“Thanks so much, do you want a receipt?” Oliver asked but the woman had already swept away in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 (probably). Anya Neese was a glamorous beautiful woman who people just couldn’t seem to ignore, Oliver however was just a guy, in another loud button up, working in a salon and looking like he didn’t belong. The only person who looked like they belonged less was the owner, a tall man with a big bushy beard. His own head shiny and shaved clean. He looked like he should have an axe in one hand and a flannel over one shoulder but then he’d click his long acrylic nails together and flick his imaginary wig and suddenly you could see Dina. Like she was superimposed over his image. 

Nobody did hair like him. He joked that it was to try coax some of his own into coming back but nobody worked as hard on hair as he did either. Oliver suddenly remembered when Chris was first learning to blow dry, he kept doing the same piece of Oliver’s hair over and over, burning his scalp and muttering “it’s all in the wrist”. Oliver never told him about how he couldn’t brush his hair properly for a week after that incident and now here they were. 

Oliver did the nails and ran the front desk while Chris and the girls did hair. It was a small salon but they made it work. 

The nails Oliver specialised in were 4 inches longer than were traditionally called for so he didn’t get to spread his artistic wings much but he made up for it by making ‘perfecting the coffin shape’ one of his New Year’s resolutions (which he was well on his way to ticking off). 

It was one of the few things that made him feel as competent and smart as Anya. Anya knew drag but Oliver? He knew nails. He had made sets for almost all of their drag friends and had endless sets at home in display boxes that he had almost convinced himself he’d use one day. 

Oliver’s next client was a young woman, maybe 21 who was pretty sure her boyfriend was going to propose so she wanted her nails pretty for the big event. Oliver couldn’t stop thinking about how young she was. 21 and already feeling behind all her other friends. 21 and willing to commit, forever, to one person. Crazy. He did a set of gorgeous neutrals with a classic shape and felt artistically frazzled. But tonight was drag night so tonight Anya would get to stretch her long legs and her sharp tongue and Oliver would get a break.  

Chris called Oliver over “Oli, be a dear. Can you run across the street and get me an espresso? I’m flagging and I really need to be on it tonight!” “Yeah, absolutely, anyone else??” With his sudden shopping list after everyone had enthusiastically said yes, Oliver slouched across the road and into the little cafe that amounted for at least 90% of their total caffeine intake. He had a cheery conversation with the barista, eyed up a cookie, put down the cookie, picked the cookie back up and was back in the salon in no time. 

Eventually it was time for Chris to style tonight’s wigs. Everyone else was gone home and it was their time now. Chris spritzed and sprinkled and did whatever else was needed to 3 wigs each. Oliver put the finishing touches on the last set of press ons either of them would need for the night and then, it was drag time. 

Dina did another death defying drop onto her back, kicking one leg out as she fell. No matter how many times Oliver saw her do it he still flinched. 

He popped back in to the dressing room, finished gluing down his wig and closed his eyes. 

Anya opened hers. She was wearing a silver sparkling dress, padded form fitted and low cut in the back. Huge heels lifting her up on powerful legs and a blonde series of curls exploding out of her head from every angle. There was even glitter in her ringlets. She looked good. And she knew it. Soon it was her time on the stage. She synced her way through three numbers (finishing of course with Madonna) before deciding the crowd had earned some face time. 

Suddenly she recognised the girl, the one with the classic neutrals just waiting for an engagement ring to grace her perfect fingers. She was surrounded by her girl friends, very much the centre of attention. Drag shows had long been welcoming to straight folks and would have been a fun place to celebrate your engagement. 

“Why why look at you!” Anya said, “don’t you just have the glow of love. You look like a blushing bride!!!!!” The girl looked up at her with big, round brown eyes and promptly burst into tears. 

Shit.