a student.”

“I wasn’t either when I graduated from high school. I hate to think where I would have ended up if I hadn’t found work in a place like this.” Krystal looked over Peter’s makeup. Decent fundamentals but horrible execution. Must have a killer set of lungs if management agreed to put her on stage. “Would you like some pointers?”

“Pointers? From Krystal Palace? Hell yeah.” Peter’s fangirl smile sent shivers down Krystal’s back.

“You’ve got decent penciling. The drag gods reward those who put in the work. Next you’ll need to graduate beyond heavy foundation and false eyelashes to find a signature look.” Krystal waited for a response but Peter was all ears.

“Don’t get me wrong. A good foundation is important, but you need to develop a routine.” Krystal dabbed a makeup sponge to even out some uneven spots. “Do you do mascara first? Lipstick last?”

“I’ve been experimenting.”

Krystal shook her head. “The people expect consistency. If you want to work on a new look, do it on your own time.”

Peter nodded, “Won’t the hormones…”

“Hormones aren’t a problem. Drag makeup is dramatic and covers everything. Hormones changes things gradually. I doubt anyone would ever notice much of a difference onstage. You’ve got months before anyone is going to notice in your daily life.”

“I took a picture of my face before I started hormones. It’s starting to look different and my chest is starting to hurt.”

“You’ve got breast buds?”

Peter nodded. “I think so.”

“You either do or you don’t.” Krystal laughed. “There’s no in between. Changes do happen faster when you start young. I waited until later. My breasts looked horrible until I got implants.” And now the implants looked horrible.

“I haven’t told anyone yet,” Peter continued, “I didn’t want anyone to see the difference until I was sure it was going to work.”

“Peter … trust me … HRT always works though maybe not to the degree you want. Have you said anything to your workplace’s HR department?”

“Not yet.”

“You shouldn’t put it off. The wheels in corporate America move slowly and they always overreact whenever someone lets them know they’re transgender. Expect to have meetings galore.”

“I was thinking about quitting. The owner is very conservative.”

“Don’t. If he’s an asshole, make him fire you. At the very least you’ll get a bit of severance and COBRA.”

Peter nodded.

“Have you thought up a new name? Peter isn’t what I’d expect for a girl.”

Peter gave an embarrassed look. “I’ve been trying Petra when I crossdress in front of my friends. It was weird at first but it’s starting to sound normal.”

Krystal asked, “Would you like me to call you Petra?”

“It’s up to you.”

"No … no…” Krystal shook her head. “It’s up to you. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, you don’t get what you ask for, you get what you demand. You can’t expect others to meet you halfway.”

“Call me Petra, then.”

“Petra it is.” Krystal went back to working on Petra’s face, alternating between the sponge, the lipstick, and the mirror.

Hopeful eyes stared up from the mirror. “Petra is a better name than Peter, right?”

“If you say so, darling.” Krystal glanced at the mirror. The changes in shading she’d made to Petra’s makeup transformed her into something wholly different, maybe something with potential.
Petra said, “Don’t you like it?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“So you don’t like it.”

“It’s not …” Krystal looked at Petra in the mirror. “... sorry … I was trying to think of a good stage name for you. What have you been using?”

“I told the manager Petrarch.”

Krystal laughed, “You do know your stage name doesn’t need to include your real name. In fact, and I speak from experience, it is better to use something completely different. Your stage name should say something about you.” Krystal lowered her voice to mimic an announcer introducing an act. “’Next on the stage … Pet-raawr-ccchh’ … hmmm … not as bad as I thought … it’s got a bit of a one word Cher/Prince/Madonna vibe but I think you can do better.”

Petra nodded, “Did they name this place after you?”

“The Palace?”

“Yeah.”

Krystal shrugged. “Is it named after me in a legal sense? No. In a real world sense … you bet your ass it is.”

“You sound pissed.”

“I’m over it. This place was practically my home back in the day and everyone knew. Even after my contract ended, people would show up because they knew I might do a set on a whim. I worked here so much the unofficial name of this place became Krystal’s Palace and when a new owner bought it, he took down the old sign and made it official. I was flattered the first time I saw the name ‘The Palace’ in bold neon nights. I was too dumb to realize he was using me. When times got tough a few years later, I had my lawyer try to get a percentage but the bastard counter-sued. My lawyer said I had a good chance of winning but I didn’t bother.”

“I’m surprised you agreed to come back.”

Krystal gave a sad smile. “The old bastard is long dead and when the new owners contacted me, I saw they were still using the name. I’ve alway been a sucker when people play to my ego.”

“This whole area is re-gentrified. Boomers are paying out the nose for anything with a link to the 1970s. You wouldn’t believe what apartments cost.”

“Oh, I believe it. I had to sell my place in Pacific Heights and move across the bay because I couldn’t keep up with the taxes.”

Petra nodded. “Times change.”

“Yeah.” Krystal nodded back, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

Petra said, “At least things are easier now.”

Krystal shook her head, “Why haven’t you told your parents if things are so easy?” Krystal said. “Just because they let us march in the parade doesn’t mean things have changed as much as you think.”

Petra shook her head, “You believe that?”

“I’ve seen the cycle many times,” Krystal answered, her voice speaking louder than intended. “I can feel the evil bastards laying in wait, building their strength. It builds with every joke comedians tell about us … with every time a politician tells lies about a drag show … and with every religious person claiming we target kids. It’s only a matter of time until we see the backlash.”

“My friends don’t have a problem with my crossdressing,” Petra said. “They like it when I dress up. They enjoy me in a wig and wearing breast forms. Things are different now. People are encouraging us to come out.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Krystal said, “You only know what your friends say to your face. You have no idea what they are saying behind closed doors. Even if they are allies, only a fool should believe they’ll stay strong when asked to pick a side. Will they stand up for you at town hall meetings or picking up their kids after school? I doubt it. It’s easier to stay quiet. Most people don’t have the courage to stand when the bastards come for you and they will come.”

“No way.” Petra said, “We’ve got marriage equality now. Transgender rights. Kids are coming out in middle school. Families are bringing their kids to drag shows. We’ve got too much support.”

“You think we have support.” Krystal shook her head. “We’ve pushed too far, too fast. Go to any Waffle House in middle America and ask them what they think. You only think we’ve won. He/Him, She/Her. The woke left. Men in women’s bathrooms, trannies competing in the Olympics. The supposed thought leaders on the coasts put blinders on us and too many are foolish enough to believe them. When Hollywood puts a trans person in a TV show, do you think everyone will accept it like Will and Grace? These people hate the very sight of us. There’s a blowback coming and it’s going to be fierce. Do you really think these people see you and I the same way as they see gays and lesbians?”

Petra closed her eyes. “There’s a crowd here for a reason.”

Krystal spat her words like venom. “And more than a few are here because they think we’re freaks. They want to see the circus sideshow.”

“Wow.” Petra said, turning towards Krystal. “You’re different than I expected. You’re stuck in the past. You sound like one of them.”

“And you need to grow up.” Krystal’s said, raising her voice. “Do you know how many of us they’ve killed this year? Sixteen so far in this country alone and we’re not even to the halfway point. All dead. These people weren’t hurting anyone, they were just drag queens and transgender folk and the list grows longer every year.”

Petra’s eyes began to water. “Why are you yelling at me?”

“I’m not yelling at you, I'm trying to explain…” Krystal looked into the mirror. Fifty years of anger showed through her makeup. She looked at Petra and saw her tears had turned into a stream.

“Jeezus girl. Don’t cry. You’ll ruin my work.” Krystal stared at Petra. Girls like her were the lucky ones. With the right hormones, in a few years she might be able to pass. Maybe she’d take the coward's way and try to disappear. Krystal couldn’t hold it against her. After all, she’d run away herself.

Petra said, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry.”

“It’s not your fault, Petra. I want you to be ready. You trust too much. It’s like I told you …” Krystal said, “… there’s a cycle. We make some progress, and just when you start to feel comfortable, the bastards take it all back. You can’t trust anyone. Even the people you think are allies can stab you in the back.”

“When did you become so jaded?”

Krystal shrugged, “Life. Every time I hope for better but I’ve always been disappointed. More than a few gays and lesbians from the Stonewall days wanted to exclude us in the push for national organizations. We were there for gay men during the AIDs epidemic and gay politicians like Barney Frank tried to exclude us from ENDA. I’ve lost count of all the friends I’ve lost over the years. And now I’m the last one standing.”

Petra said, “It might be different this time.”

“Maybe. I hope you’re right.” Krystal looked at her watch then took a deep breath. “We need to get dressed before the manager comes back.”

Krystal put on her favorite blue dress and gave Petra the orange. They hurried to put them on.

“Petra, darling,” she called. “Do you think that looks good? Those feathers are molting.”

“I know, I know,” Petra smiled. “I’m working on it. Everything you do is, like, so flawless.”

“It takes practice darling.” Krystal smiled at Petra’s quick mood change. Over the years, she’d found nothing improved her mood faster than putting on a pretty dress. Tired hands worked their magic as the young queen’s outfit came together. “Let me show you a trick.”

“You’re amazing.”

“You need something here.” Krystal wrapped a sash around Petra’s waist and pulled it tight. “Every outfit needs balance. Else, you’ll look like a parade float.”

Petra blinked, wide-eyed. “Wow. You’re like, a genius.”

Genius. Krystal might have believed the word once upon a time. “Don’t worry, darling. You’ll get there if you work at it.” She held the sash for a moment longer, the fabric rough against her fingertips, then let go.

“Is it true you haven’t danced since the 1980s?” Petra said, tilting her head. The feathers on her outfit bounced their response.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve seen videos from back then.”

“Those grainy old things? People weren’t supposed to record the sessions but a few snuck in some Super 8s. I expect there will be hundreds of cameras pointed at me tonight.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No …” Krystal lied, “But I’m not the one who hasn’t told my parents.”

“Shit…” Petra shook her head. “I didn’t think…”

Krystal laughed. “Don’t worry. By the time I’m done fixing you up, even your friends won’t recognize you. Are they here?”

Petra shook her head. “I haven’t told them about drag yet.”

“Interesting.” Krystal smiled. “So you aren’t totally naive. Are you dating anyone?”

Petra shook her head. “I’m figuring things out.”

Krystal nodded, “Sometimes it’s best for people like us to figure ourselves out before involving anyone else.”

“Did you ever get married?”

“I’ve dated.” Krystal laughed, hoping to hide the pain. “I lived with a trans-woman for sixteen years but I should have known better than to trust someone who owned more shoes than I did. We parted ways a few years ago. It wasn’t her fault. I can be a bit … much.”

“Have you been …” Petra hesitated, searching for the right word. “… happy?”

“Sure.” Krystal let the moment stretch to watch Petra’s face. “You remind me of her.”

Petra looked full of hope. “Is it because I brought three pairs of shoes?”

Krystal couldn’t stop a smile. “Never be afraid to take a chance in love, Petra. You’ll end up on the floor more often than not but the scars are worth it.”

Petra nodded, and tried to let the words sink in. She picked up a feather and stuck it in the band holding her hair. “What do you think?”

“It’s perfect.” It was a lie but it was good to see the girl trying to spread her wings.

Petra smiled. “I appreciate your help.”

“Thanks for sitting down with an old lady. It’s been a long time since I had a chance to bore anyone with my stories.”
Petra laughed, “Your stories are anything but boring.”

“Let’s do a final touch up.” Krystal applied makeup with swirling brushstrokes across Petra’s face, the younger person’s skin coming alive with every application. “I think I’m done. What do you think?”

Petra stared at herself in the mirror. “I look amazing.”

“You’ve got the right attitude for the stage. you’re going to do great out there tonight.” Krystal stood up. Somehow the weight of her costume didn’t seem as heavy as she expected.

Petra stared at herself in the mirror. “I’m honored to be your subject.”

A thick red smear the middle of Petra’s face. Krystal handed Petra a napkin. “You need to fix yourself. I’ve always struggled with lipstick.”

Petra took the tube Krystal offered, “Of course.”

Knock … knock … knock

A hand pounded on the door. “Are you ready?” The manager’s voice sounded kinder this time.

“Almost.”

Petra stood up. “Almost? I thought you said we were done.”

“Thanks, darling …” Krystal shook her head. “… but we need one last thing.”

“What’s left?”

“You need a name.”

“I have a name.”

“Petrach isn’t a stage name. I was thinking maybe Poppy Cox?”

“No way. Sounds too sexual.”

“How about Pixie Dust? You’re a tiny little thing.”

“I thought you said it didn’t need to start with P.”

“It doesn’t.” Krystal nodded. “Oh wait … oh my … I’ve got it … it’s perfect. You’re so sweet and innocent. I bet you always make people smile.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.” Krystal said, straightening herself while standing in high heels. She felt tall. Taller now than when she’d entered.

Krystal stared at Petra and tried not to hate the young queen’s optimism. Young people had so much energy. They had so much hope and more of them showed up every year only to be beaten down. Petra would learn the harsh lessons of life soon enough. No need to belabor the point.

Another knock and a frantic looking manager peeked in. “Please say you’re ready…”

It didn’t seem possible. Fifty years gone by in a blink and a new hurricane was building. It would be up to the next generation to face it. Krystal was too old to fight. It was time to pass the torch, time to let go, time to move on. They’d need their own Stonewall but girls like Petra gave her hope.

“Yes, darling.” Krystal nodded. “I’m ready.”

***Epilogue***

Pippa clapped her hands, enjoying the chaos as the rookie dancers ran to their places like a bunch of hungry pups. They wore costumes of every shape and color, most full of sequins and lace.

"Pay attention!" Pippa shouted. Best to let them know who’s boss up front.

The ‘girls’ turned toward her in haphazard fashion. Some had wigs askew, others wore no heels. All wore smiles on their faces.

“When I say we start at 6PM, I mean 6PM. Not 6:01.” A flush of ruffles hurried in from the back of the room. Pippa shook her head. “Come out Stella. I see you hiding back there.”

A queen in pink hurried to the line. “Sorry.”

Pippa didn’t say a word. The routine was the same every time she brought in a new group. They all had the same wide-eyed hunger but lacked the knowledge she could give.

“Who wants to go first?" A dozen hands shot up. Pippa laughed. “Ha! You think you are ready for my stage? Look at yourselves. You are all a bunch of sloppy, disorganized messes. This isn’t a game. None of you are fit to perform at my Palace.”

Two dozen eyes returned a look of disappointment. Good.

“Everyone pair up.” Pippa walked across the stage as the others rushed to find a partner. “Critique your partner's outfit. Do not spare their feelings. Do not leave out a detail. Remember, every flaw you point out is a favor.”

“Yes ma’am.” The group already sounded dispirited. Time to tone it down.

“Say the words together.” Pippa smiled. “Remember, everyone in this room is on the same team.”

Twelve voices shouted as one. “Yes ma’am.”

“Better.”

“Is my makeup okay?”
“You look like a train wreck.”
“Who taught you to put on mascara?”

Pippa stared at the group. One girl had glitter smeared across her cheek. It had some artistic flash but the girl giving advice hated it.

"Remember, girls. The audience will believe whatever you give them. Confidence is more important than being pretty."

Most nodded, drinking in whatever Pippi said. One brave soul raised her hand.

“Yes, Monique?”

“I watched your video with Krystal Palace.”

Pippa nodded. Of course these queens had seen it. Everyone had seen it. Almost a billion views on YouTube over the last ten years. Pippa looked at the rafters. It didn’t seem possible so much time had passed. So much had happened.

“Do you have a point?”

“Yes, ma’am. Umm … ” Monique paused for several seconds, “Were you nervous?”

“Ha ha…” Pippa smiled. “It was my first time on stage. I was fucking terrified. But you saw the video. Krystal was amazing. She made everyone feel at ease, including me. She told stories. She sang as well as a 70-year-old pack-a-day smoker can sing. She even danced a little. She brought me on stage and we sang a couple of duets. She made my career and had the crowd in her hands the entire set. She was a real pro. Like I said, it’s all about attitude.”

Two more hands shot up. Every new group started the same. “Yes?”

“Is it true she threw the first brick at Stonewall?”

“So they say.” Pippi pointed to another girl to change the subject.

“Is it true she gave you your stage name?”

Pippa laughed. “Pippa Mintz. I hated it but didn’t have much of a choice after the video went viral.” The success of the video required a frantic trip home and a not-so-fun coming out party to friends and family.

“Are you friends with her?”

Pippa shook her head. “We only met one time. I heard clubs offered her a lot of money for an encore performance but she was a private person. If it weren’t for the Stonewall reunion, I doubt she would have come back in 2019.”

After the performance, Pippa found Krystal’s makeup case and her outfits in the dressing room. She taped a note to the case.

Darling Pippa,

Thanks for the chat. I’m sure you will put this to good use.

Krystal Palace

Pippa looked up at the updated poster of Krystal Palace hanging from a central position on the wall. Even in her shriveled form, she was larger than life.

Pippa laughed, "You know … the first thing she told me was I needed a better outfit."

Laughter spread through the girls sitting on the floor. Pippa could see they’d relaxed. “There are days when I get ready I can hear Krystal's voice, sounding in my ear. She knew her stuff," Pippa said, her voice softening. "She knew about all the hard parts of life too. Things you kids have no idea about."

The group listened with big eyes, eager to learn.

Monique raised her hand, “I have a question.”

“Go ahead.”

"If it was your first night, how'd you end up on stage with her?"

“Heh … heh.” Pippa smiled. “I barged into her dressing room and asked if I could sit down.”

The group laughed.

“Don’t get any ideas. None of you better try it …” Pippa said with a smile, “... but Krystal taught me a lot in our short time together. I think she learned a lot of lessons over the course of her life and she made the world a better place. Arrived in New York in the 60s, became a legend in the 70s, mourned her friends in the 80s, disappeared in the 90s.”

“Is she dead?”

“I don’t know.” Pippa gave the group a blank stare. She got an email from a burner account a few months after their performance and they traded a few emails. The last message from Krystal said she was volunteering at her old job at the hospital after Covid hit. There’d been no reply since.

Pippa wiped her eyes. “She was right about one thing. This is not a life for anyone who isn’t tough. Many out there would prefer people like us not exist. They want to erase our names and our achievements. They brand us with their lies.”

Every queen in the room nodded. Every one of them had their own stories. He … she … they … all of them had one thing in common. They wanted to perform in the manner of their choosing.

Stella spoke up, “Fuck those guys. We’re not going anywhere.”

Pippa nodded. “Yeah. Fuck those guys.” The last ten years had been tough but it had bright spots. She looked up at Krystal’s poster. It always gave her strength. The next ten years might be harder but she wasn’t about to give up.

“So who’s ready to start working?”

Twelve hands raised at once.

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