Chapter 33

Oh, and I needed to pick one of them. But which one? 5

That week at the bar, I did Bjork, Bette, Barbra, and Britney. I called it my B-phase. Each time, I felt I was getting better and better, more polished, both in my lip-syncing and makeup, even at the dreaded, tipless hosting. As to the makeup, it was Lucy who helped, who even volunteered to help, who, in fact, demanded it.

“Drag queens do not get their makeup done at Macy’s,” she exclaimed.

“Sometimes my mom does it,” I replied.

She seemed to think that over, but then stomped her foot. She had six-inch stilettos on. Stomping wasn’t easy—or painless. “Kitschy, I’ll give you that, but, no, you have to learn how to do it yourself.”

“Or pay someone to do it for you.”

She nodded. “But notsomeone down at Macy’s. Bloomies, maybe. Nordstrom’s, okay. But not Macy’s. Too pedestrian.”

“Snobbish much?”

Her head bobbed in a nod. “Much.”