Miss Wayne and the Queens of DC (The Cartel Publications Presents) (6 page)

Mrs. Peterson smiled lightly and said, “No…thank you for meetin’ me.” She pointed to herself. “I was surprised you called, but I figured Wayne is doin’ well in school so it can’t be nothin’ too bad.”

“No…no,” Dora Brook, the school’s white principle assured her, shaking her head from left to right. “Wayne is a model student!”

Mrs. Peterson smiled proudly and gripped her brown leather purse closer, which sat in her lap. “That’s good. He was so excited after winnin’ the Spelling Bee for the second time in a row for the school. He really wanted to make you proud. He’s been dancin’ around with the trophy ever since he got it. I can’t take the thing from the chile if I tried. Even sleeps with it.”

“Dancing, huh?” There was a condescending tone aback of the principal’s response.
“Yes. He’s a happy boy.”
“Mrs. Peterson, I want to be frank with you.” She sat up straight in her seat and placed her folded hands on the desk…her salmon colored fingernails overlapping one another.
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Great, because we’re concerned about Wayne here at the school.”
“Why is that?”
“Well…he’s not like other boys. In fact, he’s not like any of them.”
“Well we should embrace our differences shouldn’t we?”
“Yes. But…well…uh, we’ve gotten a complaint from a student in gym. He said Wayne touched him inappropriately.”
The smile on Mrs. Peterson’s face was removed. “What you tryin’ to say?”
“I’m saying that one of the kids made a complaint against Wayne. And because of the terrible accusation, I have to follow up with you…the parent. I really am sorry.”
“Touched him where, how and when?”
“It was last week. Tuesday I believe.”
“A day before the Spelling Bee?”
“Oh,” she said looking through the large desk calendar before her. “I guess it was. I hadn’t noticed.”
“So you’re tellin’ me that Wayne supposedly touched a chile a day before he won the championship for your school? Yet you allowed him to participate anyway? How convenient.”
Mrs. Brook’s face turned red. “Like I said, I hadn’t noticed that it was a day before the championship.”
“Sure you didn’t. What exactly happened?”
“I’ve been told that the kids were playing a game of Tag. Our gym teacher Mr. Barry Cornheart facilitated the game. I’m told Wayne was “It” and he tagged another student inappropriately on his body.”
“Where on his body?”
“On the shoulder.”
Mrs. Peterson sat up straight and eased forward, “He tagged another student inappropriately on the shoulder? Since when is touchin’ on the shoulder inappropriate behavior?”
“Well the student said it lasted longer than it should have. He felt very uncomfortable and was in the nurse’s office for the entire day after the incident. And because I’m the Principal, I have to speak with you.”
“You’ve already said you had to speak to me. So what does this mean for my chile?”
“It means that we are suggesting that you seek a counselor for Wayne.”
“My boy don’t need no shrink gettin’ in his head makin’ him feel imperfect!”
“Mrs. Peterson, your son is….well…gay. And he needs counseling.”
“Counselin’, huh?”
“Yes, Marbel.”
Mrs. Peterson shot daggers with her eyes. And suddenly, she presented a kind smile across her face. It was like she had two personalities and the principal wondered what was behind the look in her eyes.
“Mrs. Brook, would you mind if I make two phone calls?”
“Sure go right ahead,” she said thinking Marbel was eager to take her up on her advice to find Wayne a counselor. She pushed the black phone across the desk. “Dial 9 first and then the number.”
Mrs. Peterson moved the hair away from her ears, picked up the handset and dialed her first number. It rang twice. When the caller answered she hit the speaker button and placed the handset down.
“First National Bank, how may I help you?” the kind voice said from the speakers.
“Oh yes, I’d like to check the availability of my checking account balance please.”
“Sure. What is your account number and name?”
Mrs. Brook looked at Marbel with a confused glare. She thought it strange considering the nature of their conversation. I mean, why would she choose now to check the availability of funds in her bank account? It was as if she’d forgotten all about the meeting and remembered something else more important.
“185558766.” She said providing her name and information directly afterward.
“Oh yes! I have your account right here. Your balance if $46,000. Anything else?”
“No. That will be all. Thank you.” She ended the call.
The look on Mrs. Brook face showed her surprise. She hadn’t expected the woman to have saved so much money. Besides, it was $45,000 more than she had in her account on a principal’s salary. What she didn’t know was that Marbel had been saving for Wayne’s college fund most of her life.
“One last call, please.” Marbel said rousing Mrs. Brook from her thoughts.
Mrs. Brook nodded as she dialed another number.
“Thank you for calling the law offices of Scott Weinstein. How may I help you?” a woman’s voice bellowed.
Now Mrs. Brook understood Marbel Peterson and she understood her very well.
“Yes. May I speak with Scott Weinstein? This is his client Marbel Peterson.”
“Sure. Let me see if he’s available.”
It was a brief moment before he answered.
“Yes, Marbel. What can I do for you?”
“I know you are paid by the hour so I’ma get right to the point. I’m at my son’s school and the principal has suggested that I seek counsel. So, here we are. Can you help me?”
“Sure…go right ahead. The clock is tickin’,” he joked.
Marbel smiled at the principal who was flushed. “Great. So what were you sayin’, about my son Mrs. Brook?”
“Uh…I…uh.” She was speechless.
“Oh you’re at a loss for words. So let me remind you. You were harrasin’ my chile and tryin’ to make me believe that somethin’ is wrong with him because he’s different.”
“No I wasn’t. I was just suggesting…”
“Listen and listen good, Mrs. Brook. I been savin’ all my life for my son’s future. All my life! That boy has a good heart and I’m sick of people not seein’ him for who he really is. Now I had planned to use the money for his college fund but if you bother my son again, I won’t hesitate to spend every damn dime on suin’ you and this fuckin’ school. ‘Cause as far as I’m concerned, his future starts right here and right now! So what you wanna do?”
Silence.
“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.” The principal said into the phone’s speaker. “Wayne isn’t any trouble at all. And I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
“That’s what the fuck I thought.” Said Marbel smiling from ear to ear.

It was four in the morning at Paul’s five-bedroom home in Landover Maryland. He sat behind his meticulous detailed mahogany framed desk pissed the fuck off. The golden accented desk lamp lit the dark room as he rocks back and forth in his brown leather chair.

“What the hell you doin’, girl?” Kevin asks walking into the office door behind him. His voice heavier than the softer tone he used during regular hours. “Why you up so early?”

When he sees five lines of coke sitting on a mirror next to a pile of unorganized papers, his mouth waters.
“The question is, what you doin’ up?!” Paul says looking up at him. Then he takes a small nose pipe and inhales a line of coke. “I thought you were the Drag Queen Slayer or somethin’.” His large feet sit on top of the pink furry slippers under his desk as he tugs at the sides of his black nightgown, which is much too small for his muscular build.
“Man…that Drag Queen Slayer shit is crazy ain’t it? I really hope they catch whoever’s doin’ that shit.”
“Me too,” says Paul. He inhales another line hoping Kevin doesn’t ask for one.
“Can I do one?”
Paul reluctantly pushes the mirror toward him and hands him the pipe. He inhales without so much as a thank you.
“You sure it ain’t you?” Kevin jokes wiping his nose. “Half of the queens dyin’ you got beef with.”
“Don’t even joke like that. I’m just as scared about this shit as you are.”
Kevin giggles and sits down in his office. “Have you been in here all night?”
Paul faces his paperwork and throws his hands on top of the mound in frustration.
“I’m so sick of Tyrone and Dayshawn’s bitch asses! They don’t pay rent and now they fuckin’ up the house. What kind of shit is that?”
“Put ‘em out!” Kevin offers as he adjusts his surgically enhanced breasts under the white mini t-shirt he wears. The extra tight pair of grey gym shorts hugs his small legs. “We hate them anyway!”
“Look, bitch! I don’t need to hear all that. What I
need
is help gettin’ these fuckas out of my house!”
“I ain’t mean to make you mad. I just hate the House of Dreams.”
“Me too but cash is cash! Plus you already got work done!” He points jealously at his breasts. “I want work done on my body too. All I need is twenty thousand more and I’ll be able to get my surgery. I’m tired of being a woman trapped in a man’s body.”
“And I’m not?” Kevin asks.
“I don’t know if you are or not. I’m talkin’ ‘bout me. You seem to be okay with whatever you had done already! But I’m not fuckin’ wit’ that silicone injection bullshit you be doin’.”
“You got to go to the right people. That’s all.”
“Everybody I know do that shit in their basement! So how can they possibly be the right people? Think about how many friends we had die from that shit. All because some queen makin’ money without knowin’ what she doin’.” He says shaking his head. “Naw…that ain’t workin’ for me.”
“Well what about the house of Stars Legendary ball in a couple of months? If our house wins the grand prize we’ll make twenty five thousand dollars!”
“That will help but I still gotta divide it with ya’ll.”
“It’s better than nothin’.”
“You stay cheerin’ for a couple of dollars,” he says picking up a clipped out magazine article of Janet Jackson from his desk. “But I need
real
money if I’m gonna go to a doctor to look like her.”
Kevin looks at the picture that he’d seen twenty times and keeps his comments to himself. He wanted to tell Paul that it was impossible for him to look like Janet Jackson. Number one, he was six feet tall and she barely made it over five foot three. Secondly his body frame was very muscular and hers was small and lean. But more importantly he remembered the last time he told him how he felt about the matter. Paul threw him out on his ass with the quickness. It took two months of begging and Kevin giving him the black Kim Kardashian wig he wore when he won a ball a while back, for Paul to let him back in the house.
“You could’ve been had it if you start trickin’ wit’ us. Everything cost, even Bussy,” he says slapping his ass.
“I’m not a whore, Kevin. Besides, that’s why I got you. But I can tell you what will help. Shit will be all right if you start payin’ your rent ‘round here. On time!”
Kevin was shut down with all the shit he was bringing.
“I’m on your side,” he responds in the soft feminine voice he trained since he was a little boy. He knew he was into Paul for five hundred dollars of late rent and didn’t have much to say. “But what do we do now to get them out your house?”
“Well I tried it the right way. I went through the courts and they said I’d have to wait on a fuckin’ eviction approval and that can take anotha 30 days. If we go another route, I can have ‘em out sooner. But before I give you the details, why is Wayne back in town?”
“Redbone Wayne? From the House of Dreams?” Kevin asks giving him a quizzical stare.
“Yeah.”
“I’m not sure…but I hope it’s not for the ball.”
“Why? You don’t think we can win if the House of Dreams participates?”
“Uh…yeah. He ain’t got nothin’ on your house.” He lies. “But I did hear his LA chapter is like that. But we can still beat them wretched queens hands down.”
Paul’s house, which he called the House of Dolls, had five members. Paul was the leader and his members were Toni, Kevin, Shawn and Michael. In their eyes they were built to perfection, hence the name, House of Dolls. But behind their backs they were known as the House of Moos. The only thing they did to look like women was alter their bodies, not including their faces. But the House of Dolls was ruthless. They did whatever they could to maintain their house, buy drugs and win balls. Including robbery and murder.
“Can he be a problem for us? Wayne?” Paul questions.
“It depends on the issue you have with him.”
“Meaning?”
“Well…you know back in the day he use to slice mothafuckas faces up if they got him wrong. But when he moved to LA, it seemed like he fell off the scene and off the face of the earth. Why?”
Paul wouldn’t dare tell him that just days earlier, he’d gotten his ass kicked in the house his mother raised him in. Wayne beat him so badly that he had bruises in places he hadn’t thought he touched.
Instead of the truth Paul says, “I’m hearin’ a lot about him lately. And he was in my house when I went over there.”
“Oh no!” Kevin says grabbing his t-shirt. “Is he the one who beat you?”
“Why in the fuck would you ask me some bullshit like that?”
“Cause you came in here beat down harder than Ms. Rhianna in Chris Brown’s car, baby. That’s why.”
“I told you I tripped over Ma-Ma’s foot and hit my face on her cement elephant when I was at her house!” he responds in defense. “So stop makin’ shit out to be more than it is.”
Kevin not believing his bullshit drops his head and says, “Oh…so…now what?”
“Later on I want you to call Big Boody Brandy. Tell her I got a job for her and I want to see bodies dropped.”

“Is he sleep?” Miss Tyrone asks me as I take a seat at the green table in their yellow kitchen. Us gay men love colors and Miss Tyrone and Miss Dayshawn are no exception.

“Now he is. I kept asking him what’s wrong but he doesn’t want to talk to me. Somethin’ else is goin’ on.”
“Wayne, you know you always look more into things than you should. I mean, I wouldn’t worry about Aid’s problems if I were you. If he wants to stay with Chris, he’s gettin’ exactly what he deserves.”
“Well, at least he finally dosed off. But I think he drank a half of bottle of vodka and took two Tylenol PM to do it.” I say watching Tyrone cook on the stove, his yellow curly wig bouncing with his every move. I swear he doesn’t realize that although black is beautiful, some colors just don’t mesh on darker skin. And a yellow wig is one of them.
“I got some dick comin’ over lata on.” He says out of the blue. “So you gonna have to keep yourself company.”
I look at him and say, “I sure hope a dick ain’t really comin’ through that door. Please say a head will be attached to it.”
He laughs and says, “You know what I mean, Wayne. And speakin’ of dick, when was the last time you’ve been fucked? Seriously?”
As mad as I was by the question, I didn’t know. I hadn’t had dick since dick had me.
“It’s been a minute but I’m not thinkin’ ‘bout that right now.”
“Oooo girl! I don’t see how you do it. A gay man not havin’ sex is just unnatural!”
“When the right person comes I’ll know it.”
“Fuck the right person! What about Mr. Right now?!”
“My focus is on my friends and my business. And your mind should be too. You lettin’ the DC Chapter for the House of Dreams go to shit! I heard ya’ll don’t do balls no more or nothin’. Just smoke and get high! People also sayin’ that whenever ya’ll hit the scene, somebody fightin’.”
“They just jealous ‘cause we do us and we do us well. Trust me, Wayne, I got this.”
“Oh really? Well do you got the money for your rent? ‘Cause you know come Monday, Paul’s throwin’ ya’ll the fuck out.”
“I’ll get his little itty-bitty change.”
“How much you into him for?”
“Four thousand dollars!”
“Girl! Have you ever paid shit around here?”
“Hell yeah! I’m the only one! But shit got backed up. Why? You wanna move in to help out?”
“Naw…but I am thinkin’ about rentin’ a little cottage in DC somewhere if I stay.” I say crossing my legs.
Miss Tyrone laughs and says, “Good luck findin’ a cottage in DC anywhere!”
“You right about that shit.” Just when we were enjoying each other’s conversation, the house phone rings on the kitchen wall and he hesitates on answering it. I wonder why.
“You not gonna get the phone?”
He hesitantly walks over and picks up the handset. “Hello.”
Silence.
“Look! Stop callin’ my fuckin’ house and leave me the fuck alone!” Tyrone screams into the phone before hanging up.
“Who was that?”
“N…nobody.” He says obviously shaken up.
When the phone rings again he grabs it and yells, “Look…whateva you gonna do just do it!”
He was being extra but what I notice right away is the change of his facial expression.
“What? When did this happen?” he says on the phone.
Silence.
“Wayne…turn on channel 7 news!” he says anxiously hanging up.
My heart races as I wait to see what got him so riled up. When I turn on the TV, I’m thankful channel 7 is already on. A male newscaster is holding a microphone in front of a lady who’s crying her eyes out.
“Marlo, ain’t did nothin’ to nobody! He was a good person! Took his grandmother to church and everything every Sunday! What kind of person would kill him and cut his head off? How we ‘spose to give him a proper funeral?”
When Marlo who likes to be called Marlene, picture appears across the television, my mouth drops. The newscaster takes the microphone from Marlo’s mother and commentates.
“The LGBT community has been rocked by this crime spree and it seems as if there’s no relief in sight. Police say they’re doing all they can to find the man known as, The Drag Queen Slayer. But are they? What leads are they following? And will the LGBT community ever recuperate? Those are the questions we all want answers to. Back to you, Joan.”