The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(85)
Lawrence makes a sound of disapproval in the back of his throat. “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I? I just had him tell his girlfriend that our drag family does a mean after-party show. She pulled a few strings, and now the official Homage to Todrick Hall Disney Queens will be featured at the Genius Comics After-Party. Oh! There they are!” Lawrence raises his arm and waves.
“I still can’t believe they found you badges. I bought mine in March.”
“It pays to be me sometimes,” Lawrence answers with a sassy hip toss. Even in his dark denim jeans and Captain America tee—whom L insists is a closet queen because, girl, have you seen his hair?—Lawrence manages to look perfectly put together and ever-so-slightly sultry.
“Okay, so you remember our main job today is to check out the auction items and get ready for the show.” I’m chewing my nails to the quick now. This all has to go perfectly. Everything I’ve set up. Everything I’ve gambled and guessed on. All of my hopes wrapped up in the fashion design competition that brought me here. Everything.
“Recon. Check.” Lawrence gives me a salute.
The line moves forward again, and I hold out my ID to the guy at the gate. No big deal. MG Martin. Undercover vigilante-hero-apprehender and hopeful fashion maven. Lawrence and Ryan follow, and soon we’re standing inside the arched glass–ceilinged lobby of the convention center.
Lawrence looks around, using his height to his advantage. “Now all we’re missing is my family.”
“Darling!” Lawrence is swooped up in a hug from behind by a tall black queen whom I instantly peg as Lawrence’s infamous drag mother. She’s tall, thinner than L, and her close-cropped curls are dyed a platinum blonde.
I catch sight of another figure behind Shwanda before turning my attention to Lawrence. I guess it’s probably one of L’s drag family, though I don’t recognize him.
L looks positively adoring introducing his Mother. “MG, Ryan, I’d like you to meet Shwanda.”
“Shwanda Knuts,” she says, extending a regal hand first to Ryan then to me. Rings glitter on every finger, bracelets jangle at her wrists, and a huge gold chain rests against the neck of her black eighties jumpsuit. Shwanda may not be in full costume, makeup, or character, but there’s no missing that this queen is full-time fierce. Man or woman, always Shwanda.
“I can’t believe we haven’t met yet—either of you—after hearing so much about you, Ms. Knuts,” I gush, trying to take in the spectacularness that is the drag mama.
“Just Shwanda, if you please. Like Cher. And this is Vince, or Amy Blondonis.” Shwanda motions to an extremely tall and angular white guy, who I’m ashamed to admit I thought was a person waiting for another group. He’s got intensely pale-blue eyes and is tattooed from head to toe. He looks nothing like a queen in a white T-shirt, baggy jeans, and a hat turned backward. Unlike the bubbly Shwanda, Vince is silent. He’s intense. I can see why Lawrence invited him for a crime-solving mission.
I paste a cheery smile on my face even though I’ve literally never been this nervous in my life. It’s not just the show that might make my new career. It’s Matteo and the message I left him. It’s the fact that I’m banking on Rideout being a leak. It’s that I’ve based all of this on a rattle in a frame in a dead guy’s office. “Okay, so are we ready to look at the exhibition hall?”
“I was born ready, darling.” Shwanda kisses my cheek before bustling off toward the doors to the trade show.
“She’s really something,” I say to Lawrence as we trail behind. “But what about Vince?”
“Oh, that’s just Vince. He’s really quiet as a man, but he has the best singing voice as a queen. He’s our secret weapon for the after-party.”
As much as I’d like to keep our group together, it proves considerably difficult, bordering on impossible. We’re pushed and pulled apart by the crowd, and two kids dressed as minions literally run between us. Then there’s the draw of the shopping. The second Lawrence sets sights on the clothing alley, he squeals, “Ooo! Vintage bustiers!” and dashes off to the left.
I turn to Ryan. “Well, so much for—” But Ryan’s already wandering away toward the large game banners that hang over the middle of the exhibition space. Likewise, Shwanda and Vince have dispersed. And I’m left all alone, swept along by the churning crowd, surrounded by life-size pink Wookiees, enough Star Trek uniforms to fill the Enterprise, hobbits, gremlins, and sexy gaming characters I don’t recognize by name. The sights and sounds bombard my senses, the huge banners flying overhead catnip for every sort of nerd delight. A convincing droid walks behind me, and I hear her say to her companion, “You know, next year I think I’m going to do crossover cosplay. Maybe R2-D2 Wonder Woman.”
I close my eyes, hold out my hands, take a deep breath, and let it out. For everything else that’s going on . . . these are my people. I feel like I’ve come home.
I make my way through the clothing vendors to the heart of the exhibition hall, where I can see the Genius banner among some of the largest displayed. The superhero heart of the con beats large and strong this year. I fight the urge to stop and take pictures every four steps; people have taken Genius characters and created costumes that any designer would covet. As much as I’m anxious about the case, habit takes over. Cons for me are about costumes. And fabric. I feel that familiar pull, and I decide that it’s okay to give in for just a little while. The auction isn’t until tomorrow.