Beep, beep, boop, beep beep

I had been staring at the back of the little gray handheld Charlie had been pumping away at for about five whole minutes, listening to the soundtrack and sounds of the game he was playing with interest. It didn't seem like he had heard me step up to the counter, and I wondered how long it would take him to notice me there.

"Gawdammit, you little dawg," he swore. Immediately, the beeping sounds started up again.

"Uh, hello," I said. My arms were full of heavy groceries and I couldn't take it any longer, but I felt no ill will towards him.

"Oh! Hey, Ruiz!" he gasped, lowering his Gameboy to the glass topped counter with a click.

I started giggling. "What are you playing?" I leaned over the counter, trying to see the little green-gray screen.

"It's just Snoopy." He began grabbing things from my hands as I handed them to him, seeming a little embarrassed.

"Was that from Hannukah?" I asked, still trying to see the little screen.

He grinned, using a hi-tech looking new handheld scanner to scan my purchases. Must have been the New Year. "Naw, this is from Mrs. George. She gave it to me a couple of days ago, said it was a late Hannukah present. She never gave me nothing like this before. It was surreal. Kind of a baby present, but I'm not complaining. I love the arcade."

"That's really cool. I wonder why she'd give you something like this? It's so expensive."

He shrugged, looking sheepish. "I don't know. I really appreciate it, though. My dad woulda never gotten me something like this."

"Wow. It's really amazing," I said, leaning over far enough to see the little dog blinking on the screen finally. It looked like a Game Over screen. Oops. "Did I make you lose your game?"

He laughed. "Haha, naw. I was already losin'. You didn't do nothin'."

"Oh, okay."

Smiling at me, he packed my purchases in a bag. Then he noticed the brown paper grocery bag still under my arm. "What's in that?" he asked, packing the last strawberry milk in a bag with its fellows.

"Tamales. They're for Mrs George. My...friend made them for her." I had almost said "my drag mother". But there was no way Charlie would know what that was, and I didn't exactly have time to explain.

"Your friend, huh? That's very nice of them."

"Yeah." I became hesitant and didn't know why. "She um...knew Mrs George back in the day, actually."

"Wow, really? Is she a drag queen, too?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Well, I'm just assuming. Oh wait...is that wrong of me?" A small pink blush formed on his cheeks. He was awkwardly holding my two grocery bags now. I slid them across the counter to hold them myself.

"No, it's not wrong. It's an educated guess," I chuckled, taking the bags off the counter and feeling their adjusted weight. I started fumbling with my purse, but all of the bags jostling made it really hard.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Charlie said, his hand up.

"Huh?"

"I'll pay for it. Ain't nothin'. Just ten bucks."

"What?" My heart started to race. Though he'd done this so many times I'd lost count, I never expected it.

"Yeah. You go visit Mrs. George. Don't worry about it."

"Th- thank you."

"Don't worry about it." He picked up his Gameboy again. "Have a good night."

His smile seemed to lead me out of the store and I felt like I was walking on air despite the heavy grocery bags in my hands weighing me down. Just like every time.

"Hey, Nurse Ratched," I giggled, seeing the back of the long, flowing, platinum blonde wig which Ambrose had put on his head like a bloody wedding veil earlier. He turned, a smeared dark red cross made of fake blood on his nurse's cap topping off his horror-filled murderess nurse outfit. His eyes, disguised by white and red contacts, focused on me.

"Hello, darling," he beamed like a socialite at the peak of her season, the belle of the ball. He eagerly made grabby hands at the grocery bags, knowing I'd brought his favorite snack: Funyuns.

I giggled and gave him the bag I'd sorted for him at Georgina's apartment. It contained a chocolate milk, some random candy, and his cherished ninety-nine cent bag of Funyuns. He took this lovingly, squeezing the bag to his chest before opening it like a child on Christmas morning. The sound of his crunching pleased my ears and I grinned, opening my own grocery bag and taking out some Munchos.

"Ambrozia, they need you backstage. Some kind of wardrobe malfunction. Tony's freaking out," Veronixxxa Playboy sighed, swooping around like a vulture on the Munchos I'd just dumped out on the table cloth.

"It's Nurse Ambrozia this evening," Ambrose grinned, wiggling his drawn on arched eyebrows with flair.

"Hello, nurse! But seriously, go put out that fire. I think it's a busted seam. You got your sewing kit?" She put a chip in her mouth and began chewing, gathering up several more like prey in front of her.

"Always," he nodded, gathering up his purse which was white dipped in fake blood at the bottom, perfectly ruined just for his gimmick tonight.

"I think you're also guaranteed a jump scare from Tony. You look absolutely horrible. I mean that in the more gorgeous way," Veronixxxa sighed admiringly in a chew.

"Thank you, darling." Ambrose did an exaggerated curtsy at her before twirling on his red platform heel and going on his merry way.

I stared at Veronixxxa eating all of my chips like a Hoover vacuum pig.

"Your lipstick is the wrong color," I said petulantly, both for ordering my boyfriend away and for eating all of my chips.

"It's porn chic," she grinned, putting yet another chip in her huge bubblegum pink mouth. "Hmm. So what have you two been doing lately? You been going to the Tunnel or something? Maybe staying in, lovebird? I don't blame you, with a guy like Ambrose. Ugh, if I got him in a room alone. I bet he's into all kinds of things." She nudged me to suggest certain things with that grin going ever wider.

"Huh? Staying in?" I asked, with a tilt of my head. My eyes had wandered to the stage where Miss Connie Walters was adjusting her overly large bosoms in her severely red 1980's power anchor woman suit while juggling her MC mic without much success. "I thought Ambrose said he's been here doing backstage things."

"What? No, honey." She giggled like this was a ridiculous thing to say, waving her hand with a chip in it's claws flippantly. "I've been working the bar practically every night for the past three weeks because of my goddamned rent increase. Rent control, my ass. And my filthy roommate won't pay rent either. Ugh, I hate my life. Anyway, I haven't seen hide nor hair of him for like a month. I'm actually surprised you're both here. You may as well be dead in drag queen years, you've been gone so long. Sorry about it."

I froze. "But he said he was here."

"No, he wasn't. But Tony said he saw him over at the Tunnel like a few nights ago, I guess. He tried to say hi, but Ambrose didn't say hi back. It was an atrocity. Total snub. That's why I asked if you guys had been at the Tunnel." She was now going through my grocery bag for my Reese's cups, but I didn't care.

The Tunnel? What would Ambrose be doing at the Tunnel when he said he was here?

"Thank you...for telling me this," I said uneasily.

She didn't seem to detect my tone. "Yup. You're welcome. And thank you for the snack," she beamed, then bit into one of the Reese's cups with a moan as if the chocolate and peanut butter were sex incarnate.

Backstage about ten minutes later, I saw Tony in his long white dress looking for all the world like the Bride of Frankenstein's whore-ish sister in real black and white. He was inspecting a seam under his arm, and I assumed this one was the one that had popped and been repaired. It looked absolutely perfect, done by the handiwork of the best seamstress we knew, Ambrozia deVelour. But where was he?

"Hey, Tony," I said, trying to act casual, getting in line behind him to go on stage. Miss Connie Walters was on stage babbling on about some scandalous celebrity sexcapade as Barbara Walters, whom she referred to as Baba Wawa, much to the delight of the audience. I'm Baba Wawa, and this is 20/20 going 69.

"Hey, babe," he said shyly. His whiteout contact eyes pinched a little bit at the bottoms, still inspecting his seam. His overall atmosphere read more regal fairy queen than the whore sister of the Bride of Frankenstein. "I think your boyfriend botched my seam. It feels weird."

"Weird how?" I asked, my eyebrows creasing. Ambrose never did shoddy work.

"It's too tight. It keeps restricting my movement. I wonder if it was some sort of sabotage."

I would have chuckled if I wasn't so disturbed from the comments Veronixxxa had said earlier. "Sabotage? Ambrose? Never," I said quietly, inspecting the seam, too. He moved his arm up and down and it was true, it did seem a little tight, though I didn't want to admit it.

"I don't know. He kind of just stitched it up really fast and rushed off to the bathroom."

"The bathroom?" My heart clenched. "Do you think he got sick? Is that why he's not here now? Oh no...should I go check on him?"

"No, he's not in there now."

"Where is he?" Veronixxxa's words were repeating in my head. My fingers started to mess with the skirt of my new Princess Ann end of Roman Holiday dress in an old nervous habit. I had to mentally block myself from doing it so I wouldn't fray the hem right now.

"I don't know. Around."

"I know you're all excited as I am, so let's get this show on the road!" Miss Connie Walters chirped from the stage. My heart prickled in waves. I looked behind me, and there was nobody there. Ambrose wasn't in line. We were about to go on stage.

Where was he?

Veronixxxa was the first on stage, making a huge entrance kissing at the audience with her newly pumped up lips. They went crazy. I was going crazy, searching around backstage without getting out of line. Getting out of line now would mean I couldn't be in the contest, sacrificing the $100 prize for sure. But Ambrose...

My head whipped around and I just about jumped out of my skin as I was met with Ambrose's smiling, bloody face.

"Oh, dear god!" I breathed, my hand pressed over my chest. His fake blood. It looked like he'd applied more of it in the bathroom to his face, making his look truly horrifying. Relief surged through me. He looked like he'd been eating like a zombie.

"Hey, baaay-bee," he grinned like the Joker. He made to embrace me but I pushed him away, the fake blood on his crisp white nurse's dress looking fresh and wet.

"No, my dress is white, that fake blood," I giggled, so happy he was here.

"Huh?" he said, smiling and looking at me with glee. "Fake blood?"

"Hm?" I asked, smiling up at him, too.

"What fake blood?"

My face fell. His joyful eyes turned horror filled, but the smile did not leave his face.

"What-" My hands felt tight. I brought them up to the light coming from the stage in the darkness, and was met with-

"Goddammit," Ambrose whispered in horror, sniffling to himself. He turned away, grabbing his pocket mirror from his convenient side pocket. "Goddamn shit!" he howled, inspecting himself in the mirror.

"Ambrose..." I whimpered, staring at my hands, where I now knew his blood was resting, my mouth agape.

"My nose is bleeding. Fuck. Oh fuck. Everybody's on stage! Oh goddammit! Fuck me!"

"I don't care! Come on, we have to stop the bleeding!" I grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the stage's spotlight so close by, away from the contest we'd tried so hard to prepare for.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Ruiz!" he exclaimed, looking so ashamed.

"As long as you're okay, it's okay!"

"I'm so fucking sorry," he repeated, his face twisting in an anguish, stumbling after me and nearly tripping in his platform heels. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"Don't be, it's not your fault!"

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Its okay. Really. There's another contest next week."

"I'm so sorry."

"Ambrose!" I twirled around to him and he was sniffling still, now holding his white gloved hand to his nose to soak up the blood still coming. "Stop saying sorry!"

"Okay," he said pathetically like a little kid.

"Don't worry about it. Really. Now come on, we're going to the bathroom."

Many patrons at their tables stared at us wide eyed in horror as we passed, but I didn't care about them. The red blood was leaking down the elbow-length white glove he'd chosen to block it with, a real gusher that didn't look like it would be easy to stop, but we had to.

"Lean you head back, pinch your nose!"

"No, no..."

"Do it!"

"Okay..." he leaned his head back and immediately choked, spraying the blood leaking into his mouth in the process. I felt it hit my neck and my heart plummeted. Surely the spray had gotten on the back of my dress, ruining it before it ever got on stage...but I couldn't think of that right now.

He kept coughing, but I didn't feel it anymore.

Finally, we rounded the corner to the staff bathroom and it was miraculously unoccupied. I busted open the door and it swung a couple of times, hitting Ambrose's body as I dragged him in behind me but he didn't seem to care. The blood was now dripping freely on his chest again, and I feared it was soaking to his expensive custom undergarments, literally bleeding through the starched white cotton of his dress.

"I know it sucks, but lean your head back!"

"I'm gonna drown!"

"Do it!"

Choking noises came from his throat again and with all of the bravery I had I pinched the bridge of his nose, smearing blood on my hand in the process.

"Guk- id nod workiggg," he tried to say, truly sounding as if he was drowning.

"What did you do? Why is it gushing so hard? Did you get hit in the face?"

"No, I did'id ged hid," he choked.

"Then what happened?"

"I doh'd d'no!"

"How do you not know how you got a gushing nose bleed?!"

He just shook his head, forcing his eyes closed in his effort to swallow all the blood.

I breathed, looking the other way in more ways than one. Instead of avoiding him, I saw us in the mirror opposite. We looked horrible, Ambrose covered in blood with his eyes pinched shut and me with indeed spraylets of blood on the back of my newly finished dress. I wanted to cry.

But more so, I wanted to cry because I had a feeling he wasn't telling me the truth, a theme recurring too often. Why would he lie about this, though? I was glad his eyes were closed, because if he could see me... Everything I felt could be seen in my eyes right now.

My eyes were full of awful questions. Questions I had previously thought, but hidden away inside suddenly flooding my heart about everything, about that guy who'd waved a gun at us on Halloween, how he wouldn't tell me how he knew those guys in the car. About him having money for no reason. About him being seen at the Tunnel instead of being here, outright lying to me about where he had been. Now he wouldn't even tell me why he was bleeding. I couldn't avoid these things anymore. I knew it in my heart, which was on the bathroom floor. I couldn't maintain this fairy tale any longer all by myself.

The look on my face made me want to shatter. But I couldn't, because I had to focus on stopping his bleeding nose. That was the most important thing right now, at least that's what I was telling myself. The only way to stop the bleeding was to do what we were doing, but according to the noises Ambrose was making like a drowning duck, it wasn't working.

"Oh god, do you think we need to get it cauterized?" I grimaced.

"D'no, d'no," he protested, but obviously...

I had the feeling I was going to be spending the night in the emergency room dressed as a bloody Audrey Hepburn. All I could do was sigh deeply as I studied the gold and blood speckled tiles of the bathroom floor, my heart withering on the vine in soul shriveling questions which I knew I could no longer deny.