“Hi there,” said Ray as I approached the bar, and Jeff, now Mora, sashayed her way backstage. A scotch quickly got slid my way. I had to break it off with Ray, if only for my own sanity, but my liver was arguing the point. Free booze! it shouted at me from somewhere left of my pancreas.
He winked. I melted. My liver harrumphed. “Hey, Ray,” I said with a quick kiss and a slug of my scotch. “Bananarama tonight. ‘Venus.’ For the second set, Blondie’s ‘Atomic.’”
He smiled. “Unique choices.”
I shrugged. “Drag queens do not live by Britney alone.”
“Sacrilege.” He chuckled as he clutched his pearls. I popped a b***r. Damn. “What are you doing after work?”
Breaking up with you? Getting f****d by you? Do I pick what’s in the box or behind Curtain Number One? “I’ll meet you back here after work
