“Don’t give away all my secrets.” She waves a hand in Fifi’s face. “Whether you’re a real queen or not, baby, you are a queen if you want to be. You make it yourself. The makeup and costumes, you choose that. And underneath it all, we’re the same. And I said that.” She twists in the chair to face Fifi, who just laughs.

We continue watching the auditions, songs, monologues and group skits, and my mind is abuzz with all of it, and with my own situation.

I’ve been trying to fit myself into a round hole when I’m actually a square peg. So I’ve been wearing down my own edges, making myself as small as possible to try and fit until there was almost nothing left.

Is that not a type of artifice, trying to be something or someone I’m not?

And then the universe shook me up.

After a few more acts, Queen Bee and Fifi leave to check on Hugo.

Ten minutes later, Hugo takes the seat she vacated. But it’s not Hugo anymore. He’s wearing a brassy blonde wig, the red dress, and fake eyelashes. I almost don’t recognize him, but he smiles sadly at me and he’s still over six feet tall and hard to mistake.

“Did Harry show up?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No.”

I wince. “I’m sorry, Hugo.”

“Dolly.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Dolly is your drag name?”

She nods. “Dolly Hardon. Bee named me. She’s my drag mother. You like it?”

I laugh. “It’s wonderful.”

She smiles but then the smile wavers and falls and her head droops. “I can’t cry because it will ruin my makeup.”

“It really sucks he ruined this for you.”

She laughs, the sound watery. “It’s not him. It’s me. He left because of me. It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for other people and their bad behavior.”

“All right people, the call-back list is up. If your name’s not there, better luck next time, and if you’re on the list, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dolly and I sit together as people crowd the back of the stage where they’ve put up the list of names. Laugher, whoops, tears, and loud conversation buzz through the auditorium as people find out whether they’re coming back or not.

Queen Bee waves at us from the stage, holding her hand up to block the light and then shoots a thumbs-up in our direction.

“Looks like they made it,” I say.

“I’m so,” sniff, “happy for them.” She dabs at her face with a tissue.

My brows lift.