Chapter 20 Chapter Twenty - Gabriella
“So let me get this straight.”
“There’s nothing straight about you,” I tease.
He ignores me and continues. “You bump into the same guy who hooked up with you the other night, you get to talking and he escorts you home. You invite him in, more talking, he leaves and then comes back because he forgot his keys. Then things get hot and heavy and he ends up staying the night,” Derrick summarises the slightly truthful slash slightly fabricated story I told him while he gets dressed upstairs.
“Yup, that’s pretty much the gist of it,” I say casually, laying back on the couch scrolling through Prime on my TV for something to watch as I chomp on some chips. I settle for that old 90s program Fact or Fiction. I’ve never finished the entire series, but I’m really good at picking which is fact and which is fiction.
Derrick scoffs, “You know damn well he left his keys here on purpose.”
I smile to myself, knowing Jartre probably doesn’t own a set of keys and even if he did, he doesn’t need them to come and see me.
“That is probably likely and I’m not complaining.”
“Gurl, I wouldn’t be complaining either. I saw the bulge he’s working with; I’m surprised you’re still standing,” he jokes.
Derrick and I have always been open about our personal lives. We’re open books to one another and we have never had any issues discussing our intimate lives and being a sounding board for each other. That being said, I find myself feeling irrationally angry at the thought of Derrick seeing even an outline of Jartre’s cock. Just hearing Derrick mention it is making my skin crawl and I don’t fucking like it.
“We didn’t have sex,” I inform him as I try to tap down this unruly sense of possessiveness coming over me.
“Ella, I saw your hair.”
I self-consciously smooth out my hair. “What you saw was the result of the most intense and dare I say, deadliest oral I have ever experienced,” I correct him.
“Wig or no wig?” he suddenly asks.
“Wig, of course.”
“Thank you. Now back to this deadly oral. What the fuck does that mean?” he asks as I continue to hear him getting dressed upstairs. Whenever Derrick has a new drag ensemble, he always comes over and models it for me to get my opinion. It’s like my own personal fashion show and I love it.
“It means the man ate me out none stop till I came twice and then finger fucked me bringing the orgasm to a total of three in a row and my body was so worn out I literally blacked out. Hence the hair,” I tell him.
“Damn, Well, it’s about time you found a man who knows how to please you. All your previous boyfriends have been shit. I’m gay and I could probably please a woman better than most straight men. I mean, how many times did you finish with Mitchell?”
Who needs a man when you can have a God? I’m only going off two encounters here, but I’m telling you there is no competition. Gods are Gods for a reason, and they will literally rock your world.
“Five, and those were only because I was on top doing the work.”
“Five orgasms in two years? Honey, that is just sad,” he tsks. I look up as I hear the sound of high heels making their way down my stairs and I gasp at the sight of Derrick as he comes to stand at the base of the stairs. “What do you think?”
I stare at him in awe as he models the gorgeous full-length gown for me. The entire dress is covered in large silver sequins scooping down the bodice to the train of the dress and then arching over his voluptuously padded hips with diamond embellishments going down the front of the dress. The material is a nude illusion giving the appearance of transparency as the sequined fabric sits snuggly over the tops of his shoulders and flows down his back into a stunning cape that skims the floor. The midday sun streaming in through my window is catching the dress and casting dancing sparkles around my loft like a glittering fairy – no pun intended. He’s accessorised the ensemble with diamond cuff bracelets on each wrist and is wearing his signature Connie Heiress wig which consists of waves of rose pink at the roots that ombre out into fuchsia and then violet.
When in drag, Derrick goes by Connie Heiress, which is a play on words because his favourite film is Con Air. No one has ever been able to guess that except Wyatt, which is how they ended up hitting it off.
“You look absolutely breathtaking,” I smile up at him, “How much did this one cost you?”
“A little over a grand, but worth every penny,” he says, running his hands over his hips, “But this isn’t the best part,” he says slyly.
He grabs the front of the dress and gives it a yank as I hear the sound of Velcro being torn. The dress is ripped from his body along with a fake neckline that I hadn’t even noticed, to reveal a silver mirror-panelled bodysuit with a high-collar, sequined netting creating a peek-a-boo shoulder and silver fringe hanging along the hipline.
I smile and applaud as he swings his hips making the tassels swish as the bodysuit now acts as a giant disco ball allowing the sun streaming in to now cast thousands of balls of light all around the room. I applaud even more as he continues to spin around, his hair now doing the Diana Ross bounce, that is, however, until I catch sight of his shoes.
“Oh, hell no!” I shout, getting to my feet.
“What?” he asks in surprise coming to a stop, “Is there a snag in my tights?” he asks as he examines the single layer of pantyhose he’s put on as opposed to his usual five.
“Babe, the outfits are drop-dead gorgeous the house down, but not with those shoes,” I say, folding my arms and jutting my hip.
“I like these shoes,” he whines.
“Bitch is you crazy? Just the other day you gave me hell for wearing my favourite jellies to brunch and that was just casual attire, this is a whole other travesty,” I say in disapproval as I glare at the 7-inch nude peep-toe platform stilettos. The shoes are fabulous, but not in a million years with these outfits. “I will not let you get up on stage looking more opulent than a damn chandelier only for you to have those on your feet,” I shriek.
He looks down modelling his feet, “Okay, you might have a point, I just thought maybe I’d go for something a little subtle since the overall outfit is over the top.”
“You’re a drag queen! Subtle ain’t even in the damn vocabulary. Now get your mirrored ass up those stairs and go help yourself to my shoes,” I order, pointing to my bedroom.
“You’re so lucky I like you,” he huffs, picking up his dress and stomping up the stairs.
“No, you’re lucky that you have small feet and can fit into my shoes,” I say as I walk into the kitchen and grab myself a soda from the fridge. “Go for the eight-inch platform stilettos with the diamond fringe around the ankle,” I instruct, taking a sip of my drink.
“Oh, good choice!”
I make my way back over to the couch and sit down, “So, have you already decided what the number will be?”
“I’m going for a Whitney Houston medley. I’m going to open with One Moment in Time, transition into I Have Nothing, then do the reveal as I transition and end it with Queen of the Night.”
“I can picture it in my head, and it is already glorious. Any backup dancers or is this a solo number?”
“Backup dancers are more your thing, ain’t no one stealing my spotlight,” he says as I hear him snap his fingers. “These ones?” he asks.
I look up to see him holding up the shoes I had suggested and nod, “Yup, those are the ones.”
“Great, I’m taking these home with me,” he says as he gets to work on changing back into his boy clothes. “Now, back to Sexy Santa.”
I roll my eyes, “He is not a sexy Santa. I mean, he’s sexy, but he’s not Santa. Santa is a jolly old man with an ever-expanding waistline. Jartre is not that.” He’s also a few billion years older than Santa, but whatever.
“Someone sounds defensive over a guy she barely knows,” he sings suspiciously. Little does he know just how much I do know about him. “How old is he anyway? Is he albino or does he dye his hair that white?” he inquires.
“Apparently he started going grey super young, so now he just bleaches it snow white to keep the colour uniform,” I say, lying through my teeth. I hate lying to Derrick, but I feel oddly okay doing it knowing I’m protecting Jartre. Besides, as open-minded as Derrick is, even he would struggle to believe that Jartre is a God and magic is real. He’d think I’d lost my mind and was being scammed into joining a cult.
“Then you have to get the number of his stylist because they must have insane skills.”
“I’ll be sure to ask him the next time I see him.”
When Derrick finishes changing back into his casual clothes, he walks downstairs and comes sits next to me, taking my soda from my hand and taking a sip. “So there will be a next time?”
“I am extremely confident there will be and I’m really looking forward to it,” I say with a genuine smile.
He looks at me, assessing me carefully before a smile stretches across his face, “You really like this guy don’t you?”
“I know it’s way too early to say this, but yeah. I feel like all that shit with Mitchell happened, so I’d be led to Jartre. Or does that sound corny?” I ask tentatively.
He wraps his arm around me and pulls me close, “Honey, you have had shit man after shit man in your life and I’ve never heard you get defensive over any of them or even smile the way you are now talking about this guy. The world is full of infinite possibilities, and sure, some people rush into things but you’re not that kind of woman. You’re smart and the most practical woman I know, and if this feels real to you then I say go for it.”
I smile up at him feeling relief that he’s not judging what I guess is my new relationship. “You mean that? You don’t think this is like some rebound?”
“You don’t do rebounds, not even when I’ve encouraged you to. I mean, you picked a guy who is killing it in the looks department, a guy who sounds like he is extremely giving in the bedroom, he was polite and friendly with me, didn’t monopolise your time and from the sounds of what was going on in the hall, it seemed like he was ready to go smack that smart mouth off that bitch’s face, cause honey, if he didn’t I was certainly going to,” he says wholeheartedly.
I chuckle, “Yeah… I’m kind of worried about him actually,” I say, remembering his cold demeanour when he left.
“What do you mean?” he asks with concern.
“From the moment since we started talking, he’s been playful, open, and trying really hard to be considerate of me and my feelings. But the moment I explained about what happened with Julie and Mitchell he just got… really cold. I can’t explain it, but something in my gut told me something was wrong. He wasn’t cold at me, he just seemed to become extremely angry, not only because of Julie’s stupid comments trying to goad me into a fight but like the idea of people hurting me or me getting cheated on was reprehensible to him,” I try to explain.
“Ella, cheating on someone is reprehensible, and if this is his reaction to finding out some low life cheated on you then I like him even more because it tells me he’s less likely to do it to you. At least he better not fucking do it to you,” he says in warning, “I got a curling iron and I know how to use it.”
I chuckle and lay my head on his shoulder, “I’m extremely certain he would never do that to me.”
“How can you be so sure after only knowing him like a day?”
“It’s crazy that it’s only been a day because it feels like I’ve known him all my life, and yes I know how mushy that sounds.”
He puts the soda down and wraps both arms around me holding me close, “You sound like you’re falling in love,” he says with a smile in his voice.
I think that over. Am I falling in love? I just met him, so that sounds utterly insane, but he’s my soulmate, so would that be so bad? I don’t really know what Jartre and I are in human terms, I just know I feel safe, content and whole when I’m with him and not having him here holding me makes me feel cold and alone. I hadn't even realised it until he left, but I'd quickly become used to that feeling of static electricity in the air that comes from him being around, and without it, the whole loft almost feels foreign to me. But more importantly than all that, I want him to come back so I can make sure he’s okay. I don’t know why he reacted the way he did over people who mean nothing to me, but my gut is telling me to find out. Hopefully, it’s nothing and this is just in my head, but even I know that’s probably not the case.