story 4 creative writing class lol

Her wig was perfectly shaped. Her tank top was ironed, and her skirt was steamed. Her heels? Five inches. Her eyeliner? Sharp enough to kill a man. Which she wouldn’t be doing. Billie Saturn looked at herself in the mirror in the backstage of Ursula’s Drag Club, trying to psych herself up. Okay, Billie. You’ve got this. If you do a good job tonight, you’ll have enough money to afford bread and eggs when you get groceries tomorrow, she thought.

 She heard her song start, those glorious beginning notes she both loved and dreaded. She stood, exhaling as she burst through the curtain. “Is this the real life? Is this—” there wasn’t a soul in a seat. “...just fantasy,” Billie faltered, but her eyes locked onto the only member of the audience, a confused looking construction worker. Rainwater dripped from her yellow hard hat. Just in here to escape the harsh weather, likely, but someone watching the performance nonetheless. The music had been playing without her, but she poured her heart into it anyway. “Any way the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to me!” she dropped into her vogueing as the song rattled over the speakers. 

Hitting the climax of her performance, she did a death drop. “Mama! I just killed a man!”

In a cruel twist of fate, it was as those words left her mouth that she heard a blood-curdling scream from backstage. She scrambled to her feet, yelling too as she tripped over her heels and onto her face. The construction worker jumped up and crouched at Billie’s side. 

“What was that? Was that a part of your–your thingy, your dance?”

“No! That sounded like Iman. Er, Kevin. Call the police!” she wailed. 

The construction worker fumbled with her phone, an old flip phone. She mashed in 9-1-1, but the phone popped up with the message of no service. “Ain’t no service in this storm, ma’am. Sir. You.”

“Call me Billie. Short for Billie Saturn,” she introduced herself shakily. Her gorgeous wig had fallen off. She should invest in stronger wig glue, but she never had the funds to spare. 

“I’m Lorelai. We should go see what happened.”

“Absolutely not. Girl, are you crazy?” asked Billie, flabbergasted. 

“No, I’m not. Haven’t you ever felt like you were meant for somethin’ bigger?”

This woman was definitely crazy. But maybe she was right. Billie was down on her luck, and had nothing to lose at this point. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, Billie. Like your song, your Queen man. Freddie Mercury,” she said encouragingly. Clearing her throat, she broke into rattly song. “We can be heroes, just for one day–”

“That’s Bowie, dear.”

“Oh, right. Wait. We can be champions, just for one day.”

“Now it’s just some remix,” standing up, invigorated, Billie picked up her wig and put it back on. “We are the champions, my friend,” she serenaded Lorelai, helping her to her feet.

Together, the pair snuck backstage. There, they saw a little silhouetto of a queen.  

Billie gasped. “I knew it! Iman!” she fell to her knees beside the body. Iman lay in a pool of her own blood and nastier secretions, her wig stained red. “We have to find out who did it, Lorelai!” 

“I agree, Billie. Look, there’s a bullet hole in her chest.”

Iman’s eyes fluttered open, her hands grasping at her chest. “It was… I owed money to…to Big Clark…” her eyes closed, passed out again, but she was still breathing.

Billie tore open Iman’s dress. Whoever had shot her, presumably Big Clark, had shot her in the chest after she’d gotten into drag. The thick silicone of her fake boobs had impeded the bullet’s path, and the wound wasn’t fatal. At least, not yet. 

Billie looked up at Lorelai. “Do you know anyone named Big Clark?”

“No. Only Clark I know is my buddy from work, and he’s medium sized.”

Billie sniffed, resisting the urge to wipe at her eyes. Her eyeshadow was too fabulous to ruin, even in the face of attempted murder. “Her drag name is Iman Trouble. I’m-in-trouble. Do you think it was a call for help?”

“Likely.”

The wardrobe door creaked. Lorelai saw the gun before Billie did, and she yelled as she tackled Billie to the ground. The bullet embedded itself in the wall, which was preferable to Billie’s skull. 

Big Clark stepped out of the closet. He kind of lived up to his name, standing at roughly five feet nine inches tall. What he lacked in height he made up for in intimidation. He had the kind of greasy mustache Disney villains twirl around their fingers, and the beady black eyes of some sort of gecko or lizard. “My business is between me an’ Kevin. Things don’t gotta be ugly ‘tween us,” when he spoke, he had the growly voice of someone who smoked fifteen packs a day. He either did, or was really trying to sound like he did. 

Billie screamed, and Lorelai gripped her shoulder, bending down. “Distract him. I’m gonna run out to the street and find a cop.”

Billie screamed more, and Lorelai prayed it was in understanding. She ran out the door, and Big Clark laughed. 

“She’s a smart cookie. You’d be one too to get outta here ‘fore it’s too late,” he threatened. 

While Lorelai searched the streets in the rain for a policewoman or man, Billie did her best to distract Big Clark. When she didn’t flee from him, he made a disgusting looking expression somewhere between irritation and pity. He leveled his gun, aiming it at her.

Billie stood up. She was a born performer, and this horrific scenario was finally her spotlight. “We will, we will, rock you!” she cried, dodging his shot at her by the skin on her teeth. She cartwheeled at him, caterwauling her song as she moved. Miraculously, her wig didn’t fall off. 

Big Clark scowled and reloaded his weapon. It was harder to aim at a moving target, and even more so one that was singing at you at top volume. Billie kicked the gun out of his hands when she was vertical again, and it clattered to the ground just as the door burst open again. Lorelai was back, with a policewoman in tow. She took in the scene quickly, aiming her pistol at Big Clark. 

“You’re under arrest,” she declared. Iman coughed weakly.

She took Big Clark into custody, and an ambulance arrived for Iman. Blankets were wrapped around Billie and Lorelai’s shoulders. They sat together in the lobby of Ursula’s Drag Club, Bohemian Rhapsody still playing on loop in the background. 

“Strange,” said Lorelai after several long minutes had passed.

“Yeah,” Billie agreed. She didn’t say anything else. There was nothing left to say about it.