Advance & Retreat (The Midwest Series #4) - eBook

CHAPTER ONE
NOVEMBER 9, 2013 – LINCOLN PARK, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS


The massive, multi-lined phone on Ricky Chavez’s desk let out a shrill noise as it rang, jolting his attention away from the email he’d been focused on. The light for the front desk lit up when it rang again and he stifled a sigh as he picked up the handset. Some days when that line rang, he dreaded facing whatever problem it was on the other end. Because if they were calling him, it was generally something only he could fix. Which meant it was big.

“Ricky Chavez,” he said as pleasantly as he could manage. “How may I help you?”

“Ricky, you’re needed at the desk,” Cecilia Reeves said.

Oh dear. Something he needed to deal with in person. That was rarely a good sign. “I’ll be right there,” he promised.

After he settled the receiver back in the cradle, he pressed his hands to his eyes as he took a deep breath. He always tried to take a moment to center himself before he interacted with any customer, especially if there was the potential for unpleasantness. It never helped to go into the interaction feeling combative. That turned into an ugly feedback loop of bad energy and nastiness. A calm, rational approach wouldn’t necessarily solve everything, but it might at least prevent the situation from escalating.

He took several deep breaths as he strode from his office, down the hall, and to the reception desk in the lobby of the hotel. He mustered up a pleasant smile, but as he opened his mouth to greet the guest, he realized who it was. A wave of relief washed over him immediately at the sight of a welcome, familiar face.

“Oh! Hello, Mrs. Barker,” Ricky said as his expression widened into a genuine smile. “It’s lovely to see you today.”

The middle-aged woman let out a happy sigh and smiled back. “I’m so glad you’re here today, Ricky.”

Now he knew why Cecilia had asked him to come out. Far from a stressful, contentious encounter with an unhappy guest, this promised to be a very pleasant interaction.

Ricky rested his elbows on the counter of the reception desk, then leaned in. “What can I do for you today?”

“Well, this December is my husband’s and my twentieth anniversary. We met here, you know.”

“I remember you telling me that! At the hotel bar, right?”

“Yes.” Sandra’s cheeks turned faintly pink. “Earl was traveling for work, and I was supposed to meet a date for dinner, but I got stood up.”

“And Earl bought you a drink and swept you off your feet,” Ricky said with a wistful sigh. “Oh, I’ll never forget that story. It’s so romantic.” Ricky had been searching for romance like that his whole adult life. But he was thirty-four years old, and he had yet to find it. Certainly, no one had appeared wanting to sweep him off his feet yet, and any romantic prospects were thin on the ground.

The problem was Ricky was practical. As much as he wanted everlasting love and romantic gestures, he'd always assumed that as a gay man—and a drag queen, at that—it was unlikely to ever happen for him. Which was very disappointing. It was hard enough to find someone who was interested in both sides of who he was, though, much less someone who adored him and wanted to shout it to the world. Frankly, at this point, he’d settle for someone who didn’t resent his drag or fetishize him for it.

Unfortunately, those prospects were equally thin on the ground.

Since Ricky couldn’t easily fix his love life, he’d chosen to throw himself into his work. At least, that was going well. He smiled at Sandra Barker again as she continued to chatter on.

“Of course, this place was the Clark Hotel in those days. And well before your time,” she continued with a little wink.

“Just a bit.” He aimed another smile at her. “So, it’s your anniversary and you need my help. Let me guess. Are you planning a surprise celebration for Earl?”

She clapped her hands together. “You guessed it in one!”

“I assume you’ll want a suite?”

“Well, no. I was hoping I could get the room we stayed in then, actually.”

“I’d be happy to make that happen, but I’m afraid our records don’t go back that far,” he said with a little frown. “Do you remember the room number?”

“Oh, yes. We were in 401. It had a lovely view of the park.”

“Well, that makes it easy,” he said cheerfully. “Now, what dates were you thinking?”

“December 5th, please, if you can.”

He tapped away at his keyboard to see what was available. There was someone booked in 401 already for one of those nights but he could easily swap it for something comparable. With the holidays coming up, they’d be fully booked soon, but at the moment, they still had a few rooms available.

After Ricky pulled up Sandra’s information and made sure everything was taken care of for both her and the guests she’d bumped to another room, he smiled at her. “You are all set to stay in 401. Is there anything else I can do to make your weekend special?”

She leaned in. “Well, I was wondering if the chef could prepare the meal we ate that night.”

“I’m quite sure something could be arranged. We've had several executive chefs since then, so I can't guarantee that the flavors will be exactly what you ordered that night, but I know they’ll do their best. What did you have to eat that evening?”

She slipped her hand in her purse and pulled out a manila envelope. He watched curiously as she removed a heavy piece of white cardstock, and as she slid it across the desk with a sheepish little grin, he recognized the old logo of the Clark Hotel. “I filched the menu that night.”

Ricky laughed, touched by the sentimentality. “Well, your secret is safe with me. What on earth made you decide to save it, though?”

“I was sitting across from Earl and listening to him speak in that deep, wonderful voice of his, and I just fell ... It was love at first sight, Ricky. I looked at him and I just knew he was the man for me and that we'd be married and spend our lives together. So, when he excused himself to go to the restroom, I slipped it in my purse. I wanted something to remember our first date by. When I told him later, he rolled his eyes at me, but I could tell he was touched.”

Having met Earl Barker, Ricky didn’t doubt it. Even after twenty years, he was still every bit as smitten with his wife as she was with him.

“Oh, how sweet.” Ricky scrutinized the menu. “So, which of these scrumptious sounding entrees did you have for dinner that night?”

“Earl had the steak, and I had the sea bass.” She pointed to the two items, and Ricky read the descriptions carefully.

“They both sound wonderful. Sea bass may be a little tough to source, but I'll talk to Chef about it and see what we can do.”

“If you need to substitute that’s fine, it’s about the spirit of the evening.”

“I understand. We’ll give you a night to remember, I promise.”

She sighed happily. “You're an absolute angel, Ricky.”

“Shame the halo keeps getting caught on the horns,” he said with a wink. She laughed like he'd hoped she would. There were a lot of guests he had to be very sober and professional with but Sandra enjoyed a bit of banter, and well, so did Ricky. Customers like her always made his day more enjoyable.

“Now, what else? Appetizers, drinks, salads, desserts. Tell me all of it, and we’ll try to recreate it down to the last detail you can remember.”

It’ll cost an arm and a leg, of course, he thought as he jotted down notes. Maybe more. But Sandra and Earl had the means, so Ricky wasn't concerned. With them, the price was no object. Ricky had free rein to make it a lavish celebration of their first meeting.

After he’d taken notes of all of the menu items, he returned the original to her. Tomorrow, Ricky would meet with James, the executive chef of the hotel restaurant to make sure everything could be recreated. He’d worked with James long enough to know what he could safely promise and what he couldn’t. James would grumble a little, but he’d pull out all of the stops, and by the time they were done with dinner, the Barkers would feel like they’d been transported back to December 5, 1993.

“Thank you again,” she gushed. “You’re a gem.”

“I’m happy to help,” Ricky said. “You know I’ll do everything in my power to make this a perfect night for you two.”

She beamed and captured his hands between hers, deftly slipping money into his palm. Knowing her, it was several hundred dollars. And that was just to start. He knew both she and her husband would tip him generously during their stay. Ricky appreciated it. He was going well above and beyond what he did for most guests, and he’d spend hours getting everything arranged. She made his extra effort more than worthwhile, though he would have done it for far less because she was also unfailingly kind to him.

“Thank you, Ricky. You're such a dear. I knew if I talked to you something could be arranged.”

Ricky smiled at her. “For you, something can always be arranged. Is there anything else I can do? Does your husband like flowers or chocolates?”

“Well, he's not much of one for chocolate or receiving flowers, although he's wonderful about sending them to me. He did like these bourbon caramels I got him once.” She frowned. “But for the life of me, I can't remember where I got them. I know they were made by a shop here in Chicago. They were soft and chewy and came in these pretty gold wrappers inside a black and gold box, but I can’t remember the name of the company to save my life.”

Ricky added those details to his notes, and when he was done, he leaned in. “Well, you just leave it to me, and I guarantee I will do my best to hunt them down for you. If the company is still in business, I’ll get a big box for you to give to him.”

“Oh, see? You are a gem.” She clasped her hands together and beamed at him again. “Would it be too much trouble to ask for theater tickets that night as well? He's been dying to see Wicked, and I'd love to make that happen for him.”

Ricky made another note. “I'm on it. Just leave it all to me!”

When they were done, Ricky walked her to the door, smiling as she thanked him again.

“It was my pleasure,” he said warmly as he kissed her cheek. “Take care!”

Cecilia stared at Ricky as if he really had grown horns as he approached the desk again. “Wow.”

“Wow what?” he asked with a smile.

“That's over the top, even for you.”

He chuckled. “What is? The amount of work I'll have to do to create their special night?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you'll be calling around to every candy shop in Chicago, at this rate.”

“I’d planned on starting with Google.” Ricky shrugged. “But even if I do have to make a bunch of calls, she's a sweet lady, and her husband is lovely too. If I can make their stay special, I'll go home happy.”

“You're way nicer than I am,” Cecilia said with a little snort.

“Are you trying to butter up the boss?” he asked. “Or give him a bad impression of your willingness to help guests? Because I can’t tell.” But his tone was light, and she would undoubtedly know he was teasing. He’d hired her almost four years ago. In that time, they had developed a good rapport, and he’d never doubted her willingness to work hard.

“Neither!” Cecelia shook her head. “But you know what I mean.”

Ricky leaned his hip against the desk. “Look, not every guest needs or wants that level of attention. And sometimes, you do have to tell a guest what they're asking for is more than you can handle. Especially if other people are waiting or the quality of their visit will be compromised by meeting the first person’s request. But otherwise, that's what we do here at The Park. That's why people enjoy boutique hotels and concierge service. We do what big chains can't. We offer a personalized experience for them.”

“Yeah, I get that.” She hummed thoughtfully. “I guess I just feel like some of it is so excessive.”

“It can be,” Ricky agreed. “But I enjoy making people happy. Especially good people like the Barkers. Did you know she founded the biggest AIDS charity in the Midwest and hosts huge fundraising events for it every year?”

“No, I had no idea,” Cecilia said, her eyes widening.

“They have an enormous amount of money, and they do a lot of good with it. I’m happy to help them celebrate their anniversary. They're a wonderful couple and madly in love after twenty years. If I can help them out, why not?”

“No, no. You’re right. I'm just jealous,” Cecilia admitted with a little sigh. “I'll be paying off student loans until I'm fifty, and I can't find a boyfriend to save my life.”

“I hear you,” Ricky said. Well, not as much about the student loans. He'd worked at hotels since he was sixteen and paid for most of his bachelor's degree in hospitality with his work there. Financially, he was in a pretty good place. Romantically ... well, that was another story.

The Barkers’ relationship made Ricky as envious as the runner up on Drag Race. Twenty years of marriage was a long time. Twenty happy years was mind-boggling. Ricky’s longest romantic relationship with anyone was barely more than six months.

Because it always came down to making a choice between the relationship or drag. And, well, drag won every time. It was more than a side job or a hobby. It was a part of who Ricky was. And no one had ever inspired him to give that up. Not yet, anyway. And he doubted anyone would.

On the whole, Ricky considered himself fortunate. He had a fantastic career as a hotel manager and the perfect side gig as a drag queen. He was close to his family and had some of the best friends a guy could ask for. The only thing missing was the romantic relationship. But while careers and friends held an important place in his life, they didn't fill that one piece that was missing. That person he could rely on through thick and thin. The one who would love him.

All of him.

Maybe Ricky expected too much from life. All of his friends told him, “Oh, it'll happen eventually,” when he complained about his lack of relationship, but he wondered sometimes. Would it? There were no guarantees of anything. Just because it often did for many people, just because it had for them, didn't necessarily mean it would for him. His friends called him a pessimist, but he considered himself more of a realist. No matter how much he wanted a relationship, the universe didn't owe him one.

Only time would tell who was right. His friends who were so sure it would happen. Or his own gut instinct that the kind of person he was looking for was rare. One in a million, maybe. And the chances of them ending up in the same place at the same time were astronomically small.

Ricky had never hoped to be proven wrong more.


***


“I’m sorry, sir, we have a strict policy here at The Park Hotel,” Ricky said with as polite a tone as he could manage. The lovely morning interaction with Sandra Barker had long-since faded, and now he had a difficult guest on his hands. “Registered service animals are always welcome, but pets are not,” he explained.

“Igor’s not a pet!” the man argued. “He’s an emotional support iguana. Look, I have paperwork.”

He thrust the paper at Ricky, who scanned it.

“Sir, here at The Park we’re committed to accommodating people with physical or mental disabilities, which includes the companion they have for help and support. However, under ADA law, dogs are the only animal considered a service animal. Reptiles are not included in that list, and I have no idea what the International Reptile Society is. While I am sure Igor is a valued companion of yours, we are not legally required to accommodate reptiles as service animals.” He tapped the counter for emphasis.

“I’m going to sue this hotel for discrimination!” the man shouted, his face turning red with rage.

Ricky smiled as pleasantly at him as he could manage. “You are welcome to speak to a lawyer. However, if you continue to raise your voice right now, I will ask my security staff to kindly escort you from the hotel.” He opened his mouth to argue, and Ricky held up his index finger. “Furthermore, if you attempt to resist my security staff, I will call the Chicago Police Department.”

Ricky had only had to follow through with that threat a few times in his entire career, but it usually worked like a charm. And this was no exception. The man closed his mouth with an audible snap.

“Now,” Ricky continued. “Shall I send a bellhop to assist you in bringing down your bags?”

Twenty minutes later, after Ricky had walked the man out of the hotel, he let out a deep breath. Cecilia gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you for dealing with that. He was seriously unpleasant.”

“He certainly was,” Ricky agreed. “I’m glad you called me.”

Some issues were just above the pay grade of the front desk clerk, and the more Ricky could do to help smooth over situations like that, the better. Some managers preferred to be called as a last resort, but Ricky preferred being pro-active. After several years of working together, he and Cecelia had this down to a science.

Grateful the encounter was over, Ricky walked down the carpeted hallway to his office and tugged the door shut behind him with a relieved sigh. He rubbed his temples as he took a seat at his desk.

An iguana.

In the nine years he’d been working at The Park, it was the first time a guest had brought in a reptile and claimed it was a service animal. He’d seen some very weird things, but that was a new one. He could have gone his entire career without it. The man had left the poor creature running loose in his hotel room all morning while he was gone, and the woman working housekeeping had screamed in shock when she discovered it under the bed covers.

Unfortunately, Ricky always second-guessed himself when he challenged a guest like this. He hated to accuse anyone of lying, but a quick search online showed the International Reptile Society didn’t exist. Knowing that made him feel a bit better about the situation. Clearly, the society was as phony as the cobbled-together logo on the so-called official document the man had thrust in his face.

Ricky had the utmost sympathy for guests who needed additional accommodations, and he’d bent over backward numerous times for guests with valid needs. They’d even made an exception for a Muslim guest with a trained and certified miniature horse she relied on because her religion expressly forbade the use of dogs. Ricky had found the small horse as docile, well trained, and clean as any dog. It even wore small rubber booties on its hooves.

But the iguana had strained belief, and Ricky was glad he’d trusted his instincts.

As a manager here, he had to.

He was lucky to work for a place like The Park, though. As a top-tier boutique hotel in Chicago, they had a clientele who appreciated the eclectic vibe and stylish décor. Just a few months before, it had become an LGBTQ Certified Hotel, and they had always made a point of hiring a diverse staff.

Nine years ago, Ricky had been working as a bellhop at a once nice but starting to go to seed hotel near Pilsen when his manager discovered Ricky’s involvement in the local drag scene. He’d been fired on the spot. Thanks to his connections in the drag world, a friend snagged him an interview at The Park Hotel, and he’d been hired immediately as a registration clerk. In the years since then, he’d worked his way up to hotel manager.

Not bad for a thirty-four-year-old Latino drag queen from Chicago. Not bad at all.

Ricky pulled a small compact from his desk, then scrutinized his reflection. A quick finger comb settled his dark hair into place, and he turned his attention to his face. His skin wasn’t too shiny, thankfully. He lightly powdered his T-zone to keep it that way, then touched up the gloss on his lips.

Much better. He nodded at his reflection, then snapped the compact closed. He smoothed down the lapels of his charcoal suit, straightened his rose-colored tie, and then grabbed his portfolio and a pen.

His day was winding down, and he had a drag show to look forward tonight.

Ricky just had to get through the two-hour budget meeting he had ahead of him. At least, there would be fewer iguanas to deal with.

He hoped.


***
EDGEWATER, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS


“Hey, girl.”

Ricky looked up from his sewing machine, straight pins clenched between his lips. He smiled around them and waggled his fingers at Blair Underwear—fellow drag queen, actress, and housemate—who had been born with the name of Irving Collins. Since he was dressed down in jeans and a hoodie and sported a thick five o’clock shadow, he was more Irving than Blair at the moment. He was a big teddy bear of a black man, and Ricky loved him to pieces.

After Ricky took the pins out and dropped them on the magnetic tray where he was supposed to store them, he smiled at his friend. “Hey.”

“How’s the dress coming?”

“Not bad.” Ricky held up the slinky gold sequined fabric and eyed it critically. “I’m attaching the lining now. I’ll probably need you to pin the hem for me in the next few days.”

“Of course, babycakes. But I thought you were wearing it for your show tonight.”

Ricky chuckled. “I certainly hope not, or I am in real trouble. No, tonight will be the amethyst satin. Or maybe the emerald. I’m still debating.”

Rosie Riveting was glamour personified. Ricky had taken his inspiration from the film stars of the 30s and 40s when he created his drag persona. With elegant finger waves in her wigs, opulent jewels, makeup to emphasize her delicate features, and long slinky dresses in jewel tones to set off her rich brown skin, Rosie was a bombshell.

Just the way Ricky liked her.

“What about you?” he asked Irving. “Does Blair have a show tonight?”

“No. I’m between shows at the moment. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have a regular gig like you,” Irving teased. “If I didn’t love you so much, girl, I’d be jealous enough to scratch your eyes out.”

Blair’s shows ran more toward raunchy innuendo and sharp-tongued comedy than Rosie’s. Fabulously fun but a very different mood. Rosie was a singer at Temptations Club. Raucous drag shows and nightclubs had their place in Boystown, and Ricky had spent more than his share of time in them. And loved every second of it.

But Ricky felt at home in Temptations’ elegant space. And he knew he was lucky as hell to have snagged a regular gig like that.

Speaking of which ... Ricky glanced at the clock on the wall. “I should get dinner going and start getting ready.”

“Sure thing,” Irving said. He leaned in and kissed Ricky on the cheek. “Break a leg tonight.”

“Thanks.” Ricky kissed him back.

Ricky carefully set his dress on the worktable, then flicked off the power on his sewing machine. “You staying up here to work?” he asked.

Irving nodded. “If I’m not doing shows, I might as well be making something to wear once I do get a gig.”

Ricky grinned. “I’ll keep my ears open for shows for you too.”

“Thanks. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Ricky grabbed his phone from where he’d set it on the worktable, then let himself out onto the landing of the staircase. The long, narrow brick house was divided into three apartments, one on each floor, plus a fourth-floor attic space Ricky and Irving, and their former roommate Sam, used communally as a workroom.

Though their sewing and crafting skills varied, one thing that was universal was that drag queens always owned a lot of clothes. Ricky, Irving, and Sam had all been crammed into too-small apartments before they moved in together. When Irving’s grandmother died and left him the building, Ricky was living in a one-bedroom in Pilsen and sleeping in the living room. The bedroom had been converted into a dressing room/closet/sewing studio, which left no room for a bed.

Irving had planned to sell his grandmother’s place until their friend Reuben Washington suggested they create a drag queen commune of sorts. Irving would move into one floor, Ricky and Sam would move into the other two, and they’d use the attic space for a sewing studio. It was only a twenty-minute drive south to Boystown and forty minutes to The Park Hotel using public transit. It was equally convenient for Irving and Sam’s jobs. It was a brilliant solution for all of them and gave them the benefits of living independently without being totally alone. They hung out regularly and often ended up on the fourth floor working together, but they all respected each other’s personal space.

Of course, Sam had recently moved out of his basement apartment to live with his boyfriend William, and they hadn’t found a new tenant yet. Considering the fact that Sam changed men like he changed his underwear, he might move back any time.

Ricky shivered as he jogged down two flights of stairs. All of the entrances were on the exterior of the building, which was the only downside of the setup on cold nights like this. The sun had gone down, and the temperature had dropped significantly. Ricky let out a little sigh of relief as he stepped into the warmth and coziness of his apartment.

He turned on some music and danced as he assembled his dinner.

Saturday nights were always busy, so tonight’s meal was something he’d prepped the night before, and it only needed a short time in the oven. When the salmon and vegetables were on the baking sheet, Ricky set a timer and danced his way to the bathroom, warming up his voice a little as he hummed scales and warbled a few notes. He’d do more at the club, but it didn’t hurt to get started now.

Ricky exfoliated his face, then shaved carefully with a brand-new razor, skimming his fingers across his skin to be sure he’d caught every last whisker. When it was as smooth as silk, he washed the traces of shaving cream away, then slathered on moisturizer. He was lucky—his skin didn’t get too irritated from the close shaving and heavy makeup application—but he liked to baby it.

In the hall, Ricky paused in front of a shelf of photographs. Reuben had taken them. He'd photographed every inch of the city they both loved. There were other subjects, of course. Close-ups of flowers, portraits of Ricky and all of their friends. Really, anything he could aim his camera at.

Ricky missed him. His smile and his deep voice and his “fuck you, world” attitude. Ricky missed late nights laughing over a glass of wine, brunches, and the kind of deep friendship that only came with years of shared experiences together.

One heart attack and he was gone. The end. A life, a story, cut far too short.

He could almost hear Reuben in his head. “What are you doing moping over me, girl? Get your pretty little ass to the club and dazzle them tonight.”

Ricky reached out and touched one of the pictures of Reuben as he performed as Luci Fur. “I’ll promise, I’ll dazzle them for you, baby,” he whispered back.


***
BOYSTOWN, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS


Walking into Temptations Club always felt like coming home. After years of scrambling to get bookings at whatever venue wanted Rosie to perform, Temptations was heaven. Not only did Ricky have a recurring gig there, it was swanky and upscale with a great crowd.

There was a supper club and lounge on the main level and a cocktail bar upstairs. It had taken some persuading to convince Jason Nelson—the club owner—that having a regular drag show in the lounge would attract enough customers, but after a six-month trial period, he’d been convinced by the number of tickets sold, and they’d settled into a happy partnership over the past three years.

As Ricky walked through the main floor of the club, he waved at several people he knew—bartenders and waitstaff mostly. Sam worked at the club too, as a bartender, but he wasn’t behind the bar at the moment. When Ricky turned the corner, he came face to face with Jason. His often-stern looking face lightened with a smile.

“Hey, gorgeous.” Jason leaned down and kissed Ricky’s cheek.

“Hey, Jason.” Ricky returned the gesture, then smiled at the club owner and manager. Tonight, he wore a sleek dark blue-gray suit with a lighter smoky blue shirt, open at the collar. Ricky suppressed an appreciative sigh. Jason had thick dark brown hair with a sprinkle of silver in it, dark brown eyes, and the kind of smoldering good looks everyone found attractive. Or at least, Ricky had yet to meet anyone who didn’t look at him and think “damn”.

Jason aimed a dazzling smile at Ricky. “How are you doing, gorgeous?”

“Not bad. Looking forward to the show tonight,” Ricky said, preening a little at the nickname. “You?”

“Let’s just say it’s been an interesting week.” Jason grimaced. “But I’ll survive.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ricky said. “It would break a lot of hearts if you didn’t. Mine included.”

Jason chuckled. “So, when are you going to let me take you out to dinner?” he teased as Ricky walked past him.

“When you decide to become a one-man kinda guy and settle down!” Ricky threw at him as he walked away. He and Jason flirted semi-regularly. Ricky liked Jason and found him attractive, but he’d never been in a serious relationship in the nearly five years Ricky had known him, and if there was one thing Ricky didn’t do, it was date people with a fear of commitment.

“It’s a date!” Jason called after him.

Ricky smiled to himself as he navigated through the performance space, then walked backstage toward his dressing room. The date with Jason would never happen in a million years, but the banter was fun.

Ricky passed the larger, communal dressing room for the guest performers who came through, but Rosie had her own. In truth, it was more of a broom closet than anything—it was barely nine feet long and seven feet wide, which left little space to walk once racks of clothing and a dressing table and couch had gone in—but it was all hers. Ricky didn’t have to schlep every costume of Rosie’s back and forth to the club or move her extensive collection of wigs and makeup. Although today, Ricky had a garment bag with several dresses he’d picked up at the dry cleaner draped over his arm that kept trying to slide off. He paused to adjust it, and Damon Ealey, the head of club security, hurried down the hall toward him.

“Need any help with that, Mr. Chavez?” Damon asked as he approached, hands out as if ready to catch the bag before it hit the ground.

“No, I’ve got it,” Ricky said with a smile. “Thanks.”

“At least let me get the door for you.”

“Well, if you insist.” Ricky gave him a little wink, and Damon ducked his head.

If Jason was Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome business mogul, Damon was the opposite. Dark-haired too but where Jason was tall and lean, Damon was shorter and broader. He’d been going gray at the temples and had recently cropped his hair shorter. It was a good look on him. With a sharp widow’s peak and a heavy jaw with a slightly grizzled beard, it gave his already-stern features an even rougher edge. He had the look of a brawler.

But while Jason was flirtatious, Damon had never once said or done anything to indicate any interest. Despite working in a heavily queer club in Boystown, Ricky didn’t even know if Damon was gay, bi, or something else entirely. Damon was more of an enigma than anyone Ricky worked with here or at the hotel. But despite Damon’s hard looks, he was a big softie on the inside. More than once, he’d inserted himself between Ricky and a too-eager fan, and Ricky was grateful to him.

“How are you today?” Ricky asked cheerfully.

“Good.” Damon gave Ricky a small smile. “Any new songs debuting?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Ricky said with a sigh. “My muse has been quiet. I shook up my setlist a little bit so it shouldn’t be too stale, but I haven’t been feeling a lot of inspiration for writing new music. What about you?”

The one thing Ricky did know about Damon was that he was a songwriter. He’d only heard Damon’s music once—he wasn’t much of one for sharing any aspect of his personal life—but from what Ricky had heard, it was great stuff. Ricky’s mother was a composer, and Ricky had inherited some of her skill and had been steeped in music his whole life.

In fact, it was a huge reason Ricky chose to sing live rather than lip-sync like many drag queens. Lip-synching required plenty of skill and talent, so he didn’t knock it at all, but Ricky had a good voice—even singing in a higher register as Rosie—and he occasionally wrote something original to include with covers that made up the bulk of her sets. It kept them fresh and exciting.

“I’ve been stuck on a song for a while,” Damon said with a frown. “Not making much headway, either.”

“Well, if you ever want some outside feedback, let me know,” Ricky said as they approached the dressing room.

“Will do, Mr. Chavez,” Damon said.

No matter how many times Ricky tried to convince Damon to call him Ricky, it never stuck. When in drag, Damon called her Miss Rosie without fail. It wasn’t worth arguing about anymore.

“There you are,” Damon said as he swung the dressing room door open and held it so Ricky could slip inside.

“Thanks, Damon!” His instinct was to kiss Damon’s cheek, but Ricky had always sensed that Damon wasn’t much for casual displays of affection, and Ricky respected that. He nodded instead.

“Have a good set tonight,” Damon said in his low, gravelly voice.

“Thank you!” Ricky sang back.

When the door shut behind Damon, Ricky hung the dresses on one of the racks of clothing, then slipped the garment bag off them. Ricky intended to wear the green satin tonight and a bit of steaming would release the wrinkles near the hem where the fabric had puddled in the bag.

He glanced at the clock and frowned. Two hours to go until show time. That would be cutting it close. Good makeup took time, and Rosie did nothing halfway.

This ebook contains scenes involving an abusive/homophobic coach and teammates, anti-drag comments, shame, a third act breakup, death of family members and friends, and prolonged grief.

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