Bee lifts both of her arms into the air. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Was that Harry calling? Begging for you to come back to his no-good cheating ass?”

Hugo shakes his head, eyes sheening.

“He’s a giant bag of dicks,” Queen Bee says.

“Is that supposed to be an insult? A bag of dicks doesn’t sound like a bad time,” says another queen, this one with a cap on her head, wearing just a bra and panty hose and tugging a yellow dress over her head.

“Will you zip this?” she asks, giving me her back.

“Um. Yeah. Sure.” I slide the zipper up for her.

“Have you heard from Harry?” Hugo asks Yellow Dress.

“Nope. Haven’t seen him. Sorry, sweetie. He’ll show, it’s early yet. He’s a twat but he wouldn’t leave you hanging like this. Not even Harry. I’ll string him up myself if he does. Who’s your friend?”

“This is my neighbor Jane. She’s a seamstress.”

“Lovely to meet you. I’m Fifi LaRue.”

“I love your dress.” It hugs the lines of her body like a second skin. A closer look reveals delicate sequins sewn into the fabric, twinkling under the lights, making her shimmer.

How clever. The fabric must be something flexible to move with her body, and incorporating the sequins is going to look fantastic under the stage lights. It makes me want to run home and bust out my sewing kit and make something myself.

“Thanks, baby doll. I think I need some bigger chicken cutlets to make it work.” She squeezes her chest.

I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I nod along in agreement.

They chatter among themselves, and I listen in silence, my gaze moving around the room, scattering, unable to focus on any one thing because there is so much noise and activity, bright and inventive clothing, not to mention the makeup and vivid wigs.

After a minute, I do a quick self-check. I should be panicking. I’m in a room full of strangers, most of whom are half naked, but when I do an internal assessment, I’m . . . fine. Normal. Is this what other people feel like in strange situations all the time? Maybe it’s because no one is paying attention to me. Plus the outfits and hum of activity are distracting, setting my mind buzzing over creating my own dresses, experimenting with colors and fabrics that will shimmer under the lights like Fifi’s dress.

The door behind us pops open and a short man with thinning white hair sticks his head in. “Curtains up in ten minutes. The order hasn’t changed. If you lost your list, it’s up on the wall. Raven, you’re up first.”