SHOW A LITTLE MORE (AND A LITTLE LESS) (Prologue; Multi-chaptered)
SHOW A LITTLE MORE (AND A LITTLE LESS)
By: Lady Michaelis
Pairing: Adam Lambert/Kris Allen (mentions of others)
Rating: Various (PG to NC17)
Warnings: Sexual situations, cross dressing, language, depression, issues regarding homophobia
Genre: Romance/Angst/Erotica
Summary: A jaded young man finds comfort at the touch of silk on his bare skin.
Disclaimers: Tommy is mine. Yeah, I’m going to act like a crazy person and say that. Everyone else belongs to themselves and whoever else they want to belong to.
Notes: Inspired by Burlesque and the lovely Raja herself. As I like to say, any excuse to put Kris in a dress is a good one. Also, parts of this fic discuss the dilemma of homophobia; I hope the characters put things into perspective to those who, to this day, cannot accept our gay, lesbian and transgender friends.
Kris Allen couldn’t remember the last time he had looked in the mirror without wanting to break it. He’d kept his head down on his way out of the airport, even if the soles of his battered Converse were treading on the ground of a state where no one knew his name. Still, that was the one good thing about cashing out all of his hard-earned money on a one-way plane ticket to Los Angeles-he would take the feeling of being ignored over the feeling of having everyone he knew treat him with such disdain. He had carried the image of the sad, disappointed looks on his parents’ faces when they had found out he was gay all the way to LA, coupling it with the sneering, hate-filled remarks from people he had considered friends.
Fag. He never thought he would hear something so foul come out of an old friends’ mouth.
Of course, there had been Katy; the one person whom he had thought would never abandon him because they had shared so much. He knew it hadn’t been fair for her to find out the true nature of sexuality by carelessly allowing her to catch him with his hand down the football team captain’s pants, but he had never expected her to be one of those who would spit in his face and call him names. Fortunately, Cale and Charles had come to his rescue and had pulled him out of the fray. He had spent a few days at Charles’ place before mustering enough courage to come home one last time to take his things and bid a silent goodbye to his parents before flying off to the city of angels.
For the first time in his life, he had felt truly and completely alone. Cale and Charles still cared about him, but it would be ridiculous of him to ask them to drop everything and fly to LA with him. Kris understood the fact that they had lives; he used to have one, too.
Given that it was all he could afford at the moment, he had been forced to settle for a cramped room that smelled of mothballs and wet laundry at a rundown apartment. For the next few days, he allowed himself to wallow in misery and feel sorry for himself within those four walls, trying hard not to remember the life that he had once had. He knew he could have kept things under wrap if he had not allowed himself to come out, but that would have meant that he was content with living a lie.
Kris could deal with being called numerous derogatory names. The one thing he couldn’t deal with was to allow himself to be called a liar.
He let the empty bottle of beer he had been nursing for the past hour or so roll away into some crack in the pavement, directing his attention to the gaudy sprawl of buildings across the street. It was amazing how LA could be everything and nothing at the same time. The city was home to several of the most famous structures in the world of pop culture, but hid its horns in the forms of suspicious-looking strip clubs and seedy gentlemen’s bars-temporary reprieves for those crumbling under the pressure of reality. A long time ago, during the days when he was still perched high on his pedestal, he would have been mocking the people who frequented such places. Now that he was at the end of his rope and clinging to it for dear life, he would do as much as give anything to be one of them.
All men needed reprieves; Kris was not exempt from the rule.
The sound of joyful laughter from across the street distracted him from his musings. A petite drag queen in a corseted black and pink lace dress emerged from the front entrance of one of the burlesque clubs, a handsome man (one of them seemed like Zac Efron to Kris) on each of her arms. She tittered cheerfully at something Efron’s companion said before bidding them goodbye as a limo pulled up to fetch them. Kris watched in amazement as she made her way back into the club, hips swaying and heels clicking on the pavement. Though she moved like a woman, there was no doubt that she was indeed, a man. A shard of envy pricked at him like a thorn; the men knew what parts she had under her skirts but seemed neither disgusted nor ashamed to be in her company. Back in Conway, homosexuality was unheard of; most men in Arkansas would rather die than think of rubbing a bit of rouge on their cheeks.
He stumbled to his feet and made his way to the club-The Red Room, said the large, light-up sign on the roof-nervously fishing for the twenty he had in his pocket.
“Are you sure you’re in the right place, sweetheart?” the lanky brunette at the ticket booth asked. “I don’t know if it’s right to judge you by your clothes from where you’re from, but that’s what we do here in LA. As far as I’m concerned, sad-looking boys who look like they’ve just rolled out of a haystack don’t really belong in here. You’d better get home, kid; you might end up dead in this part of town.”
“…I should hate you right now,” Kris mumbled. “I should hate you because you’ve clearly just insulted me-the thing is, I don’t hate you because you’re right. In fact, I may as well be dead because my old life doesn’t exist anymore. Even if I go back home-wherever that is-no one’s going to welcome me back with open arms. You can’t just go out there and be...be gay in a place like Conway, Arkansas.”
“Whoa, hold on there, kiddo.” The man ducked out of the booth just in time to prevent him from keeling over. “Come on in; you’re a little drunk and you’re seriously going to die if I leave you out here. Ignore what I said earlier, alright? You’re in dire need of affection right now.”
“I have a twenty here somewhere…” Kris rifled through his pocket with his free hand. “I’m not so butt poor that I can’t afford to pay my way into some club-”
“You can worry about the admission fee later,” the man said gently. “You can buy me a drink the next time you pop in. For now, step into our parlor-I’ll have Brandi see to you.”
Kris blinked as his world shifted. Moments ago, he had been making a fool of himself along the streets of LA’s campiest districts, spilling his woes out to a barely-clothed stranger manning the ticket booth of some club. Now, he was standing inside the said club, relishing the feel of plush red carpeting beneath the sole of his shoes. It was like he had been transported to some alternate world where everyone was beautiful, sinful and passionate-all the things he had never allowed himself to be.
“Oh, you poor thing! Here, come have a drink with me.”
The drag queen Kris had seen earlier came at him in a flurry of lace and bright pink feathers. She slipped her gloved hand into his and led him to one of the empty tables. Almost immediately, a bottle of beer materialized in front of him courtesy of a handsome, russet-haired bartender.
“Well, aren’t you quick!” Brandi giggled, fluttering her long lashes at him. “I swear, you have this radar that goes haywire when someone in need of a good drink comes crawling in.”
“Raja hired me for a reason,” he chuckled. “And what about you, Miss B? What are you having?”
“I’ll have a Mojito, please,” she replied. “Oh, with lychee vodka instead of white rum this time! Thank you, Cookie; you’re such a doll.”
Kris watched in amusement as Cook flung an olive at Brandi, who only giggled in response. She turned back to Kris and placed her hand over his, squeezing it as a form of reassurance.
“He hates it when I call him Cookie,” she said solemnly. “But I do it anyway because that’s how I roll. Anyway, enough about us; I want to know what’s going on with you. Cassidy-he’s the babe manning the ticket booth, bless his beautiful soul-doesn’t really half-drag pretty boys in plaid in here for me to comfort them. Also, he never lets people in for free.”
Kris practically inhaled half the contents of his beer, praying the slight buzz in his head would give him the courage to speak up. He was already half-drunk, but was still too afraid to share his deepest, darkest secrets. He didn’t think he could stand it if this beautiful, kind-hearted illusion of a man would turn on him just like how everyone else in his life had.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Brandi assured him. “Based on what Cass told me, it sounds like you were treated very badly when you came out to your friends and family, which totally sucks. I just want you to know that no one’s here to judge you. Some of our guys here come from that, and they all found the courage to deal with it through drag.”
“I have a hard time talking about it because it hurts so much!” Kris exclaimed. “It hurts to have your friends and your parents-fuck, even my own mama left me-look at you like you’ve committed the gravest sin just because you decided to embrace who you really are. Except for two of my closest friends, I don’t have anyone left. I-I just don’t know what to do from here…”
He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, ashamed to be seen crying in a public place. Brandi stared at him for a moment before rising from her seat, motioning for him to do the same.
“Follow me.”
“…where are we going?” he asked hoarsely.
“To what may hopefully be a better life for you-that is, if you want it to be,” Brandi said quietly. “I’m taking you to meet Raja; she’s the best person to tell your story to.”
Kris allowed himself to be led up a narrow flight of stairs and into a large, well-lit room. Dozens of vanity tables littered with brushes and tubes and containers of makeup took nearly the entire space of the room. On the far end were endless racks of glittery, satiny costumes similar to what Brandi had on. Kris reluctantly reached out to run a finger over the detailed beading of a silver garment, afraid that the beauty would wither and die under his tainted touch.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A new voice snapped him out of his trance. “That’s what I wore when I won RuPaul’s Drag Race last year; it’s a personal favorite of mine. Given the fact that I’ve become the Mother Goose figure around this place, I rarely wear such things nowadays. It’s just good to have a pleasant reminder of my glory days within reach.”
“…I-I didn’t mean to touch it.” Kris withdrew his hand, cheeks coloring in shame. “I’m so sorry; it was shiny and well…there. Sometimes, I can’t help myself.”
The woman that had walked into the room may as well have been the Queen of All Things. She was tall-much taller than Kris himself-olive-skinned with a pale, powdered face and wig, and had an overall exotic air to her. Still, she bore a kind, amused expression on her face; Kris liked her immediately.
“Brandi brought me here,” he admitted. “She told me to see someone named Raja.”
“That would be me, sweetheart,” she beamed at him. “And the only time the girls only send people back here is when they see a potential addition to our family.”
“Oh god, I don’t belong here,” Kris shook his head. “You are all too beautiful; I simply wouldn’t fit in when I’m clearly going to be the ugly duckling.”
“Have a seat, Kris.” Raja pointedly ignored him. “Do you drink tea?”
“Sometimes, yes,” Kris replied, making himself comfortable on the plush divan. “I’m more of a coffee person, but I discovered that drinking tea really helps calm down the nerves.”
“Indeed it does,” Raja agreed, setting a floral teacup on a saucer before handing it to him. “It’s a four berry tea; I believe you’ll find it quite pleasant.”
Kris lifted the cup to his lips and downed some of the steaming liquid, feeling much more alert than he had been all evening. Raja took it from him and set in on the table before taking his hands in both of hers.
“What happened to you, honey?” she asked softly. “You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders; it’s heartbreaking to see someone so sweet look so sad.”
“It all started-and even ended-on the night of my college graduation ball.” Kris exhaled, rubbing his palms together. “I went with my ex-girlfriend as a friendly date just so we could hang with the rest of our friends. I ended up getting tipsy with one of the guys on the football team, and he seemed to be into me. He invited me to go somewhere private, and I agreed to go with him. I was drunk, so I didn’t realize that…that I had my hand down his pants. Everything went crazy when all the guys barged in and took pictures and stuff. It turned out that the entire team had set me up just to prove that I was gay. Worst of all, Katy didn’t even help me. She just stood there and yelled accusations about me secretly fantasizing about other guys when we were still together. I would probably be dead by now if my best friends didn’t arrive in time to save me. Numerous sad days, disappointed looks and a plane ticket later, here I am.”
“…it’s amazing how they don’t ever get sick of their incessant bullying.” Raja’s grip on Kris’ hands tightened considerably. “I’ve listened to so many stories about bullying in the past and it saddens me greatly. I used to ask myself why we have to suffer so much just because we are attracted to other men-this just goes to show that people have boxed themselves in with what they have gotten used to seeing. They refuse to peek outside that box in fear of being changed by what they perceive as ‘abnormal’. This is why I established The Red Room, Kris. All the queens you see out there are gay men who were once afraid to step out into the streets in fear of being mocked, ridiculed and hated. I don’t know what Brad-that’s Brandi’s real name, by the way-told you, but working here has allowed my boys to explore their sexuality in the safe confines of women’s clothing. As time passes, they become more confident in their skin, mainly because our patrons know that they have dicks under their skirts, but enjoy their company nonetheless. I’m extending the very same invitation to you, Kris; if you’re up to the challenge, I would like for you to experience how it feels to be revered by men for who you are.”
“I don’t think I have the confidence, Raja,” he said truthfully. “Even if I put on a costume, it won’t change the fact that I’m still a scared little shit who can’t even love himself.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised at the results,” Raja said with a coy smile. “Come on, sweetheart; do it for good ol’ Raja, at least. You don’t have to go out there if you don’t want to.”
“Well, it’s not like I have any better confidence boosters in my head,” Kris said with a weak chuckle. “Alright; I’m ready to be dolled up and…stuff.”
“Excellent.” Raja gracefully got to her feet and moved towards the costume rack. “We’ll start you off with something simple; you don’t have to worry about putting on a slinky flapper dress like what Brandi’s wearing tonight-ah, I think I have just the one.”
Kris watched in fascination as Raja pulled a gold sequined dress with a flirty hemline from the rack. Smiling, Raja folded it over Kris’ arm, allowing him to get the feel of it.
“It will set your eyes off beautifully,” she said. “Now, go get changed behind those curtains; I’m going to find you some shoes and stockings; we can’t have hairy legs showing under that dress.”
Kris felt surprisingly light-hearted as he ducked behind the heavy drapes with the dress hanging from his arm. Briefly considering his reflection in the mirror (he turned quickly to fight down the desire to break it), he quickly divested himself of his clothing, confused at his sudden desire to feel the brush of silk against his bare skin. Swallowing hard, he carefully pulled the dress over his head and pushed his arms into the sleeves, surprised at how well the fabric molded to his slim frame. He gaped at the bright-eyed man gazing back at him in the mirror, feeling his hatred wash away in waves.
“Are you alright, honey?” Raja poked her head into the dressing room. “I have the rest of your-oh, wow. Look at you, beautiful! The dress is just perfect on you.”
“…you think so?” Kris asked shyly. “I sort of feel good in it.”
“Like you’re meeting an old friend?” Raja pressed a kiss to his temple. “I know exactly how that feels, love; that was how I felt when I tried on my first dress.”
Kris pressed a hand to his cheek, surprised to realize that the skin was damp with his own tears. Raja produced a silk handkerchief from her own dress and gently dabbed at his tears, cradling him against her chest like a mother would her own child. Kris allowed her to bear his weight, sniffling a little into her chest before gracelessly righting himself, chuckling weakly when he saw a pair of black satin pumps on the dressing room floor.
“God, I just know I’m going to trip over everything in these things,” he remarked, reluctantly toeing off his Converse and socks. “I’m already a bull in a china shop in my shoes alone.”
“Practice makes perfect, doll,” Raja chided him as she had him roll on a pair of black stockings. “We’ll work on your walk a little bit each day; by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be walking like Andrej Pejic on the runway of New York Fashion Week.”
“And suddenly, the world seems a little less scary,” Kris laughed, trying not to wobble in his new shoes. “Oh my god, I don’t even know why I’m laughing right now.”
“It’s because you finally feel grounded,” Raja replied candidly. “Come, it’s time for hair and makeup-which is admittedly my most favorite part of this entire process.”
“I’m still amazed at how you manage to get that blond poof to stay on,” Kris giggled, gesturing to the Elizabethan pile of faux platinum hair on Raja’s head. “It must be a monster to work with!”
“It is, but that’s part of what makes Raja who she is,” she quirked an eyebrow at him. “Now, sit! I have the perfect look in mind for you already.”
Kris lost track of what Raja was doing at the first swipe of a brush against his cheek; she worked with the noticeable expertise and precision of an artist who had painted millions of faces at various points in time. In a flurry of shimmering golds and rich browns, Kris felt himself becoming the kind of person he had always wanted to be.
“Can I see?” he asked.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” Raja replied, moving to a large glass case with wigs on display. “As soon as I get this wig on your head, I’m sure you’re going to make the perfect picture.”
She chose a wig of long, wavy dark brown hair and combed through it with her fingers before adjusting the garter straps to conform to the size of Kris’ head. Kris bit his lip as Raja carefully pulled the wig over his head, arranging the curls so they fell neatly across his chest.
“Are you ready?” she asked him. “This is a big change from what you saw awhile ago, so it might trigger more emotional feelings. If you feel like you’re ready, I’m going to turn your chair slowly towards the mirror. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Yes,” Kris whispered. “The anticipation is killing me, so, yeah.”
He lifted his head as Raja turned the stool to face the mirror, more than a little floored to see the face of a beautiful woman staring back at him. He reached out to touch his reflection in the mirror with trembling fingers, trying to map the soft contours of the face of the woman in it.
“Do you see her, Kris?” Raja asked softly. “That’s Krista. Now, I want you to tell me-and the rest of the world-her story.”
By: Lady Michaelis
Pairing: Adam Lambert/Kris Allen (mentions of others)
Rating: Various (PG to NC17)
Warnings: Sexual situations, cross dressing, language, depression, issues regarding homophobia
Genre: Romance/Angst/Erotica
Summary: A jaded young man finds comfort at the touch of silk on his bare skin.
Disclaimers: Tommy is mine. Yeah, I’m going to act like a crazy person and say that. Everyone else belongs to themselves and whoever else they want to belong to.
Notes: Inspired by Burlesque and the lovely Raja herself. As I like to say, any excuse to put Kris in a dress is a good one. Also, parts of this fic discuss the dilemma of homophobia; I hope the characters put things into perspective to those who, to this day, cannot accept our gay, lesbian and transgender friends.
Kris Allen couldn’t remember the last time he had looked in the mirror without wanting to break it. He’d kept his head down on his way out of the airport, even if the soles of his battered Converse were treading on the ground of a state where no one knew his name. Still, that was the one good thing about cashing out all of his hard-earned money on a one-way plane ticket to Los Angeles-he would take the feeling of being ignored over the feeling of having everyone he knew treat him with such disdain. He had carried the image of the sad, disappointed looks on his parents’ faces when they had found out he was gay all the way to LA, coupling it with the sneering, hate-filled remarks from people he had considered friends.
Fag. He never thought he would hear something so foul come out of an old friends’ mouth.
Of course, there had been Katy; the one person whom he had thought would never abandon him because they had shared so much. He knew it hadn’t been fair for her to find out the true nature of sexuality by carelessly allowing her to catch him with his hand down the football team captain’s pants, but he had never expected her to be one of those who would spit in his face and call him names. Fortunately, Cale and Charles had come to his rescue and had pulled him out of the fray. He had spent a few days at Charles’ place before mustering enough courage to come home one last time to take his things and bid a silent goodbye to his parents before flying off to the city of angels.
For the first time in his life, he had felt truly and completely alone. Cale and Charles still cared about him, but it would be ridiculous of him to ask them to drop everything and fly to LA with him. Kris understood the fact that they had lives; he used to have one, too.
Given that it was all he could afford at the moment, he had been forced to settle for a cramped room that smelled of mothballs and wet laundry at a rundown apartment. For the next few days, he allowed himself to wallow in misery and feel sorry for himself within those four walls, trying hard not to remember the life that he had once had. He knew he could have kept things under wrap if he had not allowed himself to come out, but that would have meant that he was content with living a lie.
Kris could deal with being called numerous derogatory names. The one thing he couldn’t deal with was to allow himself to be called a liar.
He let the empty bottle of beer he had been nursing for the past hour or so roll away into some crack in the pavement, directing his attention to the gaudy sprawl of buildings across the street. It was amazing how LA could be everything and nothing at the same time. The city was home to several of the most famous structures in the world of pop culture, but hid its horns in the forms of suspicious-looking strip clubs and seedy gentlemen’s bars-temporary reprieves for those crumbling under the pressure of reality. A long time ago, during the days when he was still perched high on his pedestal, he would have been mocking the people who frequented such places. Now that he was at the end of his rope and clinging to it for dear life, he would do as much as give anything to be one of them.
All men needed reprieves; Kris was not exempt from the rule.
The sound of joyful laughter from across the street distracted him from his musings. A petite drag queen in a corseted black and pink lace dress emerged from the front entrance of one of the burlesque clubs, a handsome man (one of them seemed like Zac Efron to Kris) on each of her arms. She tittered cheerfully at something Efron’s companion said before bidding them goodbye as a limo pulled up to fetch them. Kris watched in amazement as she made her way back into the club, hips swaying and heels clicking on the pavement. Though she moved like a woman, there was no doubt that she was indeed, a man. A shard of envy pricked at him like a thorn; the men knew what parts she had under her skirts but seemed neither disgusted nor ashamed to be in her company. Back in Conway, homosexuality was unheard of; most men in Arkansas would rather die than think of rubbing a bit of rouge on their cheeks.
He stumbled to his feet and made his way to the club-The Red Room, said the large, light-up sign on the roof-nervously fishing for the twenty he had in his pocket.
“Are you sure you’re in the right place, sweetheart?” the lanky brunette at the ticket booth asked. “I don’t know if it’s right to judge you by your clothes from where you’re from, but that’s what we do here in LA. As far as I’m concerned, sad-looking boys who look like they’ve just rolled out of a haystack don’t really belong in here. You’d better get home, kid; you might end up dead in this part of town.”
“…I should hate you right now,” Kris mumbled. “I should hate you because you’ve clearly just insulted me-the thing is, I don’t hate you because you’re right. In fact, I may as well be dead because my old life doesn’t exist anymore. Even if I go back home-wherever that is-no one’s going to welcome me back with open arms. You can’t just go out there and be...be gay in a place like Conway, Arkansas.”
“Whoa, hold on there, kiddo.” The man ducked out of the booth just in time to prevent him from keeling over. “Come on in; you’re a little drunk and you’re seriously going to die if I leave you out here. Ignore what I said earlier, alright? You’re in dire need of affection right now.”
“I have a twenty here somewhere…” Kris rifled through his pocket with his free hand. “I’m not so butt poor that I can’t afford to pay my way into some club-”
“You can worry about the admission fee later,” the man said gently. “You can buy me a drink the next time you pop in. For now, step into our parlor-I’ll have Brandi see to you.”
Kris blinked as his world shifted. Moments ago, he had been making a fool of himself along the streets of LA’s campiest districts, spilling his woes out to a barely-clothed stranger manning the ticket booth of some club. Now, he was standing inside the said club, relishing the feel of plush red carpeting beneath the sole of his shoes. It was like he had been transported to some alternate world where everyone was beautiful, sinful and passionate-all the things he had never allowed himself to be.
“Oh, you poor thing! Here, come have a drink with me.”
The drag queen Kris had seen earlier came at him in a flurry of lace and bright pink feathers. She slipped her gloved hand into his and led him to one of the empty tables. Almost immediately, a bottle of beer materialized in front of him courtesy of a handsome, russet-haired bartender.
“Well, aren’t you quick!” Brandi giggled, fluttering her long lashes at him. “I swear, you have this radar that goes haywire when someone in need of a good drink comes crawling in.”
“Raja hired me for a reason,” he chuckled. “And what about you, Miss B? What are you having?”
“I’ll have a Mojito, please,” she replied. “Oh, with lychee vodka instead of white rum this time! Thank you, Cookie; you’re such a doll.”
Kris watched in amusement as Cook flung an olive at Brandi, who only giggled in response. She turned back to Kris and placed her hand over his, squeezing it as a form of reassurance.
“He hates it when I call him Cookie,” she said solemnly. “But I do it anyway because that’s how I roll. Anyway, enough about us; I want to know what’s going on with you. Cassidy-he’s the babe manning the ticket booth, bless his beautiful soul-doesn’t really half-drag pretty boys in plaid in here for me to comfort them. Also, he never lets people in for free.”
Kris practically inhaled half the contents of his beer, praying the slight buzz in his head would give him the courage to speak up. He was already half-drunk, but was still too afraid to share his deepest, darkest secrets. He didn’t think he could stand it if this beautiful, kind-hearted illusion of a man would turn on him just like how everyone else in his life had.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Brandi assured him. “Based on what Cass told me, it sounds like you were treated very badly when you came out to your friends and family, which totally sucks. I just want you to know that no one’s here to judge you. Some of our guys here come from that, and they all found the courage to deal with it through drag.”
“I have a hard time talking about it because it hurts so much!” Kris exclaimed. “It hurts to have your friends and your parents-fuck, even my own mama left me-look at you like you’ve committed the gravest sin just because you decided to embrace who you really are. Except for two of my closest friends, I don’t have anyone left. I-I just don’t know what to do from here…”
He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, ashamed to be seen crying in a public place. Brandi stared at him for a moment before rising from her seat, motioning for him to do the same.
“Follow me.”
“…where are we going?” he asked hoarsely.
“To what may hopefully be a better life for you-that is, if you want it to be,” Brandi said quietly. “I’m taking you to meet Raja; she’s the best person to tell your story to.”
Kris allowed himself to be led up a narrow flight of stairs and into a large, well-lit room. Dozens of vanity tables littered with brushes and tubes and containers of makeup took nearly the entire space of the room. On the far end were endless racks of glittery, satiny costumes similar to what Brandi had on. Kris reluctantly reached out to run a finger over the detailed beading of a silver garment, afraid that the beauty would wither and die under his tainted touch.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A new voice snapped him out of his trance. “That’s what I wore when I won RuPaul’s Drag Race last year; it’s a personal favorite of mine. Given the fact that I’ve become the Mother Goose figure around this place, I rarely wear such things nowadays. It’s just good to have a pleasant reminder of my glory days within reach.”
“…I-I didn’t mean to touch it.” Kris withdrew his hand, cheeks coloring in shame. “I’m so sorry; it was shiny and well…there. Sometimes, I can’t help myself.”
The woman that had walked into the room may as well have been the Queen of All Things. She was tall-much taller than Kris himself-olive-skinned with a pale, powdered face and wig, and had an overall exotic air to her. Still, she bore a kind, amused expression on her face; Kris liked her immediately.
“Brandi brought me here,” he admitted. “She told me to see someone named Raja.”
“That would be me, sweetheart,” she beamed at him. “And the only time the girls only send people back here is when they see a potential addition to our family.”
“Oh god, I don’t belong here,” Kris shook his head. “You are all too beautiful; I simply wouldn’t fit in when I’m clearly going to be the ugly duckling.”
“Have a seat, Kris.” Raja pointedly ignored him. “Do you drink tea?”
“Sometimes, yes,” Kris replied, making himself comfortable on the plush divan. “I’m more of a coffee person, but I discovered that drinking tea really helps calm down the nerves.”
“Indeed it does,” Raja agreed, setting a floral teacup on a saucer before handing it to him. “It’s a four berry tea; I believe you’ll find it quite pleasant.”
Kris lifted the cup to his lips and downed some of the steaming liquid, feeling much more alert than he had been all evening. Raja took it from him and set in on the table before taking his hands in both of hers.
“What happened to you, honey?” she asked softly. “You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders; it’s heartbreaking to see someone so sweet look so sad.”
“It all started-and even ended-on the night of my college graduation ball.” Kris exhaled, rubbing his palms together. “I went with my ex-girlfriend as a friendly date just so we could hang with the rest of our friends. I ended up getting tipsy with one of the guys on the football team, and he seemed to be into me. He invited me to go somewhere private, and I agreed to go with him. I was drunk, so I didn’t realize that…that I had my hand down his pants. Everything went crazy when all the guys barged in and took pictures and stuff. It turned out that the entire team had set me up just to prove that I was gay. Worst of all, Katy didn’t even help me. She just stood there and yelled accusations about me secretly fantasizing about other guys when we were still together. I would probably be dead by now if my best friends didn’t arrive in time to save me. Numerous sad days, disappointed looks and a plane ticket later, here I am.”
“…it’s amazing how they don’t ever get sick of their incessant bullying.” Raja’s grip on Kris’ hands tightened considerably. “I’ve listened to so many stories about bullying in the past and it saddens me greatly. I used to ask myself why we have to suffer so much just because we are attracted to other men-this just goes to show that people have boxed themselves in with what they have gotten used to seeing. They refuse to peek outside that box in fear of being changed by what they perceive as ‘abnormal’. This is why I established The Red Room, Kris. All the queens you see out there are gay men who were once afraid to step out into the streets in fear of being mocked, ridiculed and hated. I don’t know what Brad-that’s Brandi’s real name, by the way-told you, but working here has allowed my boys to explore their sexuality in the safe confines of women’s clothing. As time passes, they become more confident in their skin, mainly because our patrons know that they have dicks under their skirts, but enjoy their company nonetheless. I’m extending the very same invitation to you, Kris; if you’re up to the challenge, I would like for you to experience how it feels to be revered by men for who you are.”
“I don’t think I have the confidence, Raja,” he said truthfully. “Even if I put on a costume, it won’t change the fact that I’m still a scared little shit who can’t even love himself.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised at the results,” Raja said with a coy smile. “Come on, sweetheart; do it for good ol’ Raja, at least. You don’t have to go out there if you don’t want to.”
“Well, it’s not like I have any better confidence boosters in my head,” Kris said with a weak chuckle. “Alright; I’m ready to be dolled up and…stuff.”
“Excellent.” Raja gracefully got to her feet and moved towards the costume rack. “We’ll start you off with something simple; you don’t have to worry about putting on a slinky flapper dress like what Brandi’s wearing tonight-ah, I think I have just the one.”
Kris watched in fascination as Raja pulled a gold sequined dress with a flirty hemline from the rack. Smiling, Raja folded it over Kris’ arm, allowing him to get the feel of it.
“It will set your eyes off beautifully,” she said. “Now, go get changed behind those curtains; I’m going to find you some shoes and stockings; we can’t have hairy legs showing under that dress.”
Kris felt surprisingly light-hearted as he ducked behind the heavy drapes with the dress hanging from his arm. Briefly considering his reflection in the mirror (he turned quickly to fight down the desire to break it), he quickly divested himself of his clothing, confused at his sudden desire to feel the brush of silk against his bare skin. Swallowing hard, he carefully pulled the dress over his head and pushed his arms into the sleeves, surprised at how well the fabric molded to his slim frame. He gaped at the bright-eyed man gazing back at him in the mirror, feeling his hatred wash away in waves.
“Are you alright, honey?” Raja poked her head into the dressing room. “I have the rest of your-oh, wow. Look at you, beautiful! The dress is just perfect on you.”
“…you think so?” Kris asked shyly. “I sort of feel good in it.”
“Like you’re meeting an old friend?” Raja pressed a kiss to his temple. “I know exactly how that feels, love; that was how I felt when I tried on my first dress.”
Kris pressed a hand to his cheek, surprised to realize that the skin was damp with his own tears. Raja produced a silk handkerchief from her own dress and gently dabbed at his tears, cradling him against her chest like a mother would her own child. Kris allowed her to bear his weight, sniffling a little into her chest before gracelessly righting himself, chuckling weakly when he saw a pair of black satin pumps on the dressing room floor.
“God, I just know I’m going to trip over everything in these things,” he remarked, reluctantly toeing off his Converse and socks. “I’m already a bull in a china shop in my shoes alone.”
“Practice makes perfect, doll,” Raja chided him as she had him roll on a pair of black stockings. “We’ll work on your walk a little bit each day; by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be walking like Andrej Pejic on the runway of New York Fashion Week.”
“And suddenly, the world seems a little less scary,” Kris laughed, trying not to wobble in his new shoes. “Oh my god, I don’t even know why I’m laughing right now.”
“It’s because you finally feel grounded,” Raja replied candidly. “Come, it’s time for hair and makeup-which is admittedly my most favorite part of this entire process.”
“I’m still amazed at how you manage to get that blond poof to stay on,” Kris giggled, gesturing to the Elizabethan pile of faux platinum hair on Raja’s head. “It must be a monster to work with!”
“It is, but that’s part of what makes Raja who she is,” she quirked an eyebrow at him. “Now, sit! I have the perfect look in mind for you already.”
Kris lost track of what Raja was doing at the first swipe of a brush against his cheek; she worked with the noticeable expertise and precision of an artist who had painted millions of faces at various points in time. In a flurry of shimmering golds and rich browns, Kris felt himself becoming the kind of person he had always wanted to be.
“Can I see?” he asked.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” Raja replied, moving to a large glass case with wigs on display. “As soon as I get this wig on your head, I’m sure you’re going to make the perfect picture.”
She chose a wig of long, wavy dark brown hair and combed through it with her fingers before adjusting the garter straps to conform to the size of Kris’ head. Kris bit his lip as Raja carefully pulled the wig over his head, arranging the curls so they fell neatly across his chest.
“Are you ready?” she asked him. “This is a big change from what you saw awhile ago, so it might trigger more emotional feelings. If you feel like you’re ready, I’m going to turn your chair slowly towards the mirror. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Yes,” Kris whispered. “The anticipation is killing me, so, yeah.”
He lifted his head as Raja turned the stool to face the mirror, more than a little floored to see the face of a beautiful woman staring back at him. He reached out to touch his reflection in the mirror with trembling fingers, trying to map the soft contours of the face of the woman in it.
“Do you see her, Kris?” Raja asked softly. “That’s Krista. Now, I want you to tell me-and the rest of the world-her story.”