I had dinner last night with the Queen of Clubs. I rarely got to see him this summer, no doubt partly because I've been occupied myself, but mostly because of his newfound and well-deserved explosion onto DC's gay scene (no poorly chosen sexual imagery intended... oh god, THE HUMANITY).
Um, moving on... he has since formed a group of gay friends with whom to hit da clubs, a group I affectionately refer to as the Gay Mafia. Well-groomed, well-dressed, always arriving to parties as one unit, always leaving parties for somewhere too fabulous even for my hag dreams.
Last weekend he went to a house party being thrown by the friend of a friend of a friend, where he pretty much only knew his mafiosos. Soon a guy arrived at the party that the Queen had never met before. The guy was schmoozing with other party-goers when the Queen noticed him take a bag of cocaine out of his pocket.
The Queen stared, putting white powdery puzzle pieces together. The guy noticed him.
"...Is this okay with you?" he asked.
"Hey, you do what you do," the Queen replied. The coke-doing group moved to the next room over. Remembering that he works for the federal government, and spent a year waiting for those pesky security clearances, the Queen realized that this was his cue to exit, and told his mafiosos he was out.
Oh, um, the early '80s called. They want their scene back.
4 years ago