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  The waitress brought two more dirty martinis to the table. “Keep ‘em coming!” Viveka told her.

  “I’m glad my mom was so sensitive about her nose,” December said. “Her life taught me that some people absolutely need to get plastic surgery. She never had her nose fixed, and as a result, she was always unhappy. She could’ve led a much happier life, if she’d just made the decision to improve her appearance and raise her self-esteem.”

  “Why didn’t she get it fixed? Did your father say it was too expensive?”

  “My dad actually encouraged her to get a nose job. He told her we had more than enough money. But that wasn’t the problem. It was something more complex. She was afraid of—”

  “Scalpels?” Viveka interjected.

  “No, but that’s a good guess,” December said. “She was afraid of general anesthetics. She thought that if she went under, she might never wake up. So instead, she lived in constant self-pity and alienated everyone around her. When she died, only two people went to her funeral – my dad and a high school classmate of mine. She was in my class and was hoping to run into me there. She once met my mom in a store, years ago. They started talking and my mom practically criticized her to death, telling her she was too skinny and no man would ever marry her. In the funeral guest book, my friend wrote, ‘Sorry you died. More people would have attended if you’d been nicer.’”

  “Why didn’t you go to the funeral?”

  “I wasn’t even aware that she’d died. I was traveling in Europe at the time, and my dad didn’t know how to reach me.” He shrugged. “What about you? I know next to nothing about your private life.”

  Viveka sighed hugely. “Where do I begin? Asking me to talk about that is like requesting a condensed version of War And Peace.”

  “How about this?” December said. “Tell me three personal things I don’t know. Just three, that’s all I ask.”

  “Fair enough. Now let me think….” She sipped thoughtfully on her second dirty martini. “Okay, here’s personal fact No. 1. I’m very health-conscious. I follow a stringent health regimen. I start each day with a beverage made from apple cider vinegar, lemon juice, ground turmeric, garlic cloves, ginger root, powdered kelp, honey, and a raw egg.”

  “Sounds healthy. Go on!”

  “Fact No. 2. When I was about ten years old, I traveled to Egypt with my parents and visited the Valley of the Kings, the royal necropolis of the ancients. We ended up living in a tent in the area for three years. My father died while we lived in the Valley – he was killed by a crazy beggar who tried to steal his gold pocket watch. My mother killed the beggar by bashing his head in with a rock. My mother and I interred my father’s body in one of the sacred tombs.”

  “Whoa!” December gazed with wonder at his friend. “That’s a huge jump, from a health tonic recipe to the death of your father in Egypt. I can hardly wait to hear the third one.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t save the best for last. No. 2 was actually the best. Here’s fact No. 3. Over the years, I’ve had every sort of pet imaginable. Right now, I have a black Bombay tomcat. Before that, I’ve owned a rose hair tarantula, a parrot, a white rat, several iguanas, and a veritable army of other cats – mostly either black or ginger toms.”

  “Just toms? Don’t you like female cats?” December asked.

  “Sure, I like them. But I prefer the company of tomcats. Just like I like hanging out with you. I’ve never been one of those women who spends her free time with other women. It’s just how I am.” She tilted her head to the side and studied December appraisingly. “Should I include you on my list of pets?”

  “That depends on how you would define ‘pet.’”

  The waitress brought two more dirty martinis and took away the empty glasses.

  “I would define a ‘pet’ as….” Viveka took a thoughtful sip of her fresh martini. “I’d say, a living thing that a person supports, in exchange for beneficial but non-sexual companionship. So I guess I can’t call you a pet, since I don’t support you.”

  “Does our non-sexual companionship at least provide you with benefits?” December said.

  “Certainly. I can spend time with an attractive man, namely you, without having to wait on you. If I want to do something for you, it’s my choice – no obligation. Also, I can talk freely with you, like we’re doing right now. We don’t try to control or limit each other.”

  “You have that robot version of me in your work area,” December said. “Maybe that’s the pet version of me. It looks like me, but it relies on you to stay active.”

  “Actually, Christmas relies on a belly-chamber full of powerful batteries,” she said. “Also, it’s completely autonomous. I’ve provided it with countless books and DVDs so it can learn. And of course, it has access to the internet. I can’t be around all the time to keep it company, and I don’t want it to become bored with its existence. Every now and then I send it out on errands, so it can get used to being around people. It is useful. I trust it with my credit cards. I’ve even taught it how to pay my bills. I built the loyalty into it.”

  “You send it out on errands?” December said, surprised. “But it looks like me. When people see it, they might think it is me.”

  Viveka shrugged. “So what if they do? I only send Christmas out to buy groceries or fetch packages. I’ve provided it with identification, in case it’s ever stopped by the police. That in itself was a learning experience. I had to learn how to forge ID. Of course, teenagers do it all the time these days, so it’s not like I’ve figured out how to split atoms.”

  “All these projects of yours,” December said. “They sure keep you busy. I take it you don’t have a lover in your life. If you didn’t have so many projects to occupy your time, maybe your need for a lover would be greater. Having to work on so many projects could be stopping you from finding a lover.”

  “That’s one-hundred percent true!” Viveka said with a laugh. “Having a lover would be enormously time-consuming. I adore my projects and enjoy being able to concentrate on them. Thanks to my projects, I am happier and more productive than ever.”

  Chapter 8

  As a child growing up in Peoria, Illinois, Nate Tucker – later to be known as Monica Delectable – enjoyed dressing up his older sister’s Barbie dolls. She’d thrown them away just before she went to college, and an hour later, he’d taken them from her trash basket without anyone realizing it. He would play with the dolls whenever he was alone in the house, and then hide them in a duffel bag under his bed.

  He kept his feminine interests hidden throughout his childhood and high school years. He was a member of the football and baseball teams, and worked out regularly with his friends at a local gym.

  Instead of college, he initially planned to go to barber school and work as a barber. Then he realized that his friends and family weren’t watching and judging him anymore, so he changed his mind and attended a school of cosmetology to become a hairdresser.

  He still exercised regularly at a fitness center. Constantly working with women’s hair allowed him to develop an interest in wigs, and he even bought a couple to wear around his apartment.

  Eventually Nate moved in with a boyfriend named Doug who worked at an ad agency. Doug was very kind and incredibly helpful. He loved to do research, since that was part of his day-job. If Nate expressed any kind of interest in something he wanted to do, Doug would scour the internet for the best and most affordable way to do it.

  They started going to a gay club in the area every Friday night to watch the drag show. Nate began experimenting with makeup and found that he was drop-dead gorgeous, once he applied his newfound skills in cosmetology to the task.

  Encouraged by Doug, Nate began to build a drag wardrobe and an act to go with it. Doug helped by finding the names and locations, or websites, of stores offering the best wigs, shoes and other components of drag outfits.

  Though Nate was very muscular, that didn’t create a problem, since he was able to crea
te a feminine look reminiscent of a valkyrie or Amazon warrior-queen. His act was centered around his skills at dancing and lip-syncing. He asked Doug to think up a drag name, and he came up with Monica Delectable. It wasn’t clever like some drag names, but Nate liked it just fine, since Doug came up with it.

  - - -

  With Doug’s assistance, Monica Delectable’s drag career took off like a rocket. Her energetic dancing and lip-syncing skills, combined with her lovely face and muscular physique, made her act a popular attraction at many clubs. Her unique look appealed to both men who liked pretty faces and men who admired strong, well-toned bodies.

  Doug suggested that Monica should get involved with charity projects whenever possible. He once said to her, “Drag queens are always misunderstood. If you help charities, people will see you in a wholesome, positive light. It’ll give you more of a professional profile.”

  Monica let it be known, through her social media, that she’d be happy to hear from event organizers who’d welcome her participation. Within just a few days, she was asked to be part of a charity event called Friendship By The Bowlful, where the world’s largest soup bowl for the homeless would be prepared.

  Doug absolutely loved the concept. “Go ahead and agree to it. I’ll arrange some interviews. Morning shows, public TV, gay and lesbian newsletters and podcasts. Do you have any idea what they want you to do as part of the event?”

  “I’ve been talking with Ryan, their event manager,” Monica said. “I’ll be one of the people dishing out soup for the attendees. They want me there to stress that diversity is a big part of their mission statement.”

  “So who gets soup?” Doug said. “Just homeless people, or anybody who shows up?”

  “Anybody who shows up, of course! You can’t ask people to present proof of being homeless.”

  “You’ve got me there.”

  “It’s not just about the soup,” Monica said. “It’s more about helping to integrate the homeless back into the community. The event will feature kiosks with social workers who participants can consult. It’s going to be a pretty amazing event.”

  “Excellent! Be sure to give the event manager my number in case he wants me to email him any promotional information or photos.”

  The evening before the event, Monica received a phone call from Noah, the assistant event manager for Friendship By The Bowlful.

  “Just calling to let you know, there’s been a schedule change,” Noah said. His voice was husky but cheerful. “Can you get to the community center around 6 a.m. instead of 7:30 a.m., and park behind the pavilion? We want to start the preparations a little earlier, so we can take some photos for the website. I’ll be there already, so look for my silver van.”

  Monica agreed, and in the morning, she drove to the community center, arriving at 6 a.m. in full drag. She parked by the silver van, which was the only vehicle in the parking lot. A good-looking, sixtyish man in a black trenchcoat stood by the van.

  When she left her car, the man came up to her and shook her hand. “Hello there! I’m Noah. You must be Monica Delectable. We talked last night on the phone.”

  “It looks like we’re the only ones here,” Monica said. “Refresh my memory. Why are we here before everyone else?”

  “Like I said on the phone: we need to take some photos to post on the website before the event. Thank you for arriving prepared. You look great! The photographer will be here any minute.” He pointed toward the pavilion, which abutted the community center. “That’s where we’re going to make all that soup. You need to go through that red door.”

  Monica turned and looked toward the pavilion. “Red door? I don’t see a red door.”

  Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her left buttock. She turned around and saw that Noah was holding a hypodermic needle.

  “What the hell is—” Monica blacked out before she could say another word.

  The man in the black trenchcoat dragged Monica to the silver van. He opened up the van, hauled the body inside, and closed the door behind him.

  Later, as the event was finishing up, it dawned on Ryan, the event manager, that Monica Delectable hadn’t arrived to help serve soup. She had given him the number of her PR guy, Doug, so he called to tell him that Monica never showed up.

  Doug told him that he was Monica’s partner, and that Monica should have been there well in advance. Doug gave Ryan her car and license plate information. Ryan then walked through the parking lot and found the vehicle. He knew something had to be very wrong, so he called both Doug and the police.

  Earlier that day, the event’s cooks had noticed that their soup vat contained way too much diced meat. At the time, they hadn’t given the matter too much thought. Usually, extra meat in the soup is not a bad thing.

  The event fed more than three-hundred attendees that day. Many said it was the best soup they’d ever tasted.

  Chapter 9

  Sinthia Laretta never liked conducting business in a traditional, tiresome way. She wanted to talk with the cast of Sinthia’s Cabaret, so she asked them to meet her for lunch on the front lawn of her ranch-style home, just a few miles from the Los Angeles studio of The Bravehart Agenda. She asked them to arrive in full drag with a side dish and a hearty appetite.

  When they arrived, they saw that Sinthia had prepared fried chicken for them. Her fried chicken was always especially crispy, since the breading included crushed breakfast cereal – she would never say which brand. She’d also set out long wooden picnic tables. She wore a vintage 1950s housewife outfit, with a red polka-dot dress, a pearl necklace, high-heeled pumps, and stylishly coiffed blonde hair.

  The girls and December put their dishes out on the picnic tables, and everyone looked to see what their friends had brought.

  December kept it simple and brought loaves of French bread with jars of spiced dipping oil for the occasion. Georgia Peechy, in keeping with her country singer persona, came with Western-style baked beans. Babette Babelon, singer of torch songs, had made banana bread, loaded with blueberries. Amanda Cherysh, the comedy queen, carried in four jars packed with different types of pickles. Kellista Sweet, the magician, had baked some coffee-flavored cupcakes, and Velvet Vixun, the celebrity impersonator, brought a red velvet cake.

  A dark-haired, stocky man came out of the house, carrying a big bowl full of salad. He was wearing a gray tank top that had stretched out with time, exposing plenty of his abundant chest hair.

  “Everybody, this is my husband, David,” Sinthia said. “He volunteered to prepare some salad, in case any of you were vegetarians.” She turned to him. “What kind of salad did you decide to make?”

  “I made a sweet kale and baby spinach salad with avocado dressing,” he said as he set the bowl on the table. “It includes sunflower seeds, carrot slices, diced sweet onions, green apple slices, and crumbled veggie chicken patties. I didn’t put in any eggs or cheese. The patties can pass for real chicken, but they’re not as good as Sinthia’s fried chicken!”

  “It sounds wonderful, darling,” Sinthia said. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

  “You drove me to my place when it was raining,” he said, giving her a hug and a kiss. The queens expressed their approval with soft cries of Aaawwww!

  “Look at all that chest hair!” Babette said. “David, doesn’t all that hair make you hot in the summer?”

  “It makes me hot all year round,” Sinthia said. “Now let’s get started with what needs to be discussed, and then we’ll tuck into this delicious spread.”

  Once everyone had taken a seat at the longest picnic table, Sinthia thanked everyone for coming. “I’m afraid I have to start our get-together with some bad news. Claudia Maresko and Monica Delectable will not be joining us this season. This is sad news, but as they say, the show must go on. Claudia will be replaced by another model and actress, my friend, Jessica Hesterson. Most recently, she worked as an entertainment reporter on The Blabbermouth Hour.”

  “What happened to Monica?” said Babette.
“She used to post on Instagram all the time. Now I can’t even remember the last time she posted.”

  “Monica has passed away, and so has Claudia,” Sinthia said. “I wanted to tell you all personally. I wouldn’t dream of conveying such awful news over the phone.”

  Shocked gasps sounded around the table, and two girls even started to cry.

  “I don’t know the details of their deaths,” Sinthia said, “but I’ve talked to Eryk Bravehart, owner of The Bravehart Agenda, about this. He said he’s hired a private investigator to look into their deaths. It does seem odd for two cast members of a TV show to die within the same month, and he’d like to know the reason why as soon as possible. I’ll keep you posted as I hear more.”

  “A private investigator?” Kellista said. “Does Eryk think they’ve been murdered?”

  “I’m not surprised that he’s looking into it,” Babette said. “He’s a rich guy, and rich guys have to be cautious. What if they were killed by one of his staff members? He could be liable.”

  “Well, hopefully they weren’t murdered,” Sinthia said. “We don’t know the facts yet, so we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

  “I hope we’re not all in danger,” said Amanda. “Maybe the show should be put on hiatus.”

  The other queens objected to that opinion, on the ground that Amanda was, indeed, jumping to a hasty conclusion, just as Sinthia had discussed.

  “Even if Claudia and Monica were murdered,” Velvet said, “that doesn’t mean the show is the reason behind their deaths. I mean, the world’s a dangerous place to begin with. The rest of us might be perfectly safe.”

  “Plus, like Sinthia said, Eryk has hired a private investigator,” Georgia said. “He’ll find out what’s happening. We just need to wait until we hear more.”