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I hope you are doing well. Spring has finally reached the South Plains of West Texas. We have had dust storms, a little bit of rain, some hail, and a few Tornados in the area. Thankfully, no damage where I live.
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Texas Governor Greg Abbott, says he's rescinding statewide mask mandate and capacity limits on businesses. So Lubbock will open back up to 100% capacity on May 10th. What this means for you, reader, I will get to return to my favorite fast food restaurants to be able to have a meal, then stay and work on my book for a few hours as long as my back cooperates. Over the past several months, I haven't been able to find a comfortable position to sit in, so I haven't been writing.
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In my last newsletter, I mentioned I would would be sending out a sample of my current Work in Progress (Hot-Rod Magazine). Several of my author friends have started adding samples to their newsletters.
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Excerpt of Hot-Rod Magazine
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Please keep in mind this is a work in progress and more edits and changes will likely be made before the story is in its final form.
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Okay, so, this may sound like a weird question, but have you ever been surfing your favorite porn sites looking for your next dream boat to share the fantasy when you’re taking care of yourself because you couldn’t hook up with anyone, and actually recognized the guy—or girl, for you ladies out there—that popped up on the screen? Of course, I guess your actual reaction would be determined by who it was, but I do wonder what your reaction would be.
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Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself.
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A few clouds decorated the horizon, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the trees next to the building as I approached my best friend and occasional FB—fuck buddy, in case you didn’t know what that means—Kim Wong’s apartment. Kim was scheduled to sing at Marty’s, our largest local gay bar—okay, so there are only two in town, but Marty’s is the largest—and I had volunteered to pick him up so he wouldn’t have to drive in drag. He hated driving barefoot, and he never could get the hang of the foot feed and brake in the six-inch heels he insisted he had to wear. I had explained to him that there was nothing wrong with wearing his slip-on sneakers until he got to the club, then put on the heels as he got out of the car and leave the sneakers in the car. But he did like to drink, and since I didn’t, he needed a designated driver anyway, so it was a good thing he asked me to pick him up. And since he didn’t look anything like himself when he dressed up, he would never be able to explain to a cop that was indeed him in the picture on his license.
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The variety show didn’t start until nine and it was almost seven-thirty, but he’d ask me to arrive early because he wanted to get to the club in time for one more rehearsal before the show. It wasn’t well known in the small town of Fredricksville, but one of the news anchors, Rory Wells, on our local ABC affiliate, frequented Marty’s and was also one of my FBs. When Marty’s announced the show, Rory talked the club manager, Gerald, into advertising the show on KFVL and talked his boss into videoing it. Mr. Frankfurter—seriously, that’s his name—said he’d send a crew to film it, but they wouldn’t air it live and it would be scheduled for a late-night showing on an upcoming weekend. Although he had performed in drag at Marty’s before, this would be Kim’s first TV appearance and he was extremely nervous. But what surprised me the most was when he opened the door a full three minutes after I rang the bell, he was dressed in a big fluffy pink bathrobe and wore a blond wig with pink cloth curlers in it, lopsided on the top of his head—as though he had just put it on. His oval face was covered in cold cream and he looked like he’d just awakened.
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“Oh, Honey, I’m sorry I’m not ready,” he said. “Come on in. Have a seat.”
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“What’s wrong?” I asked as he closed the door behind me, and I glanced around his living room.
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The apartment wasn’t large, but it wasn’t too small, either. To the left of the front door a breakfast bar separated the living room from the kitchenette. The cabinet and appliances in the kitchen were almond-colored so he’d found three tan barstools to set at the bar. The living room had beige carpet and his overstuffed couch and matching chair with ottoman were covered with tan vinyl. A glass-topped coffee table set in front of the couch and two glass-topped end tables with clear glass lamps with black shades on them, set at each end. Three large round black pillows set on the couch, one on each end and one in the middle. A beige, tan, and black afghan his grandmother had given him, laid neatly across the back at one end. A sofa sized painting, which he said was Abstract Expressionist, hung above the sofa. To me, it looked like someone had spilled some black, brown. and tan paint on a canvas and sold it to him.
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A window next to the door made it difficult to arrange the apartment without something in front of it, and we’d finally figured out that was where the dining room table was supposed to go. But he put an occasional table under it and his computer desk next to the window. A large entertainment center took up the majority of the side wall at the end of the room, flanked by two small artificial sago palms.
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He’d tried to get me to move in with him several times, but that would require an LTR—long term relationship—and although I was looking for that and I loved him dearly, and we were FBs, he wasn’t the one who could fulfill the LTR requirement.
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Kim went passed the breakfast counter and through the hall door—if he turned right, he’d go into the bathroom, if he turned left, his bedroom—I followed as he explained, “I’m a nervous wreck, Quinn. The song I’m singing is the same one I’ve sung a million times at Marty’s, but I’ve never been on TV before. I got home from work and took a long hot bath and didn’t wake up until you rang the doorbell. Now I’m going to be late and not get to rehearse one last time.”
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“You’re perfect and you know it, Kim.” I leaned against the door to the bathroom while he began removing the cold cream from his face. “You’ll do fine. I’m going to video you with my phone, so just think about me videoing you instead of the TV cameras.”
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“So why are you wearing that wig?” I asked, trying to ease the tension.
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“I figured that when I answered the door it would look more natural than my own hair, in case it wasn’t you.”
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“Well, that’s true. But where on earth did you get it?”
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“The same place I got the one I’m wearing tonight. Somewhere online. I just thought it was cool. I might use it in a skit one of these days at the club.”
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“That’d be cool,” I agreed. The club frequently had drag shows so he could do a comedy routine with it. It made sense.
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He finished removing the cold cream and removed his robe. “You might as well go sit down, Quinn. I’m going to take a quick shower then I’ll get dressed and put on my makeup.”
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“Okay.” I noticed all the water hadn’t drained out of the tub yet.
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I closed the bathroom door and sat down on the couch, grabbing the remote off the coffee table. Since I couldn’t find anything interesting on TV, I switched it to The Weather Channel to see the forecast for the weekend, and leaned back, closed my eyes, and listened to the soothing music as they played The Weather on the 8s and the sound of the water in the shower.
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Fredricksville is one of those small college towns in the mid-west where if you’re in high school and aren’t either in a sport or the band, you don’t exist. But if you stay in town and go to college, you can blend into oblivion and no one cares what you did in school. Some people move to town to just go to Midway State College and stick around to get married and settle down and populate the high school with more kids that can either play sports or not exist.
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My older brother, Byron, had been the quarterback in high school, but he didn’t play basketball. I was in drama but didn’t play any sports. Which, normally, would have put me in the ‘I don’t exist’ category, but Miss Winchester always cast me in the lead roles, so I was able to break through that rule and everyone knew me. Therefore, I made sure to stay in the closet in high school.
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Drama had been my favorite subject, so when I graduated, I took Liberal Arts at MSC. Unfortunately, after I graduated, there wasn’t anything to do in that field in Fredricksville, so I found a job doing computer programming in Topeka, which was only sixty miles north of Fredricksville. I was able to work from home and I only had to go to the office in Topeka once a month for a “mandatory” staff meeting. I had missed a few times due to weather over the past two years but was able to video conference in, so I didn’t see any point of going in on the nice days, either. However, it was nice to get out of town and mingle with fellow employees in person, occasionally.
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It had been because of drama that I met Kim Wong. I had gone to the mall one Saturday afternoon and ran into Miss Winchester.
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“Hi, Quinn,” she beamed when she saw me. “I haven’t seen you in forever. How have you been?”
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“Just fine, Miss Winchester,” I said glancing at the handsome man standing next to her. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
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“Sorry, it’s Mrs. Angleton now. Bruce, you remember Quinn Remington. He was always my leading man.”
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“Yes, never missed a play. Nice to meet you,” his blue eyes twinkled as we shook hands.
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“Nice meeting you. Congratulations,” I said remembering he always sat on the front row with her during our performances, but he didn’t attend rehearsals or come backstage afterward.
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“Thanks. I am so glad you’re here, Quinn,” she said. “I’ve got to get some things for a play we’re doing this year and I cannot find a rainbow-colored feather boa. I’ve looked everywhere.”
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Frowning, I said, “I think I know where one is. Come on.”
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I led them around the corner to a store called Special Occasions and she gasped when she followed me into the store.
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“I think we missed this one, Hon,” Bruce said, softly.
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Special Occasions was the best place to find gag gifts, sex toys, games, and a few other things that would make a church lady blush. I had just pulled the last pink, yellow, green, purple, and blue boa off the shelf—it was actually in a box so no one would mess it up playing with it without purchasing it—when a cute young Asian dashed over.
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“I need that. Please let me have it!”
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“What on earth do you need it for?” Mrs. Angleton demanded. “I need it for a play I’m putting on at school.”
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“I’m sorry,” he didn’t take his eyes off the box I held. “I need it for a show I’m doing Friday night at Marty’s. After I’m done with it, I’ll be glad to let you have it. You won’t even have to pay for it. But I’ve got to have it.”
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“Surely they will have some more in stock by the time you need it, Angie,” Bruce frowned at the young man who hadn’t taken his eyes off the plastic box in my hand and was almost drooling over it.
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“Well, that’s true,” she agreed. She took the box from me and led us to the counter.
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“Can you please make sure you have some more of these, I just need one, as soon as possible?”
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The clerk took it from her and scanned it with a hand-held gun. “The truck is supposed to be here Monday. There are four on it.”
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“Oh, thank you,” Mrs. Angleton turned to the young man. “You may have it. We’ll be back Tuesday after school to get one.”
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She frowned at him and led her husband and me out of the store as the young man said, “Thank you so much.”
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Since there wasn’t anything to do in town on weekends, I was generally at Marty’s every week and I didn’t recognize him. I thought I would probably recognize him if he’d been there when I was, so I wondered what kind of show he was planning. Especially if it required a boa. Yes, Marty’s had at least one drag show a month, but I hadn’t seen him in one of them. Maybe he was new in town.
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“Thank you so much for your help, Quinn,” Mrs. Angleton was saying as I glanced back into the store just in time to see him pay for the boa.
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“And I won’t ask how you knew about that store,” Bruce said with a wink.
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“Well, I was going to,” his wife admitted.
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“It’s good seeing you again,” I quickly changed the subject. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing the play.”
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“If you’d like to come help me with the set design, you’re welcome to,” she offered.
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“That’d be fun,” I agreed and handed her a card with my address and phone number on it.
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She’d always let the students do the construction, so I was surprised she offered. They headed toward the front doors of the mall and I turned around just in time to meet the young man coming out of the store.
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“Hi, I’m Quinn Remington.”
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“Hi. Kim Wong,” he replied, shaking my pro-offered hand.
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“So, what are you going to do at Marty’s with a rainbow-colored boa?”
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He let his eyes run over me and made an obvious pass at me. I didn’t jump out of the way of it but didn’t intercept it, either. He was really cute, but more sister material than husband and I was looking for someone a lot more butch than him.
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“I sing,” he admitted when I didn’t react the way he wanted me to and led me toward the food court. “You look a little familiar to me. You go there often?”
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“Pretty much every Friday night,” I admitted. “Not much else to do around here.”
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“I thought so. You look familiar.”
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“How long have you been going? I don’t recognize you.” I decided not to say I remember all the cute guys since he was cute, but I wasn’t attracted to him.
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“About six months.” He stopped in front of a chicken place. “You gonna eat?”
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I glanced at my watch. I hadn’t planned to eat at the mall, but I wasn’t willing to invite him out somewhere and did want to talk to him. Since it was getting close to dinner time, I nodded. “Sure.”
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“Most people don’t recognize me when I sing,” he admitted as we chose a table far enough from the counter where we wouldn’t be overheard talking while we waited for our grilled chicken sandwiches. “The good thing is that my Dad insisted on naming me Kim, even though in America it’s a girl’s name. I got a lot of flak from it growing up in Wichita, but when my best friend, Sylvia—in Wichita—said she thought I’d look cute as a girl, we went to Goodwill and bought me some clothes. She taught me how to dress up and do my makeup. Nobody ever recognizes me when I do. I practiced a lot and can raise and soften my voice without killing myself and I don’t even sound the same.”
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He removed his smartphone from his pocket and, after messing with it for a moment, turned it around to show me a picture of a beautiful young woman dressed in a green backless evening gown that had a choker collar and pleated bust. It fell smooth against her flat stomach to the floor.
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I thought my eyes were going to pop out of their sockets when I realized I had seen this woman sing the past month and thought she was great. I had forgotten she was introduced as Kim Wong. She had done a marvelous job of singing a song she said she’d written.
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“You’re joking,” I gasped. “That’s you?”
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“Yep. In the flesh,” he grinned, his black eyes twinkling at me.
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To be continued in the next newsletter
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I hope you have a great weekend, ,
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Thanks for being a valuable reader and I'll keep you informed.
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