“But yet we’re here just the same,” she replied. “Three hundred plus years later. Even though they seemingly knew about you this entire time, knew where you were, had the ability to visit you whenever they liked.”
My nodding continued, the frown on my face hanging even further south. “Despite my being friends, at one time, with their apparent, well, gods.” Oh the bitter irony in that. Heck, they weren’t even the best-loved drag queens at our bar, back in the day. Certainly not the most tipped on your average night. Now they were practically enshrined in this place. Though, with me here, entombed seemed more appropriate.
I walked over to Dara, who was now admiring Destiny’s wardrobe, and took her frigid hands in my own. In the silence I could hear the radiation inside of me, inside of her, what made us what we were. “But you’re glad we’re here, aren’t you?” My frown quivered, inched up a notch.
She nodded, bloodshot eyes sparkling beneath the fluorescent lights. There was some sort of generator obviously nearby, something powering the entire island. Heck, if these queens had Gucci and Pucci at their disposal, what were a few gas-powered generators? We had the same thing back in Utah, minus, groan, the fabulous clothes. Because good luck finding a Mormon who would’ve known who Gucci even was, let alone Pucci. “Yes,” Dara replied. “I’m glad we’re here.” Her own grin widened. “It is sort of fabulous, isn’t it?”
“Odd but fabulous, yes,” I admitted. “And a nice break from the monotony of a salt factory, safe though we are out there.”
She paused, then asked, “Think your minions would like it out here?”
It was a rather pointed question. “Highly unlikely. Hundreds of years later, they’re even more backwoods than they were when we started. As to wearing dresses and makeup, they barely tolerate us doing so, and only because they owe their safety to me. Plus, how would we get them here? Six people at a time? On a plane? They never even saw a plane before today, let alone flew in one, cross-country, piloted by a drag queen, in heels no less.”
She nodded. “Right. You’re right of course. Just, well, wishful thinking, I suppose. But maybe we can at least plant trees along the fence-line, tamp down the noise a bit, if not the infernal sight beyond.”
I kissed her, something akin to warmth spreading through me. “Good idea, Dara. Good idea.” I kissed her again. “But first, let’s find out why we’re even here to begin with.”
“After you help me try on some of these clothes, though, right?”
I giggled. And a zombie giggling is quite a sight, let me tell you. “Goes without saying, dearest.”
“Mhm,” she replied, hand already on something silky. “Just don’t go without saying it.”
***
After we helped each other change into something less comfortable but way more satisfying to the eye, we waited for our newfound friends to join us. Though that’s not who arrived exactly two hours later, as planned.
There was a knock at our door. “Come in,” I said.
And in she walked, easily six and half feet tall, in towering stilettos, wearing a platinum blonde wig and a platinum-colored gown that shimmered as she sauntered up to us. Her lips and eyelids were painted in the same shade, her fingernails as well. “Hello,” said the strange-looking stranger, her smile bright and beguiling, inviting even. “I am Topaz, high priestess.”
My neck craned up to take her in. “High is right. There even enough oxygen up there?”
She ignored the comment. Or perhaps heard it a lot. Or simply didn’t understand my humor, centuries old as it was. “Thank you for coming,” she said instead.
“About that . . .” said Dara.
Topaz nodded, sagely. Or at least as sagely as anyone could who looked like a bright, shiny, new lamppost. “You have questions.”
I nodded. “Got any answers?”
Her nod echoed my own. “Care for a walk?” She clearly remembered that walking wasn’t exactly our forté anymore and quickly rephrased the question. “Or a drive?” Better. Much.
“That would be nice,” I replied.
She led us outside, carried us each down the steps and helped us into a golf cart, a throwback to the Ellis Island tour days. “Ready?” she asked.
I looked at Dara, who nodded my way. “Ready,” I replied.
We drove from Liberty Island and headed through the tangle of small houses that rode the water atop the pontoons. They were strangely sturdy, anchored as they were to the two islands and weighed down by the buildings that sat atop them. Plus, a road had been paved over them, so our ride, at least, was a smooth one.
As we drove by, the inhabitants smiled and waved at us and bowed to Topaz. “You said high priestess,” I commented as I gazed at the brightly-colored homes, reminiscent, to a degree, of what I remembered of San Francisco. “High priestess of what? To the House of St. James?”
“No,” she replied. “To all the houses. Though I, in fact, was born to the House of Bombshell. I therefore emulate the goddess in my attire.”
I coughed. “Blondella is a goddess?” Which, in my head, sounded like no fucking way.