The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

16 - A Disaster Waiting to Happen

Butterflies attack my stomach as I stand staring at the door.

Should I knock first? Should I just walk inside? What am I supposed to do? I ponder this for a moment before rapping my knuckles against the green steel and cracking it open an inch. There's not a soul in sight. I step over the threshold and close the door.

Just like before, several fancy garments dangle from hangers along the wall, a myriad of heels and thigh-high boots scattered beneath them. The last time I was at the club, Lady Bijou told me that if I ever needed anything that I'd know where to find her. At the time, I thanked her—just to be polite. Little did I know that a few short days later, I'd be seeking beauty advice from a drag queen. But if anyone can give me a proper makeup tutorial, it'll be her.

My eyes scan the dressing room, searching for signs of life.

"Can I help you?" a voice asks from the quiet. The sound makes me jump.

There's a long wooden bench off to one side. A man maybe twice my age is sitting on it watching me, a mesh cap covering his black hair.

I stammer out a reply. "I, uh—I was just wondering if Lady Bijou was working today?"

His dark eyes dance with amusement. "She's here. May I ask what this is regarding?"

"Well ..." My eyes drop to the floor. "We met earlier this week, and I was hoping she could maybe, um, help me with my makeup? But only if she's not too busy."

"I see," he says slowly. When I look back up, one delicate eyebrow is arched. "Something special going on?"

Heat scorches my cheeks. Am I really going to confide in a total stranger? If I want to see Lady Bijou, I suppose I have no choice. "First date," I confess.

"Ah. The consequential first date." A smile tinges his words. "Does it happen to be with a Mr. Sullivan Reed?"

My jaw drops to the floor. "How did you know that?"

He pulls himself to a standing position. "Well, for starters, I saw the way he was looking at you the last time you were here. And," he adds slyly, "the way you were looking at him. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the rest."

"But how—" I'm so confused. "How did you—"

The man sets down the sequin gown he's fiddling with and walks toward me, reaching his hand out to mine. "It's good to see you again, Gwen. I'm Bastian Meullion, otherwise known as Lady Bijou."

I'm grateful my reflexes are working because the rest of me is numb. My hand moves forward and he clasps it in his. "You're Lady Bijou?"

He chuckles. "The one and only."

I take my time studying him, trying to determine if he's pulling my leg. Lady Bijou is gorgeous, and there's no denying this guy is, too. They're both tall and lean and share an easy confidence, only Bastian's isn't as obnoxious. His light brown skin is smooth and his features chiseled, and there's something in his eyes that promise he's telling the truth.

He cocks his head to the side. "What did you think I looked like underneath the wig and all that makeup?"

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "I guess I didn't expect you to be so—normal."

"I can respect that." He smiles at me and I smile back. "Why don't you have a seat at the mirror and I'll see what I can do."

He nods toward a swivel chair and I do as he requests. Tubes of lipstick and palettes of blush and eye shadow in every shade known to man clutter the vanity and a series of bright lights line the perimeter of the mirror. He turns me to face him.