Queen me! A novella by Enrique Fuentes, Queen of the Downtown Fur - excerpt two

Oh honeys I have missed you all! Now, let me tell you a little about life. Let me rant about it right now. Run to me so I can tell you! Closer. two kisses on each cheek just for being the Hollywood dancers that we all are.

If you don't run to me? I won't hold you. It's that simple and you'll pout like Ricky Ricardo losing his congas on the train. Now this is what I have to say: Of course you've been so starving for a little more of what baby Ricky, Queen hoochie, lover of men in tight jeans, and boa waving writer girlie has to say. Here's another little taste. Now kiss me because you can!


Queen me! (Excerpt Two)
A novella by Enrique Fuentes, Queen of the Downtown Fur

That night I was drunk and stumbling and I wanted a martini; no I changed my mind as I entered, I wanted a scotch. But then I saw Paulo sitting at the bar and I dwindled into the bar shadow...

No one played the piano. It sat in the darkness just waiting to be heard myself. Couldn’t Paulo hear my cries? I still hate him. I hated him that night until I got angry enough and got up to confront him. He huddled next to a large Latino who seemed to refuse to put his arm around him. Was Paulo begging? I could never truly tell. What was Paulo wanting from this big boy toy? Talk about making me catty. I was going to find out if I had to go Rosie Perez on both their hoochie asses.
Just over Paulo’s head hung a low balcony where back in the day the old man’s sexy hoochie girls would wave lustfully to boys, many of them Hollywood boys who came to Bakersfield, got drunk and begged for the women to come down or just take it all off. Sometimes they did. A mannequin sat up above now, resting in what was left of an old porcelain bathtub. The mannequin itself was faded and wore a vintage 1972 black bikini on its pink plastic skin; she even had an overdone-make-up smile and long arms with tinsel hanging from her doll-like fingertips.

“Oh she’s a delight,” Paulo said looking over at me. He could tell I was drunk.

I felt more like the mannequin: a little stiff, a little starry-eyed for attention. “I’m always a delight. Sit down before you hurt yourself, honey,” I said. I looked at the big monster sitting next to him, pulled out a Benson and Hedges cigarette and lit it without shining my glamorous smile. “Who’s the Frankenstein?”

“You,” Paulo said. “Look at you. You’re a mess. You’ve been drinking and I can tell you’re still upset. Do you want to talk?”

“No. Get me a Scotch.”

“OK,” Paulo started to smile.

When he turned around to the bartender I grabbed his arm, “Not the drink…”

“You slut.”

“I’m just kidding. Get me a Scotch.” He turned around again and I once again pulled his arm. “Just a man. Get me a big man,” I said.

“Why are you so mean?”

“Because I can be. Why aren’t you introducing us? If you’re dating this big gorilla, I just want to know.” I looked him up and down and raised a lip. I gave him the Enrique hoochie chin nod like I was a Flamenco dancer ready for the dance floor prowl.

“Why are you acting so jealous?” Paulo leaned in so he wasn’t overheard. His dark hair was a mess but it was beautiful. He didn’t have on a wig at all. It was just his short scraggily black hair with a hint of make-up on his cheeks and under his eyes, barely a hint. It was enough to make his big brown eyes gaze at me and for me to be in love with them.

“Me? I don’t get jealous. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said loud enough to be overheard.

“The hell you don’t, Enrique. Why don’t you just go home. You’re drunk. And you’re not being bashful about it.”

“Leave me alone. You’re hurting me,” I pulled away as if he had been holding my arm even though he wasn’t. “If you don’t want to tell me the truth then I am just going to have to kill myself.”

“Oh God. Baby Ricky. Why are you talking like that? You’re such a drama queen.”

“I know. Sit down. Let’s talk.” Paulo knew I always liked to cause a scene. All around us barflies had been watching us through the corners of their demon eyes. Now they suddenly focused on their drinks and their own conversations.

“Baby Ricky I want you to meet Alberto.”

“Oh Alberto I do declare you have the eyes of an angel and the hands of a protector,” I lied. He looked like a bitch and I wanted to kick him in his hound dog face.

“Hey,” Alberto said. His voice didn’t seem to match his girth. It was rather high and nasally.

“Ohh, I like your vocabulary too. You know other grunts?”

“I get around,” he said. “I like your Paulo. He’s a handsome boy.”

“Hands off you big ape. You’re gonna have to fight a girl for this one,” I said blowing smoke at him.

“No one wants to fight anyone,” Paulo said. “Here, have another drink you hateful bitch.”

“Oh Paulo, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me all night,” I said taking a long drag and making my lips pop.

Suddenly Alberto stood up. “I’ve had enough of drama for the night. I actually have beauty sleep to attend to,” he said then walked off.

“Priss,” I said. “He’s just a little hoochie in a big body. I don’t like him at all. Look at him. He can’t even shake it when he walks. Must have a little chile pepper.”

“What do you know, Baby Ricky? You’re mean to everyone I know. You can’t find fault in yourself, so you go and find fault in everyone else around you so that you can feel good about how you look, how…”

“How I dress, how I do my make-up,” I said mocking Paulo, adding, “Because all Enrique really cares about is, number one: attention, and number two: whether or not her hair matches her Camel Lola Classics! Oh come off it Paulo!” I yelled, but then softened my illustrious voice and looked seductive, “You know I care about how you hold me at night.”

“See, that’s just how you are Baby Ricky! You’re so mean to your Paulo. I could die tomorrow and you wouldn’t show up to my funeral because you wouldn’t be able to decide which wig to wear, let alone whether you love me or not!”

“Oh baby, now you’re causing a scene. You need to calm yourself. And besides. I do know. I would wear a classic Sandra Dee with a blue bow, not pink. Pink just says ‘I’m too potty talk’ for funerals. Now run to me and let mama hold you…”

And he did. He came to me and we hugged right there in the piano bar. And that’s how our relationship goes. Do we ever understand what we’re really fighting about? We do, in our own way. But then there’s so much more to talk about.
after al