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Krystle Klarity was a sensation. Her latest escapade on TV had indeed gone viral and her YouTube channel now had over 300,000 subscribers and growing. A new Twitter profile was attracting a similarly healthy following, with a mix of wry observation and motivational quotes gaining multiple retweets, including from a few fellow celebs. The most popular so far: “The higher the wig, the bigger the gamble, the greater the prize”. A small fan community had sprung up on Facebook, calling themselves “Krystlettes” and wearing beehives in her honour. Queen Quest had become the hottest ticket in town, sold out for the rest of its run, with tickets for the Grand Final even appearing on eBay.
It was not lost on anyone, including the star herself, that much of the credit for this career breakthrough lay with Evan. Yes, she had lit the fuse with her antics, but it was his guidance and expertise that had ensured she didn’t end up another footnote in the history of internet sensations.
Having been summoned early to Brighton, Evan stood in Frankie’s living room looking at the papers Derek had handed him. ‘What does this mean?’
‘It’s a contract, dearheart. I got Frankie to draw it up last night. I know an agent is only meant to get ten or twenty percent, but I feel that we are more of a partnership. This little doowotsit sets out that any future earnings from Krystle’s glamorous career are split fifty/fifty. It is valid for one year, at which point we can review and reassess. What do you think?’
‘I... I...’ Evan was literally lost for words. He went over and hugged Derek.
‘Assume that’s a “yes”? Good.’ Derek hugged back. ‘This calls for champagne.’ He broke free from Evan’s embrace and set about opening the bottle he must have hidden assuming a positive outcome. ‘One more thing. Several of the other girls have been begging me for your number. I’m not averse to you taking on other clients on the strict understanding that I always come first.’ He handed Evan a glass of bubbly.
‘Always.’ Evan raised a toast, and they drank to the deal. ‘If I’m going to make this a viable business, I will need a bigger roster. But I assure you, Krystle’s needs are paramount.’
‘I knew you’d understand, she can be such a demanding mistress. You better drink that up, dear, I’ve set up your first client meeting for you.’
‘You have?’
The doorbell rang. Derek refilled his glass. ‘I do love a punctual queen, don’t you?’ He swanned out of the room.
Evan’s mind raced to catch up with events. He’d barely begun to speculate who his meeting was with when Derek re-entered with Belissima in tow.
‘Evan meet João. I think we can agree he’s the one to watch in the competition, so I thought you two should meet. I’ll leave you to it.’
Even out of drag, João/Belissima was a striking presence. His skin glowed, as if lit from within. His eyes were like magnets, trapping you in their pull.
‘Thank you for meeting.’ João held out his hand, which Evan shook.
‘Please, sit down.’ Evan gestured towards the sofa. He took a seat on Frankie’s easy chair opposite. ‘I’m more than happy to meet with you. I’m a big fan.’
João nodded, as if that went without saying. ‘Eu sou o melhor... the best. Back home in Brazil, I make plenty money, many clubs want me. Here, I am starting again.’
Evan liked his confidence and assumed any perceived arrogance was most likely down to the language barrier. ‘I don’t think it would take you long to get established here. Winning Queen Quest would be a great first step in that direction.’ Evan was drawn to an ornate silver ring João was wearing on his left middle finger, which matched a thin bracelet on the same arm, both studded with gemstones in a rainbow progression.
João followed his gaze. He lifted his arm. ‘You like?’
Evan nodded. ‘Yes, sorry. They distracted me for a second.’
‘I make them.’
‘You do?’ Evan leaned in for a closer look. They were exquisitely finished; you would never know they were artisanal.
‘Yes. It is how I live. Drag is not enough to eat, pay bills.’
‘They are beautiful.’ Evan had an idea. ‘I might have some additional work for you if you’re interested.’
*****
Thanks to Evan’s early departure, Scott was alone with Zach for the first time since that fateful night in Frankie’s kitchen. Their usual Brighton train was unusually busy, thanks to an unseasonably bright spell that was attracting city dwellers to the seaside, but they had been able to snag two seats together. Scott knew he’d been overcompensating, nervous to let a lull emerge in the conversation. While apart it had been surprisingly easy to pretend to himself that nothing untoward had happened. Now Zach was here again all he could think about were those illicit minutes, the outline of Zach’s body in the dark, how it had felt to have Zach’s mouth on him. ‘I think I might owe you an apology.’
Zach wore a lopsided grin. ‘You do?’
Scott nodded. ‘What happened the other week. I must have given you the wrong impression.’ He looked around the carriage to see if their conversation had attracted the interest of any fellow passenger, but all bar one traveller wore headphones and the dissenter appeared to be napping. ‘I like you very much - as a friend. I’m with Evan, as you know, and we don’t have that type of relationship.’ Scott wondered if he was being presumptuous. He’d read one article in Attitude about how young gay men favoured polyamorous relationships and automatically lumped Zach into that category. ‘I wouldn’t want any misunderstanding to harm our friendship.’
Zach’s face was impassive as Scott delivered his explanation. ‘Does Evan know?’
‘You mean about the...? No, no.’
‘Are you sure he’d mind?’
That was a question Scott had not considered. Would his husband be bothered if he’d received half a blow job from a hot young stud as he slept on unaware? Admittedly their relationship was new, but he was close to certain that would contravene the unspoken rules of their marriage. ‘I’m fairly sure he would.’
Zach shrugged. ‘I thought Evan was relaxed about sex and stuff. He played pretty hard from what he’s told me.’
‘Before he was married, maybe.’ Scott wasn’t sure where this was heading.
Zach yawned and stretched, his midriff bared, his muscles tightening, then relaxed, head back on the seat. ‘Sure. Told ya, no biggie.’ With that he closed his eyes. Conversation over.
Scott felt uneasy. He thought again about coming clean with Evan, but hated the unpredictability of the response. Plus, it would be worse now, having waited for weeks - what did that signify? If a fumble in the dark caused Scott this much angst, it was obvious he would never survive a full-blown affair. Whatever mental aberration had led him into this pickle, he was over it. He was happily married - no, ecstatically married, and he would put all his energy and focus on Evan, where it belonged. He only hoped his private orgy of guilt was all the punishment he would receive for his foolishness.