Chapter Text
“Did you hear me?” Izzy yelled over the heaving crowd. They were all a few drinks in, the sun just starting to set.
The entire city had turned out for the festival. It was seething with food, drink, at least three genres of music blaring, and vendors all trying to draw attention. Ed hadn’t even wanted to come out. For years, it’d been fine to spend all week with his staff, then head out to drink with them for most of the weekend. He couldn’t say what had changed. Maybe it was turning 45, as middle age a number as you could get, but he found himself turning down invitations more and more often.
Once, very briefly, he had considered getting a cat so he’d have something to talk to on the days he just puttered around his apartment. A very bad sign.
“The bar!” Izzy was still yelling at him.
“What bar?” He asked irritably.
“We’re going to head to that dive bar on Fifth! Come on!”
The crowd swallowed Izzy and the others up. Ed waded in after them, got distracted by someone selling wood-handled knives, then stopped at a food truck to line his stomach with chili fries and ate them while watching a sword swallower at her craft. By the time he reached Fifth, he was mostly sober and it was full dark. Dozens of neon signs beckoned and half of them had lines out the door from the festival crowd.
There was one on the corner that wasn’t yet mobbed. There was no neon, just a lit mural painted on brick of a gigantic eye with long eyelashes and a lot of eyeshadow. In a curling script it read: “Revenge”. Sounded like a dive bar to him.
Inside, it smelled a little too clean for a dive and the floors weren’t even a little sticky. There was a bar though, empty except for the bartender. A tall young man in a tight striped shirt who was clinging to a rag like a lifeline. Ed’s danger sense tingled and he followed the bartender’s line of sight to a man standing in the far dark corner, who was pointing a gun at a pile of white fabric on the floor that might have a person in it.
“I know there’s cash,” the gunman whispered, his hand shaking. “No one has to get hurt here.”
Ed was across the floor in a heartbeat. “Agree to disagree, bud.”
Three precise punches left the man on the floor and Ed with the gun. He put on the safety, took out the bullets and pocketed it. Then he stuck his hand down to the squirming fabric.
“Thank you,” someone said and a hand grasped his own. He tugged the person up and up and up. They were wearing some impressively tall heels.
The fabric resolved into an enormous dress that reminded him of one of those period movies where the ladies were always running away, crying. There were layers of creamy skirts covered in an intricate layer of lace. The top part was laced up, cinching in a small waist and setting a voluminous set of tits on display. Dozens of strings of pearls gleamed around the chest and neck. There was a wig too, a tall number styled a foot high, powder white and studded with more pearls.
It was the face that took Ed’s attention despite all the distraction. Generous lips made even more generous with soft pink lipstick, a handsome nose styled down thin with clever paint, and brown eyes lined in black that peered out from under enormous eyelashes. Even the eyelashes were tipped in tiny pearls.
“You should have door security,” were the words that came out of his mouth. Not great, but better than the utter gibberish that had first come to mind.
“We do, but their shift doesn’t start until eight. Thank you for the rescue. Your drinks are definitely free tonight!” She smiled widely at him and it shot through him like an arrow.
“Could use one,” he cleared his throat and held out his hand, “I’m Ed.”
“In the dress I’m Leda House, she/her.” The hand that slid into his was covered in a white glove in a fabric that made his skin tingle as he shook it. “Out of it, Stede Bonnet, he/him. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Yeah, sure. Is this a drag bar?”
"What else would it be?"
"Not sure, but with a name like Revenge..."
“Just a bit of an old joke,” she laughed. “Let’s get you that drink.”
“Want me to drag that guy outside first?” He offered.
“Oh would you? That’d be a big help.”
Ed dragged him out and left him next to the dumpster. He’d likely wake up with a motherfucker of a headache, down a gun and no desire to revisit the scene of his failed crime. Job done, Ed considered leaving. He could go find Izzy and the others, who were doubtless half-in-the-bag already.
He could hear Leda talking to someone inside. ABBA started to play quietly. What could one drink do? And a free one at that. Might as well have an adventure.
“Lucius, make the man a drink,” Leda instructed the bartender when Ed re-emerged. She had managed to perch on a stool, her dress swamping it.
“Are you a cop?” Lucius narrowed his eyes at him.
“Do I look like a cop?” Ed stared at him.
“You look like the only daddy ever kicked out of a leather bar for being too intense.”
“Daddy?” his voice rose on the second syllable.
“Ignore him. He was dropped on his head. As an adult,” Leda hissed the last bit in Lucius’ direction.
“So what do you drink? Gasoline?” Lucius sighed.
“Why don’t you make him a house special?” Leda suggested.
“What’s the special?” Ed slid into the stool next to her. A group of patrons had started to trickle in, finding tables.
“You’ll like it. If you don’t, order whatever else you want,” Leda assured him, glancing at the arrivals. “Sorry to cut and run, but I have to finish getting ready and make sure the other girls have everything they need. Showtime is in thirty.”
“What show?” Ed asked, but she was gone in a flutter of fabric.
“The Revenge Friday Drag Spectacular,” Lucius answered, pouring liquor in a desultory fashion. “It’s a standing gig. Leda’s a big believer in regular payments for performers. Amateurs are on Thursdays. Live music on Saturdays. Drag Bingo on Sunday nights.”
“Drag bingo?”
“Surprisingly competitive. No one’s died yet, but we’ve had a few black eyes.”
“She runs the show?”
“She owns the bar,” Lucius shrugged.
Other people started trickling in, but Lucius ignored them, pouring out Ed’s drink into a champagne flute. It was alarmingly blue.
“What is it?” Ed stared into its depths.
“House special.”
“Luc!” A flurry of movement came from behind the stage curtain, a beckoning hand. “Do you have a second to lace me up?”
“Coming!” Lucius' entire face lit up as he jogged towards the stage.
“Hey!” One of the patrons cried.
“I’ve got you,” a young man with a thick Scandinavian accent swung out and replaced Lucius. He was much faster, if less accurate in his drink making. There were a lot of orange slices, including one in what looked like a cup of coffee.
Ed took a tentative sip of the special. It was sweet and mellow, despite the electric color and clearly boozy as all hell. He took his time with it, turning around on his stool to watch the place fill up. People of all descriptions crowded around tables and stood at the bar. Some were dressed casually, others more feathered than peacocks. There was an ease to their talk and laughter that Ed sank into. There were no further threats here.
The lights dimmed a few minutes later and a ragged cheer went across the room. Lucius’ voice came over a scratchy PA system,
“Welcome friends and strangers and especially our strangest friends to the weekly performance that never over promises and yet still regularly under-delivers! It’s the Friday Night Spectacular with your host, the beacon of nonsense and our shining light: Leda House!”
The curtains rose as the first familiar strains of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ started to play. Leda was standing in the center of the stage, holding a microphone that had been bedazzled within an inch of its life.
“Who’s ready to go down with the ship?” She asked the crowd, spreading her arms wide. Her dress swayed, threatening to upset the mic stand. “Because tonight there’s an iceberg of fun ahead and we’re crashing headlong into it! I’ll be your cruise director and I’m pleased to offer you our first entertainment of the evening: our very own Parisian goddess, Frenchie!”
Leda stepped away and while the act that came on was interesting, Ed tracked her instead. She had a little stool in the wing, out of the view of most of the room, but a clear shot to his end of the bar. She kept her attention on the acts, apparently utterly enraptured by things she must’ve seen dozens of times.
The acts themselves were increasingly bizarre as the night went on.
There was a tall queen with broad shoulders and a very small one who forwent a wig, showing off a very well shined bald head. They had a comedic juggling act that included a few pratfalls and at least one blow to the head that didn’t look intentional.
Once they cleared out, there was Miss Buttons, who had a disturbingly realistic seagull puppet that lip synced to “Fly Like an Eagle” by the Steve Miller Band while Miss Buttons stared dead-eyed at the audience stripping burlesque style. Lucky for all of them Leda gilded back on stage, blocking Miss Buttons from view before the last layer parted ways.
“Let’s hear it for Miss Buttons! Wasn’t she wonderful? So talented,” she cleared her throat. “Next week maybe she’ll even do the act we practiced!”
“Not likely!” Miss Buttons called from behind her.
“Great,” Leda sighed. “Well, thank you for not leaving. Up next, the act that keeps me up at night thinking about insurance premiums, the amazing Jim and their very brave and talented partner, Teal Magnolia!”
The crowd went wild. Jim proved to be a lean figure in a cowboy outfit that screamed authenticity, down to a battered hat. They drew back their long coat to reveal a vest with at least a dozen sheathed knives. Teal had dressed to match as a saloon girl with an abundance of feathers.
“How many of you have seen us before?” Teal asked. Most of the room's hands went up. “A few newcomers, excellent. Just a few things. We love tips, but we ask that you wait until the end of the act. No one wants Jim to lose their concentration. Least of all me! All the knives are real. We would love to prove that to you by letting you touch them, but Leda is a wet blanket.”
“Hey!” Leda protested.
“Last of all, try to pay attention to my moves if you can. I’ve got the harder job, after all!”
Teal did put on a great performance, really putting their all into “Don’t You Want Me Baby” while Jim stood to one side and started throwing knives that creased the air all around her. Each one took a feather off the costume and pinned it neatly to the wooden board on the other side of the stage. The audience gasped and exhaled as each one struck home.
“Don’t you want me, baby?” Teal crooned as Jim pulled out one last, far larger, knife. She wiggled in close to Jim, who slid their arm around her waist and kissed her, throwing the last knife with their eyes closed. It took the feather off Teal's headpiece and sank it into the painted bullseye.
“What the fuck?” Ed breathed out. This was far more interesting than playing pool and downing shots of whiskey.
A shower of bills rained over the couple, the song playing out while they collected them into Jim’s hat.
“Aren’t they wonderful?” Leda crooned into the microphone. “But after all these energetic acts, don’t you think we need a ballad? Something slow... Something about the glory days-”
“Viva la Revolution!” Someone from the crowd cried and Ed tensed. “Off with her head!”
“Off with her head!” The crowd took up the cry. “Off with her head!”
“My head?” Leda batted her pearl eyelashes. “And after all that cake I gave you! Ungrateful wretches!”
“Eat the rich!” A lithe man holding a chainsaw jumped on the stage. Ed got to his feet, but no one else in the bar was reacting beyond laughing. Chainsaw sounds came over the PA. Fake. Of course. He sat back down, glancing to either side, but no one had been looking.
Leda pretended to faint, caught by Jim and Teal. They dragged her behind a sheet that Miss Buttons and Frenchie held aloft. The chain saw went up and down, liquid spraying over the sheet. Screams played over the PA and someone threw handfuls of red streamers into the audience. The swell of music started to rise, plucky and triumphant.
One white gloved hand slowly pulled the sheet back, one white heel eased out from behind the stage. Then came Leda with her head under one arm, strings of red beads cascading from the severed neck. It wasn’t hard to piece together the trick with the dummy torso and some clever hunching under the voluminous skirts, but it was still a striking effect.
“Non, rien de rien. Non, je ne regrette rien...” Leda’s head sang out. Edith Piaf played and bills showered down around her as she waltzed precariously around the stage.
As the song went on, the other acts returned in what was likely meant to be a choreographed back up line, but was mostly a ragged swaying and distracted tip collecting. Ed was hypnotized by movement of red beads and the radiant smile on the disembodied head of Leda House.
“Stick around everyone,” Lucius said over the PA. “In just a few minutes we’ll clear the stage for 80s Prom Karaoke!”
When the curtain fell, Ed felt like he'd woken from a fever dream, still clinging to his empty glass.
“Are you Ed?” the bald queen approached him, before he could seriously contemplate leaving.
“That’s me,” he allowed.
“Thanks for kicking that guy’s ass. I would’ve if I was out here, but you would not believe how long it takes to shimmy into shapewear.”
“Sure,” Ed eyed him cautiously.
“Leda asked if you’d come back to the dressing room. Fair warning, it’s a fucking disaster back there.”
“I’ll come,” he set down the glass in a hurry.
The bar wasn’t that big and the backstage was cramped with props, bits of costumes and wiring. The dressing room was even tighter, all the acts squeezed in. Jim was perched on top of a filing cabinet, idly petting the bird puppet with one hand and holding a mirror steady for Teal with the other. Laughter and talk cut off abruptly when Ed stepped inside.
“Back here!” Leda waved. She was in one corner, a small circle of peace in the chaos around her. The outer layer of the dress with its fake torso was already off, leaving her in what looked like a scaffolding of undergarments. Whispers followed in Ed’s wake.
“Don’t mind them,” Leda reached up and started to pull pins out of her wig. “We don’t usually have guests back here. It takes away from the illusion.”
“Yeah, I can get that.” Ed tried to find a place to stand where he wasn’t putting a boot print on a discarded garment or sticking his hand in a pan of makeup.
“I was thinking, I should say thank you properly. Would you like to come over to my place for a nightcap? I’m only a few blocks away.”
“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly. “That’d be good. But don’t you have to stay and manage things?”
“Oh no, I pay people to manage things. I tried to do it all on my own in the beginning, but it’s a big job and I've learned to delegate. Mostly I put on the shows and pay the bills.”
“I think you’ve got the right idea,” he laughed. “Being the only boss has its downsides.”
She stood and started packing things away in a small bag. “Are you in charge of...what do you do anyway?”
“I'm in private security.”
“Installing systems?” She asked lightly. The tall heels came off and went into a bag as she slid on a pair of sandals.
“No.” He was enchanted as she drew down a gold and pink robe to pull around her half-complete transformation. “More like muscle for hire.”
“Sounds thrilling. Now I feel even better about going home with my makeup and breasts still on. Ready?”
“If you are.” He let her go first and stepped where she’d stepped. He’d walked through minefields he’d felt more comfortable in. As soon as the door closed behind them, the whispers turned into raucous talking and laughing again.
“Let’s go out the back," she suggested.
The gunman was gone from behind the dumpster. The sky was clear, the moon fat and bright. They moved down the sidewalk, winding around clusters of people until they broke free onto a far quieter block.
“I lived above the club at first, but it turned out to be inadvisable, noisy, and slightly illegal,” Leda explained. The robe floated around her, the gold thread catching the street light. Her hair was still pressed under what looked like pantyhose and the pearl tips on her eyelashes glittered every time she blinked. It gave a fey effect, like someone stepping through a threshold into another world. “I’d say my work-life balance has improved, but I don’t like lying.”
“Not my strong point either,” Ed nodded.
“Can I ask why you came in tonight? Don’t take it the wrong way, but the way you watched the show, I don’t think you’ve seen us before.”
“Never saw any drag show before,” he shrugged. “I was looking for a different place. Forgot the name.”
“Happy accident then,” she said, untroubled. “Did you enjoy it?”
“You’re all lunatics, of course I liked it,” he declared. She grinned at him.
“It is for a very specific audience. It took time to build interest and I get told to change it a lot or bring in fresh talent, but those are the girls that stuck by me in the beginning. A lot of the more polished acts resented me.”
“What for?”
“I don’t blame them. I came in with a lot of money and no idea what I was doing. I bought my own bar and made my own rules. It’s a very privileged thing. I understood the resentment. The girls who decided to give me a chance...they might not be the ones you get on television, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”
“Loyalty has no price,” he agreed.
They approached an older looking building with a dead potted plant on the steps.
“I’m going to be very rude and abandon you as soon as we get inside. I have to shower and get this makeup off or it gets all over the furniture. Do you mind?”
“Your place, do what you want.”
The door opened and the light went on. It was a very generous studio apartment. The kind that people had in movies, not real life. An enormous bed took up one corner, a dramatic gauzy canopy surrounding it. There was a living room area carved out with a purple velvet couch and mahogany table. The kitchenette’s sink was full of dishes at least, an imperfection in the catalog perfect picture.
“I’ll just be a few minutes!” Leda said over her shoulder. “Make yourself at home!”
A panel in the wall slid open under her hand and gave a glimpse of an airy white bathroom before closing behind her.
Ed stood in the middle of the room, fingers itching. He wondered if they were going to fuck. All the signs pointed to yes for a normal encounter. Yet, Leda hadn’t touched him. Had asked him here without so much as a double entendre or an eyelash flutter. Unable to stay still, he touched the walls, looking for other clever panels. He got lucky near the bed, one sliding easily on its tracks to reveal an enormous closet, so deep that it held a vanity and chair. Makeup, organized in rainbow rows, sat waiting for its mistress.
Hanging in every direction were dresses. Some of them were larger, more costume-y affairs and others were svelte, expensive looking things. Ed drifted down the row, examining sequins, crystals and lace. Towards the end was a long deep red shining gown. He ran the material over his fingers, marveling at sensation.
He heard her step coming closer and wondered vaguely if he was about to be thrown out of the nicest apartment he’d ever been in. That would be fitting.
“You have good taste.”
“Is this real silk?”
“For my sins,” the laugh was a little deeper. Less stagey. “It cost far too much and I’ve never been able to figure out what act I should use it for. Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
He let the silk spill from his hands, turning to face Stede Bonnet. Damn him, he was just as good looking out of his pearls. His hair was damp, curling a little and a lovely shade of gold. The robe had gone back on, covering only loose white shorts and a white v-neck that revealed tempting pale skin. He was older than Ed had placed him as Leda, closer to his own age.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Stede asked with an awkward smile. “I don’t really have alcohol in the house. I hate waking up with hangovers, so it’s one at the club on working nights and I’m done. Is tea all right?”
“I’d like that,” Ed decided.
There were croissants with the tea, apparently from a bakery down the street. Stede toasted them and spread them with jam and butter. They ate on the velvet couch, heedless of crumbs.
“How did you get into this?” Ed ventured.
“It’s not a very fun story,” Stede glanced at him. “I wanted to say thank you, not bore you to death.”
“People have tried a lot of ways to kill me. None have worked so far.”
“If you insist.” Taking a bite of croissant, Stede settled further into the couch. “I was, I’m sure you’ll be shocked to hear, an odd child. I spent a lot of time on my own, playing pretend. That didn’t go over well. My father wasn’t what you’d call warm or accepting.”
“I know the type,” Ed frowned.
“There weren’t a lot of opportunities to figure out who I was. It was always a rush to the next milestone. As if there was some magical achievement that would make me more acceptable,” Stede sighed. “Mary and I were all but assigned to each other. We got married and it was bad from the start. But also...I was away. From my peers, from him. I could look up whatever I wanted, read what I liked, watch what I wanted. Mary had her own interests and we gave each other a wide berth.”
“Must’ve changed a few things.”
“Just everything,” Stede laughed weakly. “There was a whole world out there. Things that I didn’t know I could want. It took me years to really act on it. Oh, I’d try on the odd bit of Mary’s wardrobe, or go out when she was out of town, but I took our vows seriously. And I was a coward.”
“Until?” Ed prompted when Stede trailed off.
“Until she had me followed. She was trying to prove I was having an affair or something else scandalous enough that she could divorce me. I disappointed her. Apparently a man sitting alone in gay bars, near the exit and not talking to anyone wasn’t what she was looking for. But she confronted me and it came out.”
“That must’ve been ugly.”
“I’m not particularly pretty when I cry,” Stede agreed. “But she was actually amazing about it. We had the most honest conversation of our marriage. We stayed together for a few more years, for appearances, but lived separate lives. Once my father died, all his estate finally came to me. She found a new man, so I gave her half of the estate and we finally got divorced. I sold off most of my father's properties, but I kept the building on Fifth. It was his favorite, he kept his offices there for most of his career.”
“And you turned it into a drag club?” Ed smiled slowly at him.
“Not just a drag club,” Stede smiled back. “All the tenants above are charities that benefit the LGBT+ community. Rent is a dollar a month.”
“So that’s the Revenge?” Ed guessed. “That’s the joke?”
“It seemed fitting.”
“You’re really something else,” he studied his face. “And I wasn’t bored for a second.”
“What about you?” Stede looked down into his mug, a faint pink on the top of his cheeks. “What’s your story?”
It had been so long since he’d had any kind of conversation with someone that didn’t know his reputation that it took Ed a long moment to figure out where to start.
“Learned to fend for myself pretty early. I made a name for myself boxing in backrooms and got picked up by my mentor when I was sixteen or so. Dropped out of school and started fighting for a living. Eventually he retired, left the business to me. I’ve been running it ever since.”
“Do you like it?”
“Honestly?” Ed’s eyes rested on the coffee table. There were real books sitting on it, not the show off kind. There were bookmarks in some of them, like Stede couldn’t wait to finish one to get to the next. “I’m good at it. Great even. And I’m so bored I want to scream.”
“That’s not a way to live. Have you ever thought about doing something else?”
“It’s all I’ve ever done.” He set the mug down carefully on a coaster.
“Trust me, that doesn’t mean it’s all you’ll ever do,” Stede said warmly. “There’s no train tracks, no roads. Life is...the open sea.”
Ed dropped his face into his hands, “This is the most intense conversation I’ve ever had with a hook up.”
“Oh this isn’t a hook up,” Stede said gravely. “I invited you here to tell you about our lord and savior.”
“What?” Ed’s head whipped up as fast as it had gone down.
“Your face!” Stede giggled. “I’m sorry, I just had to lighten the mood. I would 110% like to have sex with you. You’re incredibly good looking. Like truly painfully hot. I almost missed my cue because I was staring at you. But um. It did get a bit heavy, can I make a proposal?”
“You’re a demon,” he shook his head, “but go ahead.”
“What if tonight we just slept? Separately or together. And we can see where things take us in the morning. I’m a little drained. It’s late and I don’t really talk about any of that with anyone... ever.”
“Just sleep?” It was a novel idea.
“Just sleep,” Stede confirmed.
“Yeah, that sounds great actually.”
And, to his immense surprise, it actually was great. They stripped down to their underwear and climbed in under a thick downy comforter. The bed linens were freshly washed and worn soft. Stede turned to face him in the dark.
“I have no idea if I snore,” he confessed. “And now I’m worried that I do.”
“I’ll just smother you with a pillow if you do,” Ed assured him with a wink.
“Fabulous. I always wanted to go out like a Shakespeare heroine.”
"What?"
"Oh, so there's a play called Othello," Stede began and Ed fell asleep to the gentle recitation.