I make plans for Hugo.
Maybe I shouldn’t bother. Maybe this is just me, doing what I do, avoiding my own problems and instead obsessing over something else, a futile attempt to regain control of the uncontrollable, but it’s better than obsessing over Alex, or my dozens of failed attempts to keep my crappy day job.
Perhaps getting Hugo to stop crying won’t make the date tick over to the eighth, but at least someone can end this day with joy, even if it’s not me. So I go back to Hugo’s and the new goal is to find a way to make Hugo happy. I have all the time in the world to figure this out, right? So I think and stew and plan and come up with something to help Dolly.
“What if Dolly had one of those, like, half-man, half-woman costumes? Then she could do both parts, right?” I ask Queen Bee when she comes out and sits next to me during the audition.
“I saw Glamamore do a performance like that once and it was fantastic. But baby, Dolly would need an appropriate costume and she’s six seven. That means finding a seamstress three weeks ago. There’s no way to craft one in ten minutes unless you’ve got some magic fingers.”
No magic fingers, but I do have a magic closet. I stew on it until Hugo appears later and I throw the same question at him.
He shakes his head sadly. “It’s too late for all that.”
“What if you could go back in time and have the perfect outfit to perform the song alone? Would you consider it?”
“Of course I would. I know both parts, but there’s no point. I would need an entire costume put together in my size, plus a custom-made wig. The makeup I could manage in a day, but the rest . . . forget it. It’s impossible.”
But it isn’t.
And with that in mind, I get to work.
Day after day, I accompany Hugo to his show, even though I know what’s going to happen and I can’t stop it, at least not yet. I have to be there to offer some kind of moral support. I get to know the queens better. They are smart, crass, and beautiful, and they don’t take themselves, or anyone else, too seriously. They really put it all out there, without fear. Or, as Bee tells me, with fear but also like a boss bitch who shows fear she can shove a size twelve stiletto up its ass.
I spend every waking moment I’m not with Hugo designing a costume and keeping it in the magic closet at night so all changes and alterations don’t get lost to the universe.
It’s half suit, half dress—the cut of the dress matches the red one, tulle and all, except I use royal blue fabric. He deserves to have the color he wants. I screw it up, over and over, messing up the measurements, needing to start over, but I figure it out and keep going. I have the time.
I find a long wig matching Dolly’s current choice of tresses and cut it in half. I cut a top hat in half, and manage to piece them together myself to make the wig secure.
It’s late one night when I hang up the dress on the back of the closet door and stare at it.
It’s done.
It’s ready. Tomorrow I can give him the outfit and he’ll be able to audition by himself, no Harry needed.
A grin spreads across my cheeks. I can’t wait! My heart thumps with excitement, considering his reaction. He’s going to be so surprised. And excited. This is a chance for him to achieve his dreams and I get to be a part of it.
Except . . . I press a finger to my lips.
How do I give this to him without it being weird? How do I explain that I happened to have the perfect outfit, in his favorite color, and it just happens to fit on a day he needs something exactly like it?
I rub my head.
And what about afterward? I need to get the costume back at the end of the day to put back in the closet, otherwise it might disappear and I’d have to start all over again from scratch.
Maybe I’m overthinking it. Everything will be fine.
“Jane. You’re an angel sent to me straight from heaven. And I have an hour until I have to be at the Huntress.” He watches me, head tilted. “You should come with me.”
“I’ll come with you, but um, I should bring, I mean, I have something, uh, lying around. From a friend of mine. From before. Let me grab it. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it will fit you. And that way if Harry doesn’t show you have something, uh—”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll be—wait here a minute, I’ll be right back.”
I grab the outfit from my closet and hold it up, eyeing it for the millionth time for any problems or imperfections. Maybe the seam up the middle could be straighter. I got the measurements from the current dress, but what if I did something wrong? What if it doesn’t fit? What if he hates it?
I’m trembling with nervous anticipation, but not the freak-out kind, the I-hope-this-works kind.
I take a breath. If it doesn’t work, I can just try again.
“Here. I have this.” Back in Hugo’s apartment, I hand over the costume and then step back, keeping my eyes on the ground.
I can’t look. I twist my hands together, focusing on the clench of my fingers.
The room is pure silence.
After a few long seconds, I can’t take it.
I look up.
His eyes are wide. He holds the hanger with one hand, his other running down the side of the dress, a nearly perfect match for the existing dress, but a lush royal blue. The male side is a simple collared black button-up shirt and black trousers.
He holds it up to himself, perplexed. “This might fit.” His eyes meet mine. “You happened to have this lying around?”
“Uh. Yep. Try it on? See if it fits? I can make some minor alterations if needed.” This was my big plan. No plan—a challenge for a person who uses lists and memorization and routine and control and order to just get by. But in this case, it seemed like a viable option.
Dazed and confused, he shakes his head. “Yeah, I’ll try it on but, Jane. This is incredible.” He squeezes my hand, his eyes watery. “Thank you.” He passes me, escaping into the bedroom to try the outfit on.
It was really that easy?
I blow out a breath. No plan actually works sometimes. Who knew?
When the music starts and the light hits Hugo, his male profile facing the auditorium, I’m a bundle of nerves and anticipation and happiness. We finally did it. Hugo is auditioning, without Harry the Jackass. The more he’s told me about him, the more I want to scissor kick him in the shins.
Hugo sings the male part, his feet moving back and forth, hands lifted to a partner that isn’t there. Then he does a kick ball change, flipping around to show the other side of his profile to the audience, the dark blue dress flipping and shimmering under the lights.
“Doing it solo makes the whole performance better,” Bee whispers to me.
I glance over at her. “You think so?”
Her eyes gleam under the distant stage lights. “It’s so much more honest.”
“Honest?” I ask, eyes still on Hugo/Dolly, singing both parts alone, dancing by himself.
“Think about it. Listen to the words. It gives the whole song a deeper meaning. Makes you think more about what constitutes the time of your life. Do you, in fact, owe it to someone else?”
I nod slowly. “Other people can’t make you happy.” Something I’ve reminded myself of a lot over the past . . . many Mondays.
Bee shrugs. “Maybe they can, temporarily. I had a successful show one time. Long time ago—baby, we won’t discuss when—but I’ve had fans. A lot of them. Hundreds of people every night. Men telling me they loved me. It was heady at first, don’t get me wrong, but after a while it made me realize people telling you they love you doesn’t actually bring you any love. It has to come from in here.” She pats her chest.
Fifi stage-whispers from behind us. “From boobies?”
Bee twists around. “No, hunty, from your heart.” She scoffs and waves a hand at Fifi.
Once Dolly finishes and exits the stage, Bee and Fifi disappear into the back to join her.
I wait in the auditorium, eyeballing the people in charge of the show as they murmur to each other.
When they put the paper up, I hold my breath, waiting waiting waiting as the queens crowd the stage to read the list.
A few moments later, Bee’s loud sing-song voice shrieks, “Con-drag-ulations!”
On stage, Fifi and Bee crowd around Dolly, a tangle of limbs hugging, squealing, and also grabbing each other’s asses.
I laugh so hard I cry. I’m so happy I could scream. It worked. It actually worked! This day is different. Someone who had a bad day now has had a good day.
When I meet them by the stage, Dolly kisses both of my cheeks and then grabs at my hands. “We have to go celebrate. You in?” She beams with joy, her eyelashes wet with tears.
“Yes. Absolutely. I’m in.”
Three hours and two martinis later, I’m regurgitating stories about my sordid past that were better left on the inside.
“He basically used me for sex and I was too stupid and naïve to realize it.”
“You are not stupid.” Bee smacks me on the arm, using the hand holding her martini, which sloshes over the rim and onto me. “This Mark person is the dumbass in your situation.”
“Mark sounds like a Chad,” Dolly agrees. She changed into the original red dress before we left the theater.
I frown into my glass. “Who’s Chad?”
Bee waves a hand. “You know. Wears excessive amounts of cheap body spray, thinks only of himself, gives off a big ‘I look cool in fedoras’ energy.”
I nod. “That’s scarily accurate.” I eyeball the fish swimming lazily around in the tank suspended above the weathered dark wood bar.
We’re at Moby Dick’s, a nautical-themed gay bar. We’re sitting all in a row, me, Bee, Fifi, and Dolly.
“Mark isn’t the problem. I’m the problem. I don’t know what to do with my life and I keep trying to fit myself in places I don’t belong.”
And I miss Alex. When I allow myself to think about him.
Fifi rolls her eyes. “You’re like what, twelve? You’re a baby. You have all the time in the world.”
I snort into my glass. “Yep. All the time in the world.”
“Why is that funny?” Dolly asks.
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try us,” Fifi encourages.
“Fine.” What pops out of my mouth next can only be blamed on the martinis. And maybe the fact that I’m lonely. Even though I’ve been hanging out with Dolly and Bee and Fifi for a while now, living this Monday over and over is a solitary adventure. So I tell the truth, if only to feel less isolated for a brief moment. “I’m living the same day over and over again.”
Bee pops a cherry in her mouth from her martini and chews slowly before pointing the stem at me. “Baby, that’s my whole life.”
“No, I mean literally. I’m reliving this same day over and over. Every day I wake up to that song, the sprinkle me one.” I turn to Dolly. “Why do you do that anyway?”
Dolly purses bright red lips at me. “You just told us you’re living the same day over and over and this is what you’re concerned with? My musical choices?”
“I know it sounds delusional, but didn’t you think it was weird I happened to have a half-man, half-woman costume lying around?”
Dolly shrugs. “This is San Francisco.”
“True. But the fact that I had one that fits you?”
“That is implausible. However, this city has more drag queens per capita than any other part of the world. So not impossible.” She shrugs.
I frown. “So you don’t believe me?”
“I believe you, baby.” Queen Bee puts a hand over mine on the bar. “Even if we didn’t, what does it matter? It’s your truth and you shouldn’t be afraid to share it.”
“Thanks, Bee.” I sigh. “So? Dolly, why the sprinkle me song?”
She shrugs. “When I’m upset the only thing that snaps me out of it is old school gangster rap.”
“That’s gangster rap?”
Dolly clucks with disappointment and taps the bar in front of me with a cherry fingernail. “There will be no bad-mouthing E-40. He’s the founding member of the Click.”
I shrug and sip on my drink. Maybe I should slow down a little. My brain is getting fuzzy. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Fifi rolls her eyes. “What you need to do with all this free time is work on your Bay Area musical education.”
Bee chimes in. “Baby, what you don’t know could fill this bar.”
I smile. “I know you’re all going to forget this since tomorrow will be today, again, but I really love you ladies.”
Dolly lifts her brows. “Honey, how much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough.” I take another sip.
Fifi laughs. “So tell us what happens on this Monday every day. Is it as boring as it sounds?”
I tap a finger on the edge of the martini glass. “I always wake up late. On days I show up at work, I get fired. Then I get dumped by Mark. Or, I used to. But now I avoid him.”
“Wait a minute,” Queen Bee interrupts. “Why not confront him? You should read his ass. You could tear him a new one every day, and you’re letting that opportunity go?”
Reading, Fifi patiently explains at my confused look, is what the queens call insulting, roasting, or throwing shame at someone. Then she lifts her glass. “The library is open.”
“Yeah, no.” I shake my head. “That’s not really my style.”
“You make your style. Listen to Queen Bee, baby, here’s what you do. You get dressed up. Looking all tight will build confidence, and then you slam his ass. Just keep it short and sweet. Tell him he’s so full of shit the toilet is jealous.”
Dolly smacks the table with a palm. “Ask him, how many licks until I get to the interesting part of this conversation?”
Fifi reaches over and taps my arm. “But no actual licking. Don’t forget to keep that tongue in your mouth.”
“Maybe I’ll try it tomorrow.” I blow out a breath. “If I go to work. I haven’t been going in lately.” I smile at Dolly. “I’m glad the costume I made helped. I’ll make sure you have it every day, even if I go into work, and even though you’re going to forget all of this. Which is why I’ll need it back when we get home so I can put it in the magic closet and you can use it again tomorrow.”
They are staring at me, eyes wide, mouths open.
Dolly is the first to pull it together enough to speak. “Magic closet?”
“Yeah. I can put things in it and they don’t get stuck in the loop.” I wave a hand. “It’s confusing, I know.”
Bee interrupts. “Hold on hold on, let’s back up here. What happens other than work, dealing with Chad, and helping Dolly here?”
“That’s . . . generally it. I mean—”
“Baby, let me see if I am getting this straight. You have a lifetime to get this day right, and so far, you’ve worked at keeping a desk job, avoiding a creep—who you could avoid by just, I don’t know, giving up the desk job—and the only marginally interesting thing you’ve done is make a costume for Dolly here?”
“Not entirely. There is a man,” I admit, blowing out a breath. “A much better man than Mark, er, Chad, and it doesn’t matter because it’s doomed before it can begin.”
“Who are we talking about now?” Dolly asks.
“This guy that I’ve liked for a long time. He likes me too, but we can never actually be together. Because tomorrow, I’ll wake up and it will be Monday again and even if I get him to ask me out every day for eternity, then what? We’ll have one date over and over and never move beyond that.”
Fifi nods. “That describes most of my adult relationships.” She pauses. “Except without the prude stuff. Mine are just sex over and over. So really, it’s nothing like your situation.”
I laugh.
Bee rolls her eyes. “No wonder you’re in a time loop. The universe is telling you to shake things up, honey.”
“I have shaken things up. I have really put myself out there. But it still doesn’t work out.”
“I want to meet this lover boy.” Bee slaps the table with a palm. “Where is he at?” She glances around, like he’s hiding in the woodwork.
I shake my head. “Oh, no. No no no.”
“Why not?” Dolly asks.
“I’m trying to stay away from him. I get too . . . involved. Obsessed. First, I was obsessed with keeping my job, and then I was obsessed with Alex, and now I’m obsessed with Dolly.” I jerk my thumb in her direction.
Dolly puts a hand over mine, her eyes serious and regretful. “Honey, I’m gay.”
I laugh. “I know, but . . .” I can’t exactly say, you cry every night and I’m trying to help you. It’s not my place, and I don’t want to embarrass her.
“Bartender!” Bee yells. “Let’s have another drink and go meet this magic man.”
“I don’t think—” They all whoop and cheer and order another round and I sigh.
Probably the worst decision I could make, but I miss Alex. I’ve been missing him. I want to see him. And I’m buzzed.
We take an Uber, and getting out of the car is a hassle because Dolly has decided the Uber driver is her new boyfriend. He finds it hilarious and even gives her his number.
We finally get her out of the car and the driver leaves, but before we make it to the door, Fifi spots a picture of Patrick Swayze taped to a pole on the corner.
“Oh my, Dolly. Look, it’s a sign!” She points at the picture with one long manicured finger.
Dolly struts over, tripping only a little on her super high heels and then puts her hand on her head dramatically. “It is a sign.”
“Oh, here we go,” Bee mutters, walking over to join them.
Fifi and Dolly start fighting and bickering over who loves Patrick more, Bee shushes them, and I burst into giggles.
“Jane.” I spin around at the sound of my name.
Alex is standing near the door of the Saloon, staring at me with wide eyes. “Jane? Is that . . . what are you doing here?”
“Alex! You invited me.” A delicate burp slips through my lips.
Oops.
I cover my mouth with my hand.
A crease forms between his brows, one side of his mouth quirking up in a half smile. Dammit he’s cute.
Oh, wait. I didn’t go to work today, so he couldn’t have invited me.
Dammit. This is why I don’t drink.
“I didn’t see you this morning. Presley said you didn’t show for the meeting. What happened?”
“I’m not going back. I quit.” I grin. “Now we can be together.”
Okay. Really need to stop drinking.
“Are you . . . ?” He steps toward me, the confusion now turning into concern. “Are you drunk?”
“I loved Patrick Swayze. I really miss that guy.” Dolly is hugging the pole with the picture of Patrick Swayze.
“I’m not, but they are.” I point to the queens.
“Girl, you don’t know who’s been doing what to this thing.” Bee is doing her best to yank Dolly away from the Patrick picture.
I snort out a laugh.
Oh, shit. I’m screwing this all up. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. We should go.”
Fifi decides at that moment to come up beside me, lacing her arm with mine and fluttering her thick lashes at Alex. “Oh, honey, he’s cute. You should definitely go full peanut butter for him. Creamy peanut butter.”
“Hi.” Alex sticks out his hand. “I’m Alex.”
“This is Fifi,” I tell him.
Fifi gives him her fingers and Alex shakes them.
“Dolly is the one over there humping the pole, and Queen Bee is trying to get her to stop. We should probably go.” I tug Fifi with me toward the other queens.
“Wait, how did you know I would be here?”
“That’s a very good question.”
“She has a magic closet,” Fifi tells him. “I wish I had a magic closet at your age, because then coming out of it might have been a lot easier.” She hoots out a laugh.
“Nurse!” Queen Bee yells. Dolly is on the ground, long legs straight up in the air.
Fifi runs over and pulls on Dolly’s hands to yank her to her feet.
“Do you ladies need a ride home?” Alex asks, eyeing Bee and Dolly, who are now falling all over each other with laughter.
I nod. “That might be a good idea.”
Alex somehow procures a cab for Fifi and Bee, who both live in Pacific Heights, and gets them sent off. Then Dolly and I get into the old Bronco, me in the front and Dolly in the back.
I must fall asleep on the way home, because when I return to awareness, it’s still nighttime and I’m in my bed.
I sit up, blinking at my bedroom. The lamp is on. There’s a cup of water next to me, a note with Alex’s cell number on it, and Dolly’s half-man, half-woman costume laid out on the chair in the corner.
Well that’s great. I finally got him to come upstairs, but I slept through the whole thing.
A glance at the clock shows the time. It’s only eleven.
Through the walls, muffled sobbing.
My heart drops.
No. No no no no.
I don’t know what to do. I sink deeper in the bed and press my palms to my eyes. This shouldn’t be happening. I fixed it. We fixed it. No one should be crying.
Dolly seemed okay, but apparently not.
Why? She’s in the show, she nailed the audition . . . Why didn’t that work?
Was it Harry not showing up, or something else?
There has to be a way to fix this. Whatever it is, I’m going to figure it out.