Untucked, but Not Unfucked

On the floor are bags packed with performance outfits. In her head — utter chaos. Outside the window, a fine, clammy rain drizzles down. On the fridge, a note reads: ‘Don’t drink alone during filming.’ Today is the last day before an important trip that can radically change Mirage’s life. She needs to make sure everything essential is packed into the huge suitcases, the number of which is strictly regulated by the show’s rules. That made packing the day before especially difficult. One collection of high heels alone is a nightmare. But Mirage carefully devoted time to choosing only what is truly necessary. Success in an important task had to be celebrated, so she went to an unremarkable cabinet and took out a bottle of wine, noticing that her alcohol supply had noticeably dwindled. It was at that very moment that she wrote the note and left it in plain sight. Even though Mirage gets drunk almost instantly, hangovers no longer bother her. She has so much experience that a bottle of wine leaves no trace the next morning. That’s exactly where she draws the line — no point in getting wasted right before leaving. She receives a few sincere congratulations from those who know about the upcoming event and keeps thinking about how she should behave on Drag Race. She could show off a little — when she’s drunk, she’s great at that. But does she need to? Mirage, simple as it gets, decides to stay true to herself and show who she really is. The win isn’t what she’s after — just knowing that as many viewers as possible will notice her is enough, and she can bring more fame to her house. She has just the dance ready for that — audiences always cheer when they see Mirage performing intricate moves and acrobatics. Sky-high heels, a short sparkling skirt, a voluminous tail, and a burst of energy. To drink or not to drink? The question gnaws at thoughtful Mirage as evening falls. The tempting bottle catches her eye, and in her mind she’s already sipping wine from a paper cup, unwinding after a day of filming and celebrating a challenge won. Nearby, a friendly group sits, more than willing to share in her success — and the contents of the bottle. Don’t drink alone, she reads aloud from the note once again. That doesn’t exactly mean the bottle is strictly off-limits. Especially since they might confiscate it at check-in. But it’s not really advisable, of course. Well, what’s done is done! Mirage gets up and tucks the bottle into her suitcase. It helps that the trip is by train — they definitely won’t take it away there. The train leaves early, so it’s time to hit the hay. At the station, they’ll meet her, put her in a car, and, in true spy-movie fashion, drive her off to who knows where. Will they put a blindfold on me? she wonders. Sleep doesn’t come. She isn’t really worried, yet her mind stubbornly throws up memories of failed performances. And no — it’s not broken heels. Not once in all her years on stage have they let her down. But sometimes she was too lazy to memorize the text fully, which meant she had to keep the audience engaged with skillful tricks. Morning begins with blaring alarms, five of which Mirage mercilessly switches off. By the sixth, she realizes it’s finally time to pry her eyes open and at least wash up, so she doesn’t show up to RuPaul’s team looking like a complete country bumpkin. There’s even time to get her fabulous mane in order. She decides to braid it later so that on screen she looks like an innocent girl, not a drop in her mouth, not an inch in… anywhere she shouldn’t. Alright, lock the door and check the documents. In that exact order. Despite her usual meticulousness, something has to go slightly wrong on this special day. The documents are all in order. Even the charger is in place. Not a bad start. Already inside the station building, a thought flashes across her mind — did she forget the bottle that took up a good part of her evening yesterday? Mirage peers into her suitcase and exhales in relief. Of course, she can get a drink anywhere, but it would still be disappointing to leave the bottle all alone. At the exit, a suspicious guy with an unreadable expression greets her. Without a word, he gestures toward a large car with tinted windows. Inside, the windows are covered with thick curtains, which Mirage is strictly forbidden to touch. Slightly annoyed at the absence of a blindfold, Mirage looks around the cabin and reaches for the partition separating her from the driver, hoping to start a conversation. But her sincere attempt is interrupted by one of the attendants, who slides a sheet of rules through the narrow opening — rules Mirage is already familiar with. The man, apparently, decided this was a perfect way to pass the time until they reach the destination. Mirage is just about to ask one last question about how long the ride will take when she notices a large handwritten note on the paper: ‘Travel time — 30 minutes.’ Well, 30 minutes isn’t 30 hours, so she won’t even have time to rummage through one of her suitcases during the trip. At the hotel door, a handsome young guy greets her — the kind Mirage has a soft spot for. He informs her that he will inspect her luggage for any unauthorized items. Are there even lists of such things? Maybe I should start reading documents more carefully before signing anything, she thinks. The young man occasionally lifts his head to look at Mirage with interest during the procedure. She smiles coquettishly, hoping this isn’t their last meeting. He seems to have the same thought, and he graciously leaves the bottle of wine untouched. “Looks like everything’s fine,” the boy smiles. “For now, you’re the only one they didn’t find anything unauthorized on.” “And do you check everyone as thoroughly as me?” Mirage squints. “Duty calls,” he chuckles in reply. “But if you want, I can feel everything again.” “Maybe another time?” Mirage winks. “And I could check how well you handle your duties at the same time.” The boy stays silent, still smiling, and gestures for her to begin check-in. Mirage doesn’t even have time to glance around the lobby before a burly attendant catches her under the elbows and, without letting her grab her things, escorts her to her assigned room. Well, here we are, Mirage exhales, dangling from the bed and staring at the ill-fated bottle. No-no, don’t even think about it. Not a drop in one go. Time to make acquaintances immediately.