I felt him pull me up. I almost stumbled, but was able to catch myself when I took the step. I was turned around, unsure of where we were in the club. We weren’t in the Lair. Maybe we were out on the back patio where we’d—
Helena spoke from right next to me. She said, “Three. Two. One.”
The blindfold was ripped off of me.
The world exploded in color as strobe lights flashed.
The large crowd of people in front of us screamed.
I screamed along with them because I was unsure of what was going on and was convinced I was about to get attacked by a mob.
The people stopped screaming.
I kept on screaming.
Eventually, it died down, the sounds of my voice echoing around the main dance floor of Jack It.
Helena was staring at me in horror.
“What the fuck was that?” she growled at me.
I sniffed delicately. “I was just practicing for my role as a plucky sorority girl who finds herself embroiled in the snare of a psychopathic killer who likes to hit people in the back of the head with a sledgehammer. Ask me what it’s called.”
And because she couldn’t not, Helena asked, “What’s it called?” even as I could tell she was hating herself for playing along.
“Donkey Punch,” I said promptly. Then, “Hey, I know most of the people here.”
And I did. There were coworkers, family members, friends, people from the bar, homo jocks, the furries I’d randomly made friends with before Vince when I wondered if I’d wanted to dress as a wolf and have sex with a man dressed as a tiger (spoiler: I didn’t), the motorcycle club known as the Dairy Queens, the lesbian book club called the Rug Punchers I’d accidentally joined and proceeded to read really terrible Virginia Woolf poetry, some of Sandy/Helena’s previous one-night stands, a cadre of twinks I was sure Darren had plowed through, and Mike, the owner of Jack It, standing near the bar, looking as oily as usual, his comb-over doing nothing to hide the fact that he’d been thrust into middle age kicking and screaming, but for some reason, still managed to jerk off twenty-year-olds in the back room who thought it was part of the go-go boy auditions.
“Whoa,” I said as I immediately posed because I was too legit to quit. “Hey guys. Sexy Paul is here. You’re welcome.”
People cheered at that. Of course they did. I was amazing.
“Jesus Christ,” Helena muttered. “I did this.” But then she put on her Queen’s smile, painted lips stretched wide, baring her teeth. She brought her bedazzled microphone up to her lips. “Hello, boys and girls. I hope today finds you having done something… naughty.”
The crowd screamed in response.
I struck another pose, because Jager was my best friend.
“We’re here,” Helena continued, “because we are celebrating the unholy matrimony between two very important men in my life. You see, once upon a time, in this very room, the sweetest boy in all the world stood right up there in that balcony where Charlie and Corey are and looked down to see the homo jock of his dreams. Charlie, dearest, do you remember that day?”
The crowd turned to look up at Daddy and Corey.
“I do,” Daddy said into his own mic. “And if I recall correctly, Paul thought Vince was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. Which meant he wasn’t going to do anything about it at all.”
“That’s right,” Helena said. “I remember that. And didn’t the homo jock have a shot sent up to Paul, one which Paul promptly drank and then spit over the balcony onto said homo jock?”
The crowd laughed.
I did some lunges, my hands on my hips.
“He did,” Charlie said, sounding amused. “And that could have been the end of it, since Paul didn’t have any idea as to what he was worth.”
“We all knew, though, didn’t we?” Helena asked.
The crowd roared in response, even though I was sure at least half of them had no idea what Helena and Charlie were talking about.
“We knew,” Charlie said. “And then Paul had to go and hit him with his car—”