After the set, Sven demanded we step outside to meet the band at their van. We headed out to the fenced, tight alley where a small party had already gathered. To no one’s surprise, the hot twins were surrounded by a cluster of women, most of them tattooed and built like gym goddesses. The others were more approachable, and Sven was quick to introduce us to Hector, who had invited us to the show. As we talked, he smiled often with teeth about as white as his hair. The long-haired vocalist was Zared, which I assumed was a fake name because who the hell named their child Zared. The hot twins were Griffin and Oliver, but we didn’t get to talk to them, as they had little interest in any of the men drifting around. As Sven and Hector delved deeper into a conversation with Josh about music, I noticed the band’s drummer, shuffling around in the shadows like he had onstage. He tossed open the back door of the van and seemed to be struggling to lift an amp inside.
“You need help?” I asked, stepping up beside him. He started and twisted around to look up at me from his crouch. I hadn’t been able to see him that well on stage when he was hidden behind cymbals and a snare drum. He had a long, narrow face, a large Roman nose, and a melancholic shape to his eyes that nearly had me asking what was wrong. He wasn’t classically handsome for sure, but he had the open, kind face of someone you could trust with dark shit.
“Oh, uh, sure, if you want to.” He jerked his head over to Oliver and Griffin. “Not like they’re gonna help me.”
I smiled and helped him lift the amp into the back of the van. I was stringy and weak by most standards, but between the two of us, we managed. Once he’d dragged the last amp to its final resting space and jumped out of the van, I said, “I’m Justin.”
“Peaches,” he replied. Before I could respond, he said. “Yes, I know it’s weird. No, it’s not my birth name, which is confidential.”
“Now you’ve only made me more curious.”
“Have fun figuring it out,” he said with a small smile.
“You must like being mysterious.”
“If that makes me seem more interesting, sure.”
Sensing the end of that thread of conversation, I switched topics. “I really liked the show. I’ve never heard you guys before, but it was great. You’ve got real skill.”
“Are you a musician?” Peaches asked.
“A little bit. I can play the guitar and sing.” I hated to turn the conversation toward me, fearing Peaches might ask for details. Josh, Sven and I had our own little band for a while, but like most budding garage bands, we petered out. We had solid talents to build on, but we also had busy lives that made collaboration difficult. When you had an adult job and adult bills, music took the back seat.
“Oh, yeah? That’s great. In that outfit, you’re already halfway to being a rock star.”
I laughed, looking down at my cowboy boots, animal print leggings, and long gray tank top ripped at several seams. On top of the heavy black eye shadow and full sleeve tattoos that were my trademark, I wasn’t subtle. I never had been, nor could I ever be. When blending into the wallpaper never worked, I learned to own the space I occupied in the way I wanted. “Yeah, this is me dressed down.”
“I like it.” When I met his gaze, a touch of pink appeared in his cheeks. “I mean, the outfit.”
“It’s a good way of getting people’s attention, even if the attention is bad.”
Peaches sobered instantly, as if I’d just insulted his mother. Instead of cursing me out, he said, “Fuck what other people think. You do you.”
“I’m trying.” I was ninety-five percent sure Peaches was straight, but he was handling this pretty well. According to Josh, I made a lot of straight men uncomfortable, at least until some of them got so drunk that I started looking appealing. Fuck, I made gay men uncomfortable, at least the ones who looked down their noses at anyone more gay acting than Vin Diesel. They didn’t seem to mind me so much when their dicks were in my mouth. It didn’t help that I could get a nasty attitude about condescending bullshit. I may have been five-eight and one hundred and forty pounds soaking wet, but I was called a crazy bitch so many times in my life that I asked Josh that it be etched on my gravestone.
“I think that’s brave,” Peaches replied. “To be different and unapologetic about it.”
“Unapologetic is my middle name.”
“Did anyone at the show give you any shit?”
“No, everyone was perfectly cordial.” I couldn’t help but smile a little. “But thank you for the concern.”
“That’s good. I’d hate to think anyone felt unwelcome at our shows. Oliver sticks his foot in his mouth a lot, but generally we’re all pretty open-minded here. They have to be, with Essie as our unofficial mascot.”
“Who is—”
“Are they making you work by yourself all again?” asked someone who had crept up behind me without my knowledge. I turned, practically colliding with someone’s chest. When I looked up, I found myself face-to-face with someone very tall, very broad, very blond, and very, very flamboyant.
“Essie!” Peaches exclaimed with an uncertain smile. “Speaking of the devil.”
“Speaking of a goddess, you mean,” Essie said with a sweep of his fingers, each tipped with a hot pink nail. It took a moment to make sense of him, because he wasn’t your typical swishy twink. Essie had muscle and height and the looks of someone you’d imagine as an all-American beefcake, which was in total opposition to the way he moved and spoke. He was also wearing floral pants and some fat sparkly earrings. With a frown, he placed a hand on a cocked hip. “Have you asked anyone for help?”
“Justin’s been helping.”
Only then did Essie seem to notice my presence. Some of his irritation drained away to reveal a perky smile and bright blue eyes. I was still somewhat speechless, never having encountered someone so… animated. I was a Grade A Queen, but even I wondered if maybe Essie should tone it down.
“Is he making you work?” Essie asked me.
“I offered, actually.”
“Let these idiots do the grunt work.” Essie waved a hand toward the other band members. “I swear to God, Peaches thinks that pulling all the weight and then never complaining about it is good sportsmanship or something. They can stand to be yelled at. Hey! Hector! What are you doing, letting Peaches put all the shit away?”
“He seems to have it under control,” Hector replied through a mouth full of what looked like oatmeal bar.
Essie’s scowl was impressive, and backed up by his toned frame, it wasn’t without any veiled threat. But with a dramatic roll of his eyes, he turned back to me.
“I hope you get a free drink out of this.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind. It’s a good work out.”
“Are you sure? Honestly! The nerve!”
“Give it a rest, Essie,” Peaches said. “No one is as upset about this as you are.”
“I don’t appreciate people walking all over you,” Essie shot back with some venom, and I wondered if there was something deeper to this argument. Peaches really hadn’t done anything to warrant reprimand.
“I don’t mind doing this. When it bothers me, I’ll let the guys know. I’m not their slave.”
“Are you sure you’ll let them know? Because you seem to prefer bottling things up and never talking about it.”
Peaches stared at Essie for a long, strained moment which definitely cemented my assumption that this was about more than putting away some damn amps. “Can we not right now?” Peaches pleaded.
“You’re right.” Essie returned his gaze to me. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“I did,” I said, still glancing between Peaches and Essie. Peaches looked more tense now than he had before Essie’s arrival. “Uh, if you two want some privacy…”
“Oh, no no no.” Essie waved his hands frantically. “No, absolutely not. I don’t want to interfere with fan relations. I’m going to be heading home right now anyway. Peaches, are you coming with me or will Oliver take you home?”
“Oliver, probably.”
“Okay. Don’t drink too much, and for God’s sake, let one of the others put away your damn drums.”
“Sure. No problem. See you at home.”
To my shock, Essie leaned and pecked Peaches on the mouth before shouting out farewells to the others before striding off. Was Peaches gay? My gay-dar was usually foolproof, and it didn’t ping for any of these guys, Peaches the least. He couldn’t dress himself well. He hadn’t given me any lingering looks. Not to say I was everyone’s cup of tea, but most guys sensed that I was easy and took advantage when there were no better fish in the pond.
I began to wonder if I’d gotten Essie all wrong. Essie, after all, was not really a man’s name.
“If this is rude please stop me, but is Essie, uh, transgen—”
“Genderqueer,” Peaches replied. His gaze was now on his feet.
“Oh. And you two are… together?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s… I mean, he seems… nice?”
“He is.”
Our conversation, which had previously felt natural and easy, now felt like a frantic search for anything, anything to fill the awkward silence. I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of misdeed had preceded Essie’s comments about bottling things up. I’d spent enough time around men to know that bottling things up was kind of their thing, and I was guilty of it, too. Peaches seemed like the type, but I wasn’t going to hold it against him. If that was his only crime, then he couldn’t be that bad.
A hand fell on my shoulder, and I twisted around toward Josh, who was already reaching out for Peaches’s hand. Josh’s entry helped unlock some of the tension, but something in Peaches’s face had shuttered, and even after we’d said our good-byes and headed back to the car, I wondered about him.
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