A Gloriaverse story, with endless gratitude to China_Shop for beta-reading. Written for China_Shop and for 3daychallenge, to the prompt "carnival". Title from Chanteuse by Mark Doty, quoting the line from Rodgers & Hart. R.
"Ta-da!" Deidre announced, stepping out of the alcove.
"Oh, wow…" Gloria stared, taking it all in. "Oh wow!" she repeated. Dee was a vision in a white gown slit all the way up to her hip, perfect makeup, and an enormous chestnut wig where a huge, shining tiara was pinned into place. She looked breathtaking.
Dee grinned and pointed to the photo pasted to the makeup mirror. "Tell me it's close."
Gloria eyed the photo and made a show of comparing the little details. "It's perfect. It's exact. You could be Danny La Rue."
"Except thirty years younger," Dee said, raising her chin.
"Well, of course!"
Dee twirled and Gloria watched the short train pull away, revealing a hell of a lot of leg.
"You're going to knock them dead—wait, is this just for here? You upstage the rest of us too much and someone's going to be spitting into your drinks, Dee. And it might be me!"
"Oh, but you haven't heard the best part! Imagine! Hollywood Glamour Nights twice a month and a Golden Age of Hollywood Ball at the end of the year!"
"Seriously?"
"It'll be magical! And you have to do the Sophia Loren."
"Please, every photo of her is all about the tits, and—"
"She had legs! We'll put you in a black gown—something with lots of sequins and a high halter-neck. That way you won't have to wax your precious chest." Gloria made a rude noise, and Dee rolled her eyes. "One of these days," she said, "you are just going to have to come to grips with how lovely you are."
"I'm not any—"
"Gloria—" Dee jerked her head to the side, a warning look on her face.
Gloria bit off the words. It was hard to hear and Dee knew it. Hard to deal with, even after months of coming to the club and performing. Months of having men want her—her! A funny-looking Italian guy in a dress! Pop was sure to be rolling over and cussing in his grave—and so what if he was. Let him.
"You. Are lovely. Say it."
"Oh please. Do I look like a twelve-year-old girl? I'm a balding, thirt—"
"Say it," Dee repeated, louder.
"Fine! I'm lovely." Gloria couldn't keep the sneer out of her voice.
Dee snorted. "See me try to help a girl out," she said, flicking her long red talons at the air. "Come on, get your tits on. I want to see you in the Tequila Sunrise outfit."
Fifteen minutes later, Gloria was swathed from throat to hip in red, orange, and gold ruffles and feathers. A red and gold headdress took the place of a wig, and the enormous gold pumps Dee had dug out of the 'spares' closet were to die for.
"Magnificent! If I do say so myself." Dee turned her this way and that. "Of course we'll need to redo your makeup for the reds and golds, but—" she shot Gloria a look and said pointedly, "—lovely."
Gloria blushed. She did look pretty amazing. The person in the mirror didn't look like a guy in a dress. She looked like someone who should be in a parade, standing on a float surrounded by half-naked dancing boys. Back when he was a beat cop, he'd done security for more than one Chicago Pride parade, and it had been damned hard to keep his eyes on the crowd where they were supposed to be. If he weren't a cop, he'd do it in a heartbeat.
"You should come to Mardi Gras with us," Dee said. She was pasting rhinestones to Gloria's forehead and dabbing glitter glue along her cheekbones and eyebrows.
"Too dangerous," Gloria said in a low voice.
"It's what, ten states away?"
"What do I look like, a walking map? I don't know. What I do know is they film every goddamned minute of it and every random person there has a camera."
"There will be a million people there!" Dee protested. "You'll blend in!"
"In this?!" Gloria stabbed a finger toward the mirror.
"This is nothing compared to what some girls wear. And you should just see the Carnaval Queen competitions they have in Río."
"Dee—"
"You would have so much fun, though! Get out of town for a week, have a blast, be free to be yourself."
Gloria shut her eyes. A second later she felt a makeup brush touching her lids. She could imagine what Ma and Maria and Frannie would have to say. He could imagine what Welsh would say, and the subsequent lecture on the state of his solve-rate.
Opening her eyes, Gloria shook her head. "I can't. I'd love to but I can't do it."
Dee sighed in something like sympathy. "Maybe next year."
Gloria gave her a wry smile, then twisted off the stool to gaze at herself in the full-length mirror. She'd let Dee brow-beat her into shaving her armpits ("Honey, you won't believe how fast it grows back"), and thick tights covered her legs—no way in hell was she shaving them. She looked like ten miles of leg—the "dress" was practically a bodysuit with a few scraps of fabric trailing down in a way that implied a skirt. Good thing her bits were tucked tight. This outfit wouldn't forgive a thing.
"Fabulous!" Dee declared.
Just then, Judy burst into the dressing room—not in costume yet, just wearing a slick acetate shirt and black jeans. "Oh my god!" she squealed as the door banged shut. "I didn't know you two were starting early! Spin, spin, spin," she said, gesturing wildly, "show me everything!"
Gloria and Dee both turned a circle, showing off. Judy flapped a hand, fanning herself. "Scorching hot, both of you, but you—" she said, pointing to Gloria, "—with those legs! Damn!"
The show was good. Gloria drank free all night and had her pick of guys willing to take her home. But taking Gloria out of the club, alone, to someplace she'd never been before was a risk she still wasn't ready to take, so that night she let a guy named Javier fuck her in the back of his car. It was cramped and awkward, but Gloria firmly drove from her mind all thoughts of Angie, the anonymous guys Javier's cologne reminded her of, and Deidre's invitation to Mardi Gras.
What she did think about was that movie set in Río during Carnaval with the incredible costumes and the floats that looked like stage sets from a Madonna concert. It was out of her reach—not to mention out of her league—but with Javier whispering tan hermoso as he thrust into her, and the car windows steaming up with their combined heat, Gloria told herself this was enough. At least enough for now.
Danny La Rue