Two other seats were empty, one for Stevie, one for me, drinks in front of both.

Lee wasn’t at the table, he and Hank both had their backs against the wall by the entrance, both holding a beer bottle by its neck, their arms crossed on their chest, effortlessly and unconsciously exuding aggressive heterosexuality. Even in the crammed bar, they were given a wide berth.

The show started late and Burgundy came out giving some lip to someone who’d been imbibing too much, was getting impatient and yelled his thoughts about it.

Take my advice, never heckle a drag queen. They’ll make mincemeat out of you.

The show was great, the drinks kept coming and I’d scoot out when Stevie and I got the high sign it was time for a costume change. Backstage, we’d struggle Burgundy and her foam rubber h*ps out of one heavy, sequined extravaganza and into another and we’d return to the table. Our group was generous with tips during the performances, handing the queen a dollar for an air kiss on the cheek and we quickly became a favorite, and thus the focus of all the divas.

It was going well, I was relaxed, happy, enjoying myself and I was remembering a life that was fun and exciting without bullets flying. I was well into my fifth spiced rum and diet when Burgundy took the stage and made a surprise announcement.

“Many of you know her and love her and now we’re gonna get her up here to show you what’s she’s got. Get your tips ready, ladies and tramps, we’re breaking tradition and bringing a real woman on the stage. Give it up for India Savage!”

Um, what?

Holy shit.

Holy shit, shit, shit.

That’s when I heard it, the piano and strings starting Barbra Streisand and Donna Summer’s “No More Tears.” I’d sung it a gazillion times with Tod in Stevie and Tod’s living room after over-imbibing chilled sparkling wine and a marathon of Yahtzee.

Never in front of an audience.

Never.

Ally pulled me out of my chair, Marianne, Dolores and Andrea pushed me to the stage, which was tragically too close and Stevie shoved a dead microphone into my hand. Burgundy had already done her Barbra hum, I had no choice but to lip sync my Donna “ooo”.

Then I was on the stage, doing the slow introduction, singing about what lacked in Donna’s romantic life and trying to play off Burgundy, trying to look her in the eyes like I felt the words deep into my very soul.

Problem was, I was stiff as a board and the disco bit was coming up.

Lee was watching. The last thing I wanted to do was dance around on stage in front of a hundred people, one of them Liam Nightingale, lip syncing badly to f**king disco.

I had to pull it together, this was for charity. I had no idea what charity but what did it matter? I’d look more of a fool if I didn’t loosen up, and fast.

There was nothing for it.

We sang eye-to-eye while Barbra and Donna harmonized. Burgundy shot me a “for God’s sake, pull yourself together” look and I shrugged my shy discomfort.

Burgundy gave it her all on Barbra’s long note, closing her eyes with feeling and holding her hand to her throat. I stayed stiff on purpose, pretending to be uncomfortable and wanting to be anywhere but there.

When the disco hit, my “ahs” came on and I shuffled with discomfort, keeping up the sham.

Then the horns kicked in and I pulled out all the stops, strutting, shaking my h*ps and stomping across the tiny stage like a white, pissed off Tina Turner, throwing attitude that would do Chowleena proud.

The crowd went wild and jumped to their feet. It helped that front and center were all my friends and family, not to mention it was well into the show and most everyone was shitfaced. They lifted their arms, fingers pointed towards us, wrists snapping and bodies bouncing to the beat.

I used Donna’s lyrics to lecture the audience then Burgundy and I got nose-to-nose screaming at each other, shaking our hair in tandem with the angry words and the crowd began chanting the chorus.

It was Barbra’s song, Donna was only dessert so I worked the crowd, leaning double at the waist, my hand at my hip and got in the faces of the people who dared to approach me with dollar bills, snatching notes out of their hands like the tip was my God given right. I scrunched up my face with mock-pissed-offedness and didn’t give a single kiss. I even went so far as placing the sole of my sandal into a butch biker’s chest and sending him careening backwards giggling himself silly.

The crowd ate it up, shouting, cheering and sending up deafening whistles and cat calls.

It was beautiful and the biggest f**king happy rush I’d had in my life.

It was when the disco slowed to the funky bit that was a wind up to when Barbra gets so pissed off her voice goes husky that I saw Pepper Rick standing across the room, pointing a gun at me.

I froze.

Then, without my brain telling my body to do it, I whirled and threw myself in a body tackle, bringing Burgundy down. Both of our tip money and microphones flew out of our hands and Burgundy shouted a very male, “What the f**k?”

The crowd began to cheer, thinking it was part of the show but the cheer turned to screams and shouts when gunfire rang out.

“Crawl,” I hissed to Tod, “stay low and crawl the f**k out of here.”

We almost started to crawl as more gunfire rang through the bar, then I jumped back on Tod, covering him with my body. Once the sound of the guns cleared, I could hear Dad and Malcolm shouting orders to people trying to keep calm and stop a stampede.

We started crawling again, all I could see was Tod’s sequined ass. I heard heavy footfalls on the stage and, all of a sudden, I was lifted up. I let out an half-enraged, half-startled scream and tried to twist away but I no sooner got a look at who had me when I was thrown, like a human discus, off the stage.

I flew through the air and hit Lee with a grunt, both his and mine, and his arms came around me as he staggered back a step to brace himself. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Tex, who had made it to the stage, and me, before Lee. Tex executed the stage dive to end all stage dives, his bulky weight toppling the unfortunate and unprepared people who’d been in his way.

I didn’t get a chance to process this because Lee lifted me up by the waist and carried me to the door, moving anyone out of our way by either shoving them, punching them or just plain old body slamming them with his shoulder.

I saw Hank in front of us with Ally in a similar hold just as Malcolm pushed Kitty Sue out the door.

Lee dragged me to Ally’s car, a newish, convertible Ford Mustang. Hank was shoving Ally in the driver’s seat. Lee shoved me in the passenger side.