"It's WINTER! WHY ARE YOU RAINING?!" Paulie made a growling noise at the sky as Frankie and I struggled to keep him upright under my black umbrella.

"Because the sky is an asshole," I sighed, looking around for Paulie's car. Like cotton candy in a sea of black licorice, I spotted his pink Cadillac a ways down the street. So goddamned far away.

"Damn right! Just like Avi! Where's he?!" Paulie shouted.

"Shh, lower your voice," Frankie warned, but there was no shutting up a shit-faced Paulie. He was too far gone.

It was right after our Christmas show. So fresh that Paulie still had bits of eyeliner on the edges of his eyes. How he hadn't cried it all off I'll never know, but I had tried my best to wipe all the make-up off of his face. I had the rest of his drag in his fake Pan Am bag slung over my shoulder right now, and he was on my other shoulder. I'd iron his stuff later to make up for it, but this was an emergency situation.

And why was it an emergency? Well, you don't scream at the son of one of the city's top Jewish entrepreneurs in front of everybody, causing the most scandalous public break up Greenwich Village has ever seen and it not be an emergency. And done while in drag, for heaven's sake. People would be talking about this one for ages.

"He ran away with his tail between his legs," Paulie whispered menacingly, "because he is a dog. A little bitch."

"Of course he ran away. You screamed at him through a microphone in front of everybody. He wasn't even supposed to be here tonight," I said to him, then groaned because I realized what had just come out of my mouth. My dumb mouth.

"ARE YOU ON HIS SIDE, GEORGINA?!" Paulie shrieked, jerking us backwards, because he had stopped walking.

"Jesus," Frankie winced at the sound. It had hurt his ears.

"No, I'm just a little drunk, Paulie. I'm sorry," I sighed, and pulled at him to keep moving.

"Damn right. You wouldn't be on his side," Paulie retorted angrily, mercifully moving his feet towards his car.

After a ways, I struggled to open the passenger door of the Cadillac and then realized we'd have to somehow get Paulie inside the car. After a bit of maneuvering, Frankie forced himself into the small backseat and by laying Paulie on the wet hood for a minute I was able to then shove Paulie into the passenger seat. He was so bombed he didn't even care that his entire front was now soaked.

I handed Frankie the Pan Am bag between the seats after getting the car keys out of it. It had not been an easy task, my hand slipping through velvet and glittery sticky materials. Somehow I was able to get the car into drive.

"Fucking stick," I muttered under my breath.

Immediately, Frankie started up and I realized I had to pace myself because the alcohol was making me much more annoyed than I should have been. I was already apologetic to him, because I had broken our two drink rule pretty badly when Paulie had refused to drink if I wouldn't. Paulie had called me "reformed" and that had made me so angry. We'd done shots, and I told myself this was a one time thing, because I had to get Paulie to not care anymore. I had to get him to stop crying. It had worked, but now...

"Where are you going? This isn't the way to Paulie's apartment," Frankie said from the backseat.

I breathed deeply twice and responded, hoping my voice was controlled.

"We're not going to Paulie's apartment," I said. Thank god my voice seemed kind.

"Where are we going?" he asked, sounding confused and a little panicked.

"Brooklyn."

"What's in Brooklyn?"

I sighed.

"Good morning," said a heavily Russian accented voice.

"Morning, Sasha," I grunted, pulling Paulie through the doorway. Frankie had wisely gotten behind us, pushing with two hands. Paulie was now more than half passed out, talking gibberish.

"Smells nice," he garbled, trying to keel over but Sasha ran and grabbed him by the front and I was thankful.

"You shouldn't drink and drive," Sasha scolded, taking the Pan Am bag from me and throwing it on his red velvet couch as we struggled to drag Paulie over there as well.

"Well, we got here, didn't we?" I sighed, completely exasperated and ready to lay down myself.

"Yeah. Well, Ganya's asleep, so please be quiet. Thank god he doesn't have class in the morning." Sighing, Sasha pulled Paulie through the darkened living room like he was some sort of llama by the front of his shirt. Finally, we shoved him on the couch with his bag and immediately he smiled with his eyes closed and adjusted to make himself comfortable, using the bag as a pillow.

"I just thought Paulie shouldn't be alone tonight," I explained, ready to launch into a further explanation of the situation, but it turned out I didn't have to.

"Yeah, I heard," Sasha said, tilting his head and raising his eyebrow.

"What? How?" I asked, observing Frankie looking around. He was staring at the nesting dolls on top of the fireplace with wonder. It occurred to me that Frankie had never met Sasha before.

"I was in a bar in the Village when it happened, playing Madame Salem. Some guys ran in yelling about something and we were all like, 'what?' and they said some queen was screaming at Avi Goldberg at your Christmas show and I thought, 'that is either George or Paulie' because who else would it be? Tell me what happened! In detail. You know Sasha wants to know." He smiled sneakily, ready for all of the gossip and pulled out a heavy dark wood chair for me at the matching dining room table.

I gladly sat down, wishing I had something warm to drink. Frankie looked at us from near the fireplace and I smacked my forehead and kept my hand there, leaning on my elbow. "Ah, Sasha. This is Frankie. Frankie, Sasha," I said quickly, suddenly feeling a headache coming on.

"You're Frankie?!" Sasha's mouth dropped open like a cartoon, the blues of his wide eyes fierce as he finally noticed Frankie in the room. "I know you!"

"What do you mean you know him?" I asked in surprise.

"Hi," Frankie said shyly, extending his hand to the seated Sasha, but Sasha would not have it. He sprang on Frankie and suddenly they were hugging like reunited friends after a ship sinking. Well, at least Sasha was. Frankie just looked confused, but appreciative.

"George, you dog," Sasha sighed happily, rocking Frankie back and forth in the hug.

"Excuse me?" I said, feeling offended, but I waved away the offense in my head, chucking it up to the alcohol influencing my feelings.

"This is Frankie Caselotti, of course I know him! Everybody does!" Sasha was getting entirely too excited. He made a loving cooing sound and parted from him, staring at his face. Then suddenly he was pinching Frankie's cheeks. Frankie looked at me desperately, pinching his eyes nearly shut in screwed up pain and leaning down to the floor either to get away or because he couldn't help it. "Oh you are just too cute! I can't stand it!" Sasha welled in joy like a Russian grandmother and slapped him on the back.

"Careful with him," I chuckled in a mock scold.

"How the hell did you get Frankie Caselotti? Jesus, George!" Sasha continued, dragging out a chair for Frankie to sit in. I noticed it was next to his own.

"It's Georgina," I said, my offense getting the best of me. I felt a blush rise to my cheeks, saying this.

"What?" Sasha asked cheerfully, sitting down and staring at Frankie with a big smile.

"She prefers Georgina," Frankie said shyly for me, and I felt love swell up.

"'She'?" Sasha looked at me with the head tilt again, but even more enthused.

"Yeah," I blushed.

"Oh, I see," Sasha beamed, the edges of his eyes lifting like a Cheshire cat. This was entirely too much juicy gossip for him, a triple whammy in one night. First Paulie and Avi, then me dating Frankie, now this. He looked to be in heaven.

"What's all this?" came a masculine groan from down the hall from the kitchen.

"Ganyaaa! Join the party!" Sasha wiggled in delight as he said this. "Frankie Caselotti is here!"

"Did you have sugar or what? You're so wound up," I laughed. Paulie made a noise from the couch and I sincerely hoped he would not wake up due to all the noise Sasha was making. I held my breath, but he didn't make any more sounds so I let it go.

"Why the hell would Frankie Caselotti be here in my house at 4AM in the goddamned morning," Ganya muttered, but we heard him coming up the hallway, his steps heavy with sleep. I hoped like hell he wasn't naked as I knew he often was when in bed.

When he rounded the corner I saw with relief that he had on pants and a robe for good measure. Ganya blinked blearily for a few seconds then his eyes went wide.

"You're joshing me," he said in disbelief, his eyes boring into Frankie.

"Good morning, sir," Frankie said full of respect, an adorable pink blush blooming on his downy cheeks.

"N-no need to call me 'sir'," Ganya hesitated, not moving from his spot.

"This is Frankie Caselotti! Can you believe it?!" Sasha gasped, grabbing Frankie and shaking him back and forth like he was a doll. Frankie looked like he didn't enjoy it, but he was being very patient.

"Don't do that to him, woman, what are you doing?!" Ganya scolded.

"Mm, I'm a little drunk, sorry," Sasha purred at Frankie, parting his hair now affectionately.

Ah, that explained it.

"Well, sober up. You can't do that to a Caselotti, you crazy," Ganya said in a hush, still not moving from his spot in the doorway to the hall. He seemed very intimidated.

"It's okay," Frankie said, Sasha petting his hair like a puppy.

"Are you sure?" Ganya asked in concern, but then seemed to have a shift in his face. "Why are you in- What...brings you to my home this evening?" There was worry on his face now.

"We brought Paulie here. I'm sorry," Frankie said, sheepish, showing the most patience I'd ever seen anyone give, because Sasha was still touching him all over.

"Where is he?" Ganya asked. A perfectly timed snore from the couch answered him.

"We could all use a little coffee, I think," Frankie said, smiling politely and taking Sasha's hands off of his hair. Sasha smiled back at him lovingly.

"Oh right, where are my manners," Ganya said in a panicked way, shooting towards the coffee maker.

"You don't need to be scared," I chuckled.

"Yeah, they're going out," Sasha beamed.

"Who's going out?" Ganya asked, banging open a cabinet and grabbing filters.

"Frankie and I," I said, gazing at Frankie. He smiled back at me, the pink blush on his cheeks intensifying.

Ganya dropped the filters on the counter. "What?!" he gasped, whipping around.

"Yeah, for a while now," I giggled, feeling very proud.

He was silent for a moment. Soon, the only sounds in the house were the burbling coffee maker and the heavy sounds of Paulie in sleep. Then he spoke. He still would not come sit with us I noticed.

"How did you even meet Frankie Caselotti?" he asked, sounding like he'd been thinking about it during the quiet.

"He owns the Majesty now," I informed him patiently. Frankie smiled at me from across the table. Sasha was now staring at him like he was some kind of mirage, not quite sure if he was there. I started to strongly suspect he was on something else than alcohol, and I knew if Paulie were awake he'd be able to tell me what. But a small feeling of hurt bubbled up inside my chest at this thought, because very recent memories of how he'd descended before his very public break up surfaced as well. What would he do now? I attempted to shake these sad thoughts from my brain.

"What do you mean he 'owns the Majesty'?" Ganya breathed, settling against the counter with his hands on either side, facing us. I could see his brown pupils all the way over in the kitchen in his shock.

"My father said it was my property on my birthday," Frankie piped up. He seemed proud, and therefore more brave.

"When was this?"

The coffeemaker made a noise, and Ganya looked at it, but then back at us quickly.

"August?" I said, peering at Frankie for confirmation.

"August 6th," Frankie nodded.

"How did you fall in love?" Sasha interjected with excitement, gazing at Frankie still.

"Oh, it was immediate." Frankie broke into a grin as he said it. My heart melted into a gushing warm slush. Him telling people he didn't even know this way. How proud he was. I wanted to kiss him all over again.

"I had hurt my wrist and Frankie put ice on it," I smiled back at him. His very eyes seemed to be telling me he loved me, so sincere, our gaze at each other never wavering. Sudden shyness overcame me, and I couldn't figure out why. Just the way his beautiful sea colored eyes were looking at me, with every good emotion in the world. I started to blush. Wasn't Frankie usually the shy one?

"Look at you, all bashful. That's how I can tell you're really in love. Aw, George, I'm so happy for you!" Sasha squealed like a character in a Disney movie.

"It's Georgina," I giggled. "Shit, I'll tell you again about my name in the morning. You probably won't remember any of this anyway. You're so smashed."

"Okay," Sasha beamed.

"Wait," Ganya said. His thick eyebrows were creased.

"Yes?" I was still blushing at Frankie's boldness, his eyes.

"What do you mean...his father gave him the Majesty?"

His fear was apparent from how he wasn't addressing Frankie directly. I wished he wouldn't be scared of him. But in a way, I understood, especially with the reputation that preceded Frankie's Caselotti name. But I had learned these past months that reputation is not always the best to go on. That people surprise you, that you have to learn about somebody by yourself. That you can't listen to others.

Frankie spoke up again, directly addressing Ganya even though Ganya would not address him. "My father owned the Majestic Club for years. He bought it when it was a movie theater and he made it into what it is today. He gave it to me because he doesn't have the energy to run it anymore." He said this matter of fact, no fluff.

"Oh," Ganya said. But something about his movements were unsure, and he turned to the coffee maker now. Something about the way he was moving was disturbing me. Ganya never acted this way unless...

But Sasha interrupted any further thoughts I could have on the matter. "That's right! Fraaankie, I wanted to ask you something! George and I were talking about it when we were in the Village, was it- when was it, George? Anyway! I wanted to ask if you're hiring any more queens? My name on stage is Madame Salem and I do magi-"

"Sasha, go in the other room," Ganya said suddenly, turning to us again. He was stern, looking at us like a concerned father, his forty years apparent in his face more than ever before. I could see every line, every wrinkle now, every sadness.

"Why? I don't-!"

"Poyti v spal'nyu, seychas," he told him in Russian in a half whisper, so serious it sent a chill down my spine.

Sasha seemed to sober instantly at these words, his blue eyes going wide, but with fear. They looked at me, then at Frankie. He seemed apologetic. We watched him go silently to the hallway door, and at the door he looked back at me. He nodded his head once, surrendered, and we heard him go down the hall with slow steps. It was a display of their difference in age that I rarely saw, and it sobered me instantly as well. Memories of who Ganya really was to me flooded my brain. I tried to blink them away, for they caused unease to spread across my heart like spider webs.

The coffee maker beeped three times, surely telling us the coffee was ready, but Ganya ignored it. Instead, he made his way over to us and as the dining room's light washed over him I saw how paled he was.

He leaned over the table, his hands laid. My heart started to palpitate in fear.

"Ganya, what-" I started, but I need not have even asked.

"Don't talk, just listen," he said in a hush. I glanced over at Frankie and he looked like a deer in headlights. Ganya breathed out, closing his eyes. Then they snapped open and did not waver from us once. "Don't repeat what I am saying. You were never here. I never met you, Frankie Caselotti. Sasha will not be working at the Majesty. And I am very, very scared for you, George. And you, Frankie. Capos do not just 'give' high profile businesses to their twenty-one year old sons for their birthdays. I believe you are in danger. Of what, I don't know. I'll try to find out. But I think you need to get away."

"Ganya, you're scaring me," I whispered. Frankie's foot touched mine under the table and I jumped. It started to roll around mine, trying to comfort me secretly. I wanted to cry.

"I know all about you, Frankie Caselotti. I read the newspapers. I see the TV. I heard my detective friends talking about your family on the force when I was a police officer. They said you are a weak link. And now this. If your family finds out you're dating somebody like George... I can't say any more." Ganya's face looked disturbed, a fire in his eyes. They darted to me and I saw myself briefly in them, a reflection of despair. All of my doubts, he could see them all.

"I understand," Frankie said, staring at Ganya like someone much older. "There are already plans in place. My father-"

"Don't," Ganya interrupted.

Frankie jumped, a scared reaction that he couldn't seem to help. "Huh?"

"Don't do what he says. He's the one who gave you the Majesty."

I studied Frankie's face. He was looking down at his hands now, his eyes full of sorrow. I reached across the table and took his hand. I could feel his heartbeat through his fingers, very fast, terrified. I squeezed them, loving him.

"Look, I have money. I can give you money. I don't want you anywhere near the Majesty. I love you too much," Ganya went on, addressing me now, the softness returning to his sweet brown eyes. The same ones I had known for eight years, from when he had first found me under the bridge as a police officer, myself torn and bloody from the attack that had almost ended my life. "I don't want to lose any more friends," he whispered to us, begging us.

I don't want to lose any more friends.

A strange feeling filled my heart. A doom.

I felt like I was drowning.