He reached over and patted my shoulder. “I’ll take you home after, if that’s all right with you. Help me sleep better tonight knowing you’re all right.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
He grunted as he went back to fiddling with his camera. It was new, a gift from all of us for his seventy-ninth birthday. He’d told us we didn’t need to fuss over him, but nobody was fooled. We’d all completely ignored the way he wiped his eyes after unwrapping the package because it was the right thing to do. He was proud of it, showing it off whenever he could. “You ready for everyone to get back tomorrow? Must have been nice to have the house to yourself, especially with no school stuff to worry about.”
“It was nice,” I agreed. “But I got over it on the second day. Too quiet.”
“I get that,” he said. Then, “Heard from Nana.”
I groaned. “Oh, Christ. Not you too.”
He held up his hands in placation. “You ain’t gonna hear shit from me. She just asked that I keep an eye on you. Said you seemed down is all.”
I glanced at him before looking back down on the dance floor. The chairs in front of the stage were filled with people drinking and laughing. A queen down from Phoenix was filling in for Helena while Sandy was on his gaycation. She was good but didn’t hold a candle to our resident queen. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are. But it’s okay not to be. You know that, right?”
I knew what he was saying, and the unasked question on his lips. I was Kori today, something I’d woken up feeling. They all thought Kori was a shield, someone I needed when I was feeling out of sorts. They weren’t wrong, exactly, though they all knew better than to bring it up unless I did first. They tried to understand, and I loved them for it. But it was hard to explain why I felt this way. How I could outwardly be two different people. I didn’t think it mattered to them. I was the same on the inside. “Yeah, Daddy. I know.”
“Good. And if you ever need to talk about anything, you can come to me. I might not be as young as I used to be, but I know my way around.”
I laughed. “I bet you do. How’s Robert?”
His cheeks turned pink, tho
ugh I’d never call him out for it. It was adorable how he looked whenever someone brought up Robert Olsen, a dapper man with a cane who Charlie seemed to think hung the moon. “He’s fine,” Charlie muttered, refusing to even glance my way.
“He sure is,” I teased.
His lips twisted into a playful sneer. “Don’t think you’re above me putting you over my knee, girlie. Because I will.” He reached over and tugged on a lock of my hair, which was curled down around my shoulders. “Hair looks nice.”
I rolled my eyes. “If you had any idea what it takes to actually straighten my hair, you’d say it looks more than nice. It’s a process that takes hours.”
He chuckled. “Wouldn’t know much about that. And you’re right. It looks more than nice. Beautiful, even.”
I blushed and looked away. “You old so-and-so. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were sweet on me.”
“You’d know it if I was.”
“Promises, promises,” I said. “You want something to drink? I can go down to the bar and get it.”
He shook his head. “Don’t need to do that. I can have someone come up.”
“What? How?”
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small thin tube. He held it up over the banister in front of us and pressed a button on the side. It was a laser pointer, and it reflected off the glasses in the bar. One of the bartenders, Izaac, turned and grinned. He waved up at us and turned to a shirtless barback, nodding toward the Lair.
“Perks of the job,” Charlie said as he put the laser pointer away. “Stairs aren’t as easy as they used to be. And since Mike is a cheap asshole and won’t buy walkie-talkies for the bar, it’s the next best thing.”
“Such a diva,” I said. “Your knees okay?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes. And so is my heart. And my blood pressure. And my prostate, so you don’t need to ask. You all worry too much.”
“I’m glad to hear that about your prostate. I’m sure Robert is too, now that I think—”
He held a stubby, thick finger up in warning. “One more word outta you and I’ll give you a spanking like you wouldn’t believe.”
Before I could reply “Oh, I believe it,” the door to the Queen’s Lair opened and a muscle twink appeared, holding a tray. He looked like every other eighteen-year-old Mike hired. Very specific taste, that one. It was like he had a factory that put out skinny white boys at an alarming rate. The twink’s jeans were slung low on his hips, and you could see the top of his pubes. He had a tribal tattoo on his arm, and I despaired greatly over the future of the gays.