Chapter 2

Chapter Two

T he Palace was a seedy-looking building on Darlinghurst Road, King's Cross, sandwiched between a twenty-four-hour gym and a place that sold fried chicken. Maybe it had once been a nice building, but the windows had clearly been plastered over years ago, and the entire fa?ade had been painted black. A flashing neon sign read "The Pa ace". The L had burned out. The only light spilling out came from the narrow front door, illuminating, in rainbow strobes, the scary bouncer who stood there and glowered. As Leo Fisher watched, the bouncer stepped aside to let two glittery, sequined guys slip inside.

Leo had no idea what the hell he was doing here. It had seemed like a good idea, right up until the Uber had dropped him just down the road—because the funeral had been eye-opening. His parents and the rest of the family had always spoken about Great-Uncle Jimmy in vaguely disapproving terms, but up until being confronted by a funeral service full of drag queens, gay guys wearing body glitter and at least three butch lesbians in matching motorcycle leathers, Leo hadn't really understood why. His parents weren't homophobic, but they were, well, proper ? Okay, they were snobby. They didn't have a problem with Leo being gay, as long as he was the right sort of gay—unassuming and discreet—and it was obvious that Great-Uncle Jimmy had been the wrong sort of gay. The very, very wrong sort of gay.

The fun sort.

A part of Leo admired that. He wanted to know more about Uncle Jimmy, regretful that he hadn't made more of an effort while he still could. They'd had a ‘meet three times a year at Christmas and family events' kind of relationship, but Uncle Jimmy had always made time to talk to Leo, especially after he'd come out. From the time Leo had spent in his company, it was clear that Great-Uncle Jimmy hadn't given a rat's arse what anyone thought of him. Leo envied him, if he were honest. If he'd been braver, he might have asked what the secret to not caring was. Still, he was glad that Uncle Jimmy had filled his life with such an eclectic group of friends, ranging over an entire spectrum of ages, identities and genders. It seemed like he'd had an incredibly full life. Leo hoped that he'd be able to confirm that tonight.

If he ever worked up the courage to walk in the door of the place.

The street was busy even for a Wednesday night, and Leo was jostled by a group of young women with heels as high as their hemlines. They were all wearing plastic tiaras, and one of them was in a sash that proclaimed her the bride to be. She was shoving an entire hotdog in her mouth as she walked but still managed to mumble out an apology to Leo as she elbowed him on her way past.

The bouncer glared at him. This wasn't, apparently, as hostile as Leo had assumed, because a second later he beckoned him over. "Hey, come here. "

Leo stepped forward, his heart thumping as loudly as the bass coming from inside the club.

The bouncer rolled his shoulders. The muscles in them were as big as boulders. He looked like the sort of terrifying guy that'd be the last thing an unfortunate soul would see if he failed to pay off a drug debt to a mobster. Then his face cracked with a smile. "First time?"

"Um…"

"It's not that scary, mate," the bouncer said. "Just a bunch of blokes dancing."

"No, I know," Leo said. "I'm already gay."

They stared at each other and Leo took a moment to contemplate how fucking stupid that sounded. It looked like the bouncer was thinking the same thing.

"I mean, I just don't do clubs," Leo clarified.

"Shame," the bouncer said, eyeing him up and down.

Leo flushed.

"I'm Brendan," the guy said, and held out a beefy hand for Leo to shake. "So if this isn't your scene, what are you doing here?"

Leo bit his lip. "There's a…wake? I guess? For my great-uncle."

"Oh, Jimmy? I'm sorry for your loss. Were you close?"

And that, Leo thought, is how you address a bereavement — not with " were you the cowboy he rode to save a horse?" like the tall blond arsehole at the funeral. He still wasn't quite over it—both the fact that the guy had thought he'd looked like his great-uncle's type, or that Uncle Jimmy's type was apparently over sixty years his junior. He supposed he shouldn't really be surprised. There had been stories, told in hushed tones when his mother was a bottle and a half of red in, that Leo wasn't supposed to have heard, of a succession of pool boys.

"Uncle Jimmy has a pool?" he'd once asked excitedly when he'd been about eight, sweltering through a Sydney summer.

His mother's mouth had turned down. "No."

It had taken Leo a few years to figure that one out.

"You right, mate?" Brendan asked, dragging Leo back to the present.

"Yeah. Um, we weren't super close, but I always liked him. He was a bit of a black sheep in the family," Leo said.

Brendan grinned widely. "Sounds like Jimmy. Go on in, kid."

Kid. Leo fought the urge to point out that he was thirty and headed inside instead.

It was like walking into a wall of sound and colour. Lights flashed, temporarily blinding him while intermittently illuminating dark corners, and bass beats thumped so hard that the floor vibrated under his feet. He took another few steps forward, trying to orient himself as his senses were overwhelmed. Despite the lights and the noise, it wasn't actually that hard to find who he was looking for. Over by the bar, several drag queens were holding court, for want of a better term, surrounded by a crowd of people who were smiling and laughing and clinking their glasses in response to whatever the tallest of the queens had said. Leo recognised her as the one from the funeral who'd invited everyone here. It couldn't have been more different from the subdued atmosphere at the funeral home, and Leo was suddenly glad he'd come. He headed over towards the group.

As soon as he reached the bar, a girl with rainbow hair appeared at his elbow with a bright smile and thrust out a hand. "Hi! I'm Wei," she shouted over top of Daft Punk's repeated insistence that they were up all night to get lucky.

He shook the proffered hand. "Leo." There wasn't much point in trying to say more, not with the noise levels what they were. What was that saying? If it's too loud, you're too old? Right now, with his eardrums ringing, Leo felt about a hundred.

Wei tapped his arm, and he looked down to find she was holding out a shot glass. "Tequila!"

He took it, looking at it dubiously. It was a Wednesday. Who did tequila shots on a Wednesday ?

Uncle Jimmy's friends, apparently. Wei lifted her own glass and knocked it against his.

"To Jimmy!" She slammed it back, and he really had no choice but to follow suit.

It burned all the way down, making his eyes water as he gasped out, "To Uncle Jimmy."

All around him, people lifted their glasses in a toast, and it warmed him inside in a way that wasn't all caused by the alcohol. It was nice to think that Jimmy had friends who cared about him, even if they were…well…"unsuitable" was the word his mother probably would have used.

Leo had asked her before he'd left the house if she wanted to come with him. She'd given him a look that was all pursed lips and judgement and said, "If you must go, try to not to embarrass yourself, and don't catch anything off the toilet seats."

He'd taken that as a no.

A long arm was flung across his shoulders and a voice purred "Darling!" He turned and looked up into the face of the woman—Man? Queen? Leo wasn't sure what the proper term was here—who'd announced the drinks at the funeral. "You must be Jimmy's little nephew! I'm Miss O'Jenny. Sounds like misogyny, but spelled like Jenny from the Block."

Leo blinked. "Pleased to meet you?"

"I am still Jenny from the block," Miss O'Jenny said in response to something someone behind her said. She leaned down to buss his cheek with a kiss. "Pleased to meet you, too, darling. Welcome to The Palace."

"Why is it called The Palace?" Leo asked, just for something to say.

Miss O'Jenny threw her head back and let out a tinkling laugh. "Isn't it obvious, darling? It's where all the Queens live!"

Leo blinked again. His pun game wasn't strong enough to ever do drag. Not that he… Well, he'd worn Mum's high heels once when he was a kid, and she'd yelled at him for it. At the time he'd thought she'd just been worried he'd ruin them. It had occurred to him years later that no, she was more worried he'd ruin whatever idea she had of how he should be.

Jenny sighed and ruffled his hair with a hand that sported long, elegant nails. "Bless, you're like a lost puppy, aren't you, darling? This isn't your normal scene at all."

Leo swallowed and shook his head. It really wasn't. He was wearing a tidy pair of jeans and a plain blue button-down shirt with his rainbow pin as decoration, which had looked fine in the mirror at home, but now he wasn't sure if he was overdressed or underdressed. He had a definite urge to race out and buy a feather boa, just to fit in a little better. "No, but I still wanted to come," he said. "It felt like this would be the real send-off, you know? From what I know about Uncle Jimmy, tea and sandwiches weren't really his style."

Jenny gave an approving nod. "Oh fuck no, darling. Jimmy would have choked on whatever dick he was sucking at the very thought of tea and sandwiches being his last hurrah."

Leo's face grew hot at the mental image, but he was saved from having to answer when someone handed him another shot. Jenny took one look at his expression and laughed again, but it wasn't unkind. "Stick around for the show. Maybe it'll turn out to be your scene after all." She pressed another kiss to his cheek, patted his arm, then turned and spotted a newcomer. The six-inch heels she was wearing didn't slow her down in the least as she swooped in and embraced the new guy in a bear hug.

It was the blond arsehole. He was still wearing those leather pants, the ones that were so tight he looked like he'd put them on in primary school and grown into them. Instead of the black shirt he'd been wearing at the funeral, he was wearing a black mesh crop top that gave tantalising glimpses of skin and left his smooth stomach completely bare. Leo couldn't be sure, but he thought he caught a glimpse of a nipple piercing.

"Tristan!" Jenny said. "You made it! I thought you were working?"

The arsehole—Tristan—said, "It was just a quick one tonight, in and out in under an hour."

"Another satisfied customer?" Jenny asked, one elegant eyebrow arched.

"Sweetie, all my customers are satisfied," Tristan said with a wink, before performing some frankly obscene contortions that looked like the only thing they were missing was the pole. The reason for the squirming became clear when Tristan extracted his hand from down the front of his leather pants clutching two one-hundred-dollar notes. Leo stared as Tristan tucked them into Jenny's cleavage and gave them a pat. "Put that towards the bar."

Jenny pursed her lips. "I'm not taking tonight's proceeds. You worked hard for that."

Tristan smirked. "I'd hardly call it working. It's just doing what I do best and getting paid for it." He patted Jenny's cleavage again. "Now take what I'm offering. I've got three more bookings this week, so it's not like I can't afford it. "

Leo knew he was eavesdropping, but he couldn't seem to care, because…was this guy a… sex worker?

Not that there was anything wrong with that, he reminded himself. Sex work was just work. Except his face heated up just thinking about it, and he darted a nervous look at Tristan. He was gorgeous, and not just because of his fine bone structure and his golden hair that fell in careless tendrils from his man bun. Side note—were man buns still in, and who could actually wear them without looking like a dickhead? This guy, apparently, and it was twice as unfair because Leo knew that he really was a dickhead. A completely gorgeous dickhead though, because he was smiling, and that smile was fucking dazzling. It pole-axed him. No wonder people were willing to pay to fuck this guy—or be fucked by him. Leo wasn't quite sure how it worked, but he assumed there must be options. Not that he was going to ask, because he wasn't planning on talking to the guy at all.

Except Jenny was leading the guy over to him. "Tristan, meet Leo, Jimmy's…nephew? Is that right, darling?"

"Great-nephew," Tristan said, turning that devastating smile on Leo. "We've met."

Leo found himself gazing into pale, storm-grey eyes, unable to look away. "Um, hello again."

"Oh, absolutely not," Jenny huffed out. "You can't be his great-nephew. If Jimmy has a great-nephew, that implies that he was old. And that would imply that I'm old, which I'm not, so shut your fucking mouth, Tristan Montague," she snapped, shooting Tristan a warning glare. His mouth, which had in fact been opening like he had something to say, snapped shut, and Jenny smirked, satisfied. "So," she continued, "by royal decree—because I am a Queen—you're his nephew now. Okay, darling?" She handed Leo another shot.

Leo didn't dare object, his brain already fuzzy from tequila. "Um, yeah. Uncle Jimmy used to say the same—that he was too young to be a great anything."

"Except a great lay," Jenny said with a wink, then thumped Leo firmly between the shoulder blades as he choked on his drink. "Right. I'll leave you boys in peace. I've got to go and get ready for the show, and I'm coming apart at the seams, so to speak. Tucking's a bitch when you're packing." She blew them a kiss before tottering away on her heels.

"What show?" Leo asked, tracking Jenny's progress via her impressively tall wig as she bobbed and weaved through the crowd.

"Jenny's doing a medley of Jimmy's favourites in his honour," Tristan said. "And sorry, again, for before. Jimmy did mention he had a nephew. I just forgot."

"It's fine. Forget you said anything."

"Okay, but?—"

"No, literally, please forget it. I'm trying to," Leo said. "So, if you could just never mention it again, that'd be great."

"Deal." Tristan nodded. He cocked an eyebrow, and Leo was grateful when he changed the subject. "Have you ever been to a drag show?" Leo shook his head and Tristan sighed. "Of course you haven't. Well then, I hope you like ABBA."

And with that, Tristan turned and sashayed to the bar for another drink, leaving Leo standing in a haze of alcohol, hypnotised by the guy's arse as he shimmied across the room in those criminally tight pants—not that Leo was looking.

Miss O'Jenny is awesome, Leo thought hazily. She was currently lip syncing and dancing up an absolute storm to Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! as Leo stood and swayed from side to side and sang along with the rest of the crowd, drink firmly clutched in one hand.

It might have been his sixth drink—or was it his ninth? He wasn't quite sure. All he knew was that every time he turned around someone else was hugging him, telling him they were sorry for his loss, and handing him a drink. And it would have been rude to refuse when these people all obviously just wanted to pay their respects to his uncle in the way they thought most fitting—which was apparently getting completely shitfaced at a drag show.

Jenny worked the stage like she owned it—just like she had all night alongside the rest of the queens. She was mesmerising. She strutted and danced, light glinting off the diamantés on her barely-there mini dress as she gave a flurry of twirls before finishing the number by dropping into an impressive display of the splits that had the crowd whooping and cheering. Leo showed his appreciation by sinking another shot. And when all the queens paraded out for one final, spectacular ensemble number—Chaka Khan, of course—Leo sang along the loudest of all.

He was every woman, dammit.

Leo collapsed into his plastic chair at the end of the number, his head swimming and legs suddenly far more unsteady than they had been. Maybe that last drink had been a mistake—that one and the five before it—if he were being honest. He was hammered. Still, he didn't regret it, happy riding that pleasant buzz of should-know-better-but-too-drunk-to-care.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned to find himself face to face with Tristan, who somehow managed to be more attractive than before. A light sheen of sweat—whether from alcohol or dancing, Leo couldn't tell—made him glow, and the light behind him bestowed a hazy halo, although he was probably the farthest thing possible from an angel. Tristan smiled, displaying perfectly even teeth that spoke of some top-level dental care in his childhood. Or maybe he was just lucky.

"Jimmy would have fucking loved that," Tristan said, his eyes sparkling as he sat down beside him. He raised a hand and brushed a stray tendril of spun gold hair away from his face, and Leo couldn't stop himself from staring. Tristan's hair was so pretty. Everything about him was pretty, but his hair was especially glorious. Leo wondered if anyone had ever told him that.

He reached out and petted Tristan's head clumsily. "Nice hair," he mumbled. "S'pretty, like you."

"Oh, you like this?"

Leo nodded, dumbstruck.

Tristan twirled a stray blond lock between his fingertips, and his smile widened. Leo's hand continued to pet Tristan's hair, seemingly of its own volition. Tristan leaned forward and licked his lips suggestively. "If you like my hair that much, maybe you could run your fingers through it while I blow you?"

Leo's jaw dropped, and any attraction he'd felt shrivelled up. Was Tristan seriously drumming up business at his uncle's wake? He pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned and reared back in his seat, the chair legs scraping the floor with the force of it. "Are you soliciting me right now?" he blurted out.

Tristan's eyebrows shot up and the smile dropped from his face. "I wasn't soliciting . I was offering to blow an attractive guy. There's a difference. I thought it might do your obviously uptight arse some good to get laid. My bad, obviously. But if I was ‘ soliciting'?"—he made honest-to-god air quotes—"you couldn't afford me."

Then he pushed his chair back and left, crossing the room to the bar without so much as a backward glance, leaving Leo off balance, confused, and feeling like he was the arsehole somehow for saying no. Well, he wasn't the one turning tricks at a wake, was he?

His pleasant buzz vanished, leaving him nauseated. He needed to get the hell out of here. He dragged himself to his feet, taking deep breaths in an effort to clear his head. It was then that Jenny emerged from backstage and, catching sight of him, strode towards him. "You look a bit green around the gills, darling. No more shots for you."

Leo nodded slowly. "No more tequila," he muttered. He didn't tell her it was his encounter with Tristan, not the alcohol, that had his stomach churning.

Jenny petted his head and he found himself leaning into the touch. "I should have known you'd be out of your depth. You baby gays have no staying power," she said with a sigh. "Do you have a way to get home?"

Leo fumbled open his Uber app and managed to enter his details. "Yeah, thanks." He was hit by a wave of alcohol-enhanced gratitude, and it suddenly seemed desperately important that he express it. "Thanks for"—he waved his arm vaguely—"this. For Uncle Jimmy. He would have loved it, I think."

Jenny gave him a soft smile. "Anything for Jimmy. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

"How did you know I enjoyed myself?" Leo asked, blinking at the bright lights and feeling a little like a drunken lizard.

Jenny laughed softly. "Don't think I didn't see you singing your little heart out, darling." Jenny enveloped him in a hug that smelled strongly of vodka and hairspray, and when she let go, she plucked his phone from his hand with her perfectly manicured nails and tapped at the keys before handing it back. "There. You have my number. If there's anything you need, feel free to get in touch."

"Thanks." Leo couldn't think of any possible reason he'd have to see Jenny again, and a tiny part of him already mourned the loss. This whole night had been different from anything he'd ever experienced, and he couldn't help but feel there was a whole world he was missing out on. Maybe he could come back sometime, just to get more of a glimpse behind the curtain of Uncle Jimmy's life.

It was then that he saw Tristan at the bar, one arm slung casually around the shoulders of a bearded guy as he leaned in for a kiss, and his mood soured at how blatant it was. Jesus, Tristan and his beautiful hair hadn't wasted any time finding a new client, had he? Leo felt himself flush with embarrassment, his cheeks burning at the memory of blurting out his attraction. What the hell had he been thinking, drunk-flirting—because that's what it had been—and making a fool of himself like that?

He was blaming the tequila.

He checked his phone and saw his Uber was a minute away. As he walked out of the door, he saw that Tristan's hand was now planted on the guy's arse. No, he decided. He wouldn't be back.

Still, at least there would be no chance of running into the pretty arsehole again.