I hadn’t seen her dress yet, and I was dying to know what sort of style she’d gone for. I had visions of her caramel hair flowing over white lace, and a grin spread wide across my face.
“Look at you,” Phil said, nudging me in the side as we stood waiting for the ceremony to begin. His voice was a touch emotional. “I feel like my little boy is all grown up.”
I raised an eyebrow and smiled. “What? Did you have me when you were nine?”
“Oh, shush, it’s a figure of speech.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed beneath his eyes. I took his other hand and squeezed it for a moment, giving him a look that held all the gratitude in the world. We both knew that if it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t be here right now.
When the string quartet started up with a beautiful rendition of “Your Song” by Elton John, my heart thumped in my chest. This was it. The bridesmaids and groomsmen began to file in. First it was Harry and Nora, followed by Annie and Sean, and finally Fred’s sister Eileen and Dave, who had come as Linda Lovely. Eileen seemed oddly delighted to be escorted by a drag queen, and it made me recognise the similarities between her and Fred for a moment.
I inhaled deeply when Fred came into view, her arm through her father’s. Her curly hair had been styled in a number of intricate braids with flowers woven throughout. It was an up-do, but with a bunch of curls hanging down her left shoulder. Her dress was ivory with an empire waistline, silk on the bottom and lace on top, showing a subtle but seductive hint of cleavage. Whoever had done her makeup had kept it natural, with a hint of golden eye shadow to bring out the vibrant colour of her eyes.
She was beautiful, and I was speechless at the sight of her.
When she caught my eyes, she gave me a big smile that said, Would you look at us, all fancy, and then tipped her imaginary hat to me. I chuckled quietly, eager for her to reach me. I already couldn’t wait for us to be announced man and wife just so I could kiss her. She’d been staying at her parents’ for the last three days, trying to abide by the rule of not seeing one another before the wedding.
Bill handed her off to me. He was keeping a stiff upper lip, but I thought I saw a touch of emotion shine in his eyes to be giving his youngest daughter away.
“You look incredible,” I told her, my gaze drinking her in.
She leaned forward and whispered jokingly, “I went for ivory. Nora said white would be hypocritical.”
Yeah, that sounded exactly like something Nora would say. “The dress is perfect.”
The officiant started the ceremony then, but I hardly heard a word he said. I didn’t think Fred had, either. We both gazed at one another the entire time, unable to stop grinning like a pair of loved-up fools. Before I knew it, we were saying our vows, and the officiant was announcing us husband and wife. He hadn’t even finished saying it when I pulled Fred close, savouring the feel of her softness against me, and then my mouth was on hers. What started out as a slow, romantic kiss turned hungry. I was willing to bet she’d missed me in the run-up to this wedding.
Cheers and hooting rang out, and then Fred was drawing away from me, her chest rising and falling as she laughed. “Viv! My parents are only a couple of feet away. Do you want to give them both heart attacks?”
I ignored her comment and ran my fingers down her face. “I can’t believe you’re my wife,” I whispered, and she sucked in a breath.
“I can’t believe you’re my husband,” she answered back.
I was vaguely aware of people snapping pictures, but really, all of my attention was for her right then. The reception was being held at The Glamour Patch, and I knew that Phil had gone all out. Because the club was just across the bridge from City Hall, we had decided to forgo fancy limos and town cars in favour of walking. It was a good thing my wife had chosen to wear flats. Despite how much I enjoyed the sight of her legs in a pair of heels, I didn’t think she’d ever looked more perfect.
Fred and I led the way, hand in hand, as a ragtag bunch of drag queens, artists, friends, and family walked through the city in a trail of colourful frocks and fancy hats. We certainly turned a few heads. A couple of friends of mine who were in a ukulele band strode alongside us playing an acoustic rendition of “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley. The photographer Phil had hired was taking pictures along the way, too.
It was a surreal but happy moment.
When we reached the venue, the house band were already waiting and immediately started up with “White Wedding” by Billy Idol. Sean sat in his usual place by the drums, and I vaguely wondered how he’d gotten to the club so quickly. Then he took me quite by surprise when he went all Phil Collins and started to sing into a microphone. His singing voice was uncharacteristically deep for someone whose speaking voice was quite high-pitched. And I’m talking Barry White deep. Fred burst out laughing the moment she heard him.
“Oh, my God, is he being overdubbed, or is that actually Sean singing?”
Instead of answering, I twirled her around and led her to the dance floor. It wasn’t a very conventional first dance, but then again, nothing about us was ever going to be conventional.
Tables had been set up all around for the food, and Phil had done a wonderful job transforming the club. The two girls Fred had hired to work for her at the cupcake shop, Melissa and Danielle, had made the cake, which was a gigantic chocolate cupcake covered in delicious white buttercream frosting with a little model husband and wife on top.
As soon as the song was over, Fred was leading me to our table. “I’m famished, Viv. There’s nothing like getting married to work up an appetite, and I’m having the strangest craving for both cake and sausage.”
“Well” —I smirked— “Melissa and Danielle have taken care of one of those things, and I’d be quite happy to take care of the other.”
She gave me a look and then smacked me on the arm when my meaning sank in. “You’re scandalous!”
I gave her a quick kiss and then went in search of food to feed her cravings. Luckily enough, fancy gourmet sausage had been included in the menu for the guests, so I could fulfil Fred’s wishes. Feeding her as the party guests danced around us, I was filled with a sense of hopefulness for the future. When we’d spent enough time mingling and receiving everybody’s well wishes, I whisked Fred back to my dressing room. I had a surprise for her.
She giggled as I led her inside and locked the door behind me. She was giddy even though she hadn’t been drinking. Drunk on a wedding buzz. I began to loosen my tie and unbutton my shirt as I gave her a sexy look. She sat down on the chair by the mirror and gazed at me. My jaw was starting to feel sore from all the smiling I’d been doing that day.
“Are you giving me a striptease, husband?” she purred, and licked her lips. Ever since she’d gotten pregnant, her sexual appetite had seemed to double. Normally, I was the one to initiate things, but these days I often found myself being pounced on, and I was enjoying it immensely.
“In a sense,” I answered. “I have something I want to show you — a wedding gift, you could call it.”
“Oh, yes?” she said.
“Yes. I neglected to tell you that Phil and the boys brought me to a tattoo parlour as part of my stag night.”
Her eyes flared, and she sat up straighter. “You got a new tattoo! How have I not seen it yet?”
“Well, since you were so adamant that we not see each other before the wedding, you haven’t had the chance to glimpse this hot bod of mine in a couple of days.”
I held onto the edge of my shirt to make sure I didn’t reveal anything yet. I wanted to draw it out, torture her a little.
“Show me,” she begged, then stood to move toward me, her hands fumbling for my shirt.
“Ah, ah, ah, be patient, my darling,” I teased, and caught her lips in mine. I didn’t realise how turned on she was until I felt her tremble from the kiss alone. “Aw, poor Fred, are you feeling a little needy after only a few days of celibacy?” I chuckled low and affectionate.
She pouted. “Don’t tease me. It’s not nice.”
I took her chin in my hand and moved her face so her eyes were level with my chest. Then I pulled my shirt open fully to reveal the ink. I thought it was beautiful in its simplicity. It read “Freda” in black script right over my heart. She gasped when she saw it and ran her fingers over the letters. Then her eyes rose to mine, and I could see in her expression that she loved it.
She swallowed as she stared at me. “I think you need to make love to me now, Mr Turner,” she whispered, and I could tell just from the tone of her voice that she was aching. I circled her like a predator and backed her up against the wall, my palm flat on her heaving chest.
“I’d be happy to, Mrs Turner.”
September 26th, 2015.
Soundtrack: “Kids” by MGMT
“HAHAHAHA!!” the little hellion giggled as she shot right past me, her hands and face covered in pink cupcake frosting, her mop of golden-brown curls bouncing as she ran. Fred walked out from the kitchen, wiping the sweat from her brow and placing a hand on her hip. She feigned annoyance.
“That’s it,” she said when she saw me. “I’m officially banning all children from this shop. I’ve had enough. They’re all thieves.”
More excited giggles rang out from somewhere behind one of the tables, and I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face as I got down on my hands and knees and began to crawl. I couldn’t see her yet, so I followed the giddy sounds she was making. When I saw her, she was licking the frosting from her fingertips, and her yellow dress was smeared with chocolate sauce. I paused, and she must have heard me, because her bright blue eyes met mine and she let out a little yelp in fright. For a moment, her eyes widened as though guilty at being caught. It was comical.
I put on a very stern frown as I scooped her up into my arms and carried her out from under the table. “Are you back on the sugar, Sally? I think we may have to put you into rehab again, and this time it’ll be cold turkey.”
Fred laughed and shook her head as I carried our little girl over and set her on the counter. A week ago she’d turned two. I couldn’t believe how the time was flying by. She looked so much like me, yet so much like Fred all at once. I didn’t think I could adore a tiny person much more than I adored this one.
“Daddy!” she squealed, and threw her arms around my middle.
Fred walked over and softly yanked on one of Sally’s curls. “Oh, no, you don’t. Daddy can’t save you from your crimes this time. You’ll be facing the consequences, mark my words.”
She squeezed me tighter and glanced up at me, all coy. The evidence of what she’d done was everywhere, and yet it looked like she actually believed she could deny it. Children were crazy.
“Did you steal Mummy’s cupcake frosting again?” I asked, and she adamantly shook her head. “So I suppose you didn’t sneak any chocolate sauce, either?” Again she shook her head, the picture of innocence and blatant evidence.
Fred let out a theatrical sigh. “Brazen. Just like her father.”
“Oh, don’t go blaming me for this,” I teased. “You can’t place a toddler in a room full of colourful, sugary treats and expect her not to go pilfering.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, she’s not getting any sweets for the rest of the week,” Fred warned, pinching Sally playfully on the nose and then going to clean the display cabinet. “I’ll be lucky to get her asleep tonight, with all the sugar she’s had.”
I lifted Sally back down onto the floor, and off she went like a bat out of hell. Fred was right — it was going to take a whole lot of activity to wear her out enough for sleep. I reached for Fred and pulled her to me. “How are you?” I murmured, and kissed her softly on the lips, my hand rubbing soothing circles into her lower back. “You look tired.”
“I am a little tired,” she admitted. “Danielle called in sick this morning, so I had to deal with the lunchtime rush by myself. It’s not so bad, though. Business is good. Oh, and Phil’s coming over soon to take Sally to play in the park.” She paused and buried her face in my neck. “It’ll give us a little alone time.”
I growled quietly and squeezed her hips. About a year ago, we’d moved into the two-bedroom apartment above the cupcake shop. It was useful when you wanted to slip upstairs for a quickie. And when you had a toddler, quickies were all you had time for. I wasn’t complaining, though. Life was good and full and bright.
“Anyway, how did the photo shoot go? Did you have fun?” Fred asked, breaking through my thoughts. I’d been asked to interview for a magazine, since the Dublin Fringe Festival was currently underway and I was doing a special show I’d created in homage to the great female singers of our time.
“Lots of fun. You know Viv is an absolute whore for attention,” I joked.
“Oh, yes, she’s never been camera-shy, has our Viv,” Fred added fondly just as the door to the shop swung open and Phil stepped inside. I hadn’t seen too much of him lately because he’d started seeing someone, and it seemed to be pretty full-on. I’d never known him to be so taken with a partner, so I was thinking this new guy could be the one.
He had his chihuahua Pickles with him, which was a recipe designed to double Sally’s hyperactivity in an instant. The moment she laid eyes on the dog, she let out a shriek of excitement and immediately ran for the poor thing. Old Pickles was getting on in years, and I didn’t think she had the energy for the excitement of my very giddy two-year-old.
“I’ve come to take the little madam for a stroll,” Phil announced. “Give you two love birds a moment of peace.”
“Take her, take her,” Fred joked as she drew away from me and swept Sally up into her arms. Pickles was visibly relieved. “I’ll sell her to you for a very fair price.” Sally giggled as Fred tickled her and thrust her out to Phil.
Phil took her willingly and gave her a big, squeezy hug. If there was anyone who loved our little girl as much as we did, it was Phil. He always pretended it was a bother, but I knew he adored having her. “Come on, my dear,” he crooned affectionately. “How do you feel about a go on the swings?” He turned back to us just before he left, nodding his goodbyes.
Fred went about wiping down the counters. It was just half an hour until closing time, and it didn’t look like any more customers were going to show up. I moved behind her and wrapped my arms around her middle, breathing in her smell. It was an oddly mundane moment to stick in my memory, but it did. I was struck with the realisation of how content I was.
“I fucking love our life,” I whispered in her ear.
I could see the edge of her mouth curve in a smile as she responded, “Yeah, me, too.”
END
Have you read Fred’s side of the story yet? If you enjoyed Killer Queen, you’ll love Painted Faces!
Come forth with an open mind, for an unconventional tale of love…
Dublin native Freda Wilson considers herself to be an acquired taste. She has a habit of making offensive jokes and speaking her mind too often. She doesn't have the best track record with first impressions, which is why she gets a surprise when her new neighbour Nicholas takes a shine to her.
Nicholas is darkly handsome, funny and magnetic, and Freda feels like her black and white existence is plunged into a rainbow of colour when she's around him. When he walks into a room he lights it up, with his quick wit and charisma. He is a travelling cabaret performer, but Freda doesn't know exactly what that entails until the curtains pull back on his opening night.
She is gob-smacked and entirely intrigued to see him take to the stage in drag. Later on, Nicholas asks her if she would like to become his show assistant. Excited by the idea, she jumps at the chance. Soon she finds herself immersed in a world of wigs, make-up and high heels, surrounded by pretty men and the temptation of falling for her incredibly beautiful employer.
In this story of passion and sexual discovery, Nicholas and Freda will contend with jealousy, emotional highs and lows, and the kind of love that only comes around once in a lifetime.
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About the author
L.H. Cosway has a BA in English Literature and Greek and Roman Civilisation and an MA in Postcolonial Literature. She lives in Dublin city. Her inspiration to write comes from music. Her favourite things in life include writing stories, vintage clothing, dark cabaret music, food, musical comedy, and of course, books.
She thinks that imperfect people are the most interesting kind. They tell the best stories.
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L. H. Cosway, Killer Queen: A Painted Faces Novel
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