After seven shots, a tumbler of Shandy and a few sips -- maybe more -- of champagne, Deloris couldn't really blame the unsteadiness of her hand as she applied her false eyelashes. Besides, nobody past the front row would notice if they were a little off kilter. The people came to watch her sing, not scrutinise her eyes.
"D'loris, honey..." Mac curved around her dressing-room door. Despite the technological age, he was a firm believer in clipboards and sharp pencils. He always had a few spare in his hair and behind his ears. He looked up long enough from his ever-changing schedule to assess her look. "Is it a hot pink night? Lawd, spare us. And how much have you had to drink?"
"Enough to keep me straight." Her mouth gaped as she applied eye-liner in heavy kohl. She tossed the pencil into her make-up bag. "How much time do I have?"
"You're on in an hour. The people are heaving out there."
She puckered her lips as she filled in her Cupid's bow. "Good to know someone around here appreciates me."
"How do you know they're here to see you?"
Deloris stared at Mac's reflection. "Because I am the Star."
Mac guffawed and waved his hand. "Don't make me come and get you. One. Hour."
She wasn't exactly wrong. Ever since coming out as Delicious Deloris, wearing skimpier numbers than a Playboy centrefold, every boy with a voice dreamt of having her life, and every queen tried to copy her look. Her wigs, washed and powdered, lined up in front of the mirror like VIP ticket-holders expecting a private concert. She hummed and murmured as she warmed up her voice. That last sip of champagne had made her vocal chords smooth, like silk -- but even silk breaks if stretched too far. God, she needed a stiff drink, but if she had another it was guaranteed that she'd be seeing four eyes in the mirror. She adjusted the stocking on her head and hiked the fishnets up her legs. She hated tucking too early, but gussets weren't designed to accommodate the kinds of spare parts she had.
Dr Phelps had advised against it, but she lit up anyway, using her cigarette holder to save her manicure. She watched her Adam's apple bob in the mirror as she exhaled and swallowed. The room went dark. Over in the corner she saw herself and her sister in her mother's old bedroom. She was four and her sister was seven.
"This is how you become beautiful, Dylan. Mommy always makes her cheeks pink and her lips red." She watched her sister apply too much powder to her face. Thank god she'd learnt to contour since those days. She remembered looking at her boyish face in the mirror, transformed into something clownish in her sister's hands. She hardly recognised the freak looking back at her.
"Thirty minutes!" Mac thumped the door as he hollered.
Deloris glanced at the clock. It was time to give up the gig. She knew that. The younger queens were closing in on her, eyeing her spot like hyenas to carrion.
"Bitch, did I say you could use my hairspray?" A skirt in neon green charged a purple catsuit.
"Why don't you ask the bulge in your jockstrap?"
Deloris tried to tune them out. On her dressing table were the pictures of her favourite icons. Judy. Cher. Dolly. Liza. And, of course, Patrick Swayze in To Wong Foo... She opened her drawer and pulled out a small brown bottle. Every time she took one, she promised herself it would be the last time. There were two pills left. One for now and one for after, just to take the edge off. Maybe she'd even get some sleep tonight. She let the champagne chase it down her throat. Time to get her wig on, her tits out and check for moose-knuckle even though she was wearing a number by Diane Von Fürstenberg. Tiny Tricksy's wardrobe malfunction had taught them all that one could never be too careful.
She was ready. She could hear her sister's seven-year-old voice. Oh, Dylan. You look so beautiful; almost like a real girl. But Mr Geppetto hadn't made her and Jiminy Cricket remained a poster on the wall of her childhood bedroom. The only magic wand she had came in a ghd box. It was time to stop wishing. She was the Star.
Her dressing-room door clicked shut behind her, and her DVF dress billowed as she stalked down the corridor and backstage. Mac was waiting, holding her Swarovski-encrusted microphone. Tiny Tricksy was finishing off her version of The Locomotion with the Chippendales. That had been Mac's idea: something for everyone in the audience. Deloris could hear the girls roar at the disappearing tuxedos while the boys sang with Tricksy.
"How do you feel tonight?" Mac tapped his clipboard in time to the music.
"Like this is goodbye."
Her words disappeared into the cheers and Mac went off to solve a lighting issue.
The MC did his usual intro while Deloris scurried to her place. The theatre lights shut off, the curtains parted and the backlighting outlined her on the stage. This would have to be goodbye. She could feel the pills working. Her pulse was throbbing in her neck, like a ticking bomb. She raised the mic to her mouth and inhaled. Out came I'm Kissing You. Out came all of the emotion of the journey from Dylan to Deloris. Out, and proud of it.
She collapsed as the piano fell silent. She never heard the applause or saw the number of eyes she'd moved to tears. Her last memory was of watching her Swarovski microphone roll into the wings while Mac's face swam in her vision.
This story is inspired by Renée Zellweger's performance in Judy.
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