“Umm...” I scratched the side of my hair where the wig had left me all itchy. “You’re not joking right now, are you?”
She stopped fake peeing and straightened, lowering the urination device from her privates. “What? I was just thinking...you’re going to be hanging out in a public club all evening and eventually you’re going to have to go.” She shrugged. “Since you’ll be in man drag, I just assumed you’d have to use the little boys’ instead of the little girls’ room. This way, you won’t look so suspicious if you’re caught sitting down to take a leak. And look...” She held it up proudly. “I even got you the khaki-colored one so it could look more penis-like.”
“?Dios mío!” I covered my eyes with my hand. “Please don’t tell me they come in different colors?”
“My favorite was the lavender, but I figured it wouldn’t help your cause any to go that route.”
“?Locos!” I shook my head, unable to believe she could act so serious right now.
“Check it.” She bent the funnel into a different shape. “The reviews said this was the best brand since it’s more flexible for storage.”
“And...they’re so popular they come in different brands,” I murmured in disbelief. Of course, they did. “How the hell have I never heard of a Go Girl before?”
“Beats me.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s because you’re not big into hiking or camping.”
Or maybe it was because I squatted and hovered and hoped to God whatever was tickling my bare fanny wasn’t a snake or poisonous leaf whenever I peed in the woods. Like a normal girl.
Jodi appeared to be hurt by my reaction to her gift. I hated hurting her feelings, and besides, it’d been really sweet and considerate to think of me, so I took it gingerly from her hands and said, “Gracias,” with all the sincerity I could manage.
I had no idea where she thought I was supposed to stash the thing whenever I wasn’t using it. Tape it to my thigh or something? I already had a faux penis in my man panties. How many fake cocks did one pretend dude need?
My roommate did pose a good question, though. How the hell was I supposed to use the public restrooms when I was out and about with the band? All I could hope for was a pooping stall in the men’s room at Forbidden.
Twenty-four hours later, it was time to find out. Once again, decked out as “Sticks,” I left the Go Girl at home and drove to the address Asher had texted me. It’d been months—back in early summer, or maybe late spring—when I’d last been here. But it looked familiar, so I parked and hiked across the street to the entrance.
The sign said they didn’t open for half an hour and the open light wasn’t lit up, but a doorman was already hanging out just inside the front doors, so I tapped on the glass to get his attention.
He turned to frown at me, so I motioned for him to open up. When I refused to give up on hand signaling, he finally cracked the door and stuck his head out.
“We’re not open yet.”
“Yeah, I know, sorry to bother you, but...I’m in the band.” When he just stared at me as if he had no clue what I was saying, I carefully added, “You know...Non-Castrato. They’re supposed to play tonight, and...I’m in the band.” God, it felt awesome saying that. “I need to get in and set up my drum set before we play.”
“ID?” He held out his hand with a bored glance.
“Uh...okay.” Reminding myself I owed Jodi big time for the fake driver’s license and wallet, I fumbled in my back pocket and finally yanked the crisp, new billfold free. When I showed it to him, I bit my lip, hoping he didn’t notice the big, glaring F in the gender box.
He barely glanced at the piece of plastic before flipping it back to me and studying a clipboard in his hand. “You’re not on the list.”
For a brief moment, my heart seized. The band had already rejected me, and my big chance to perform before an audience was over before it had even started. I opened my mouth, but it took a second for words to come. “Oh...yeah. I’m new. Just joined this week.”
Dude didn’t seem to care. And all he seemed to know how to say was, “You’re not on the list.”
Anger, fear, and worry slithered through me. I decided to let the anger take front and center. I’d come this far; I refused to give up now. “Look. I need in there so I can prepare for our show that we’re getting paid to provide your customers.” Wait, were we getting paid? I hadn’t even asked, and honestly it’d been the last thought on my mind. Didn’t matter. The point was, “I have to get to the stage and—”
“You’re not—”
“On the list!” I boomed. “Yes, so you’ve said. Repeatedly. But I swear to you, I’m not pulling your leg. Can’t you just grab one of the other band members to come out here and vouch for me?”
“Are you going to be a problem?”