The Right Fit

Chapter 51

“There must be twenty different Judy Garland’s here,” Westley said, taking an asparagus finger sandwich off Maxine’s plate.

“I think that might be a Liza Minelli.” Maxine nodded to the person beside the fireplace in the short black pixie cut and black cocktail dress.

“Same vein, I guess,” Westley touched the knot of his green stripped tie, then looked down at his shoes. They were the only guests who weren’t drag queens. Carmine must be laughing in heaven, she thought.

Then a blow of reality hit Maxine when she realized she’d never hear that laugh again. The roller coaster of emotions had been plaguing her all week. She was grateful Carmine didn’t suffer or die in a stale hospital bed, but the guilt of not telling him enough how much he meant to her, rested heavily on her heart.

Balancing the plate of sandwiches, Maxine dabbed her eyes. Carmine would never forgive her if she let her makeup run.

“Hey.” Westley nudged her. “No crying, remember?”

They stood in the corner of Humidor room of the ORO restaurant, taking in the private guest list Carmine had stipulated in his will. For someone who was so lax about details of the shop he planned his funeral like a drill sergeant, leaving nothing to chance. He even left a list of rules; no crying, no black clothing, and after the reception at ORO they were all to go to the Ed Mirvish Theatre to see Kinky Boots. The irony of that musical was divine enough to make Maxine ponder if Carmine would have stubbornly lived longer if Wicked was playing instead.

Carmine had paid for it all in advance, secretly of course. Only his doctor knew the cancer had returned with a vengeance. He refused any further treatment and instead chose to meet death on his own terms, relaxing in his favorite chair while watching a musical. By the time Westley had found him, he’d been dead for several hours. Westley had thought he was sleeping at first, he’d looked peaceful.

Maxine’s eyes were so swollen from crying the last week she didn’t think she had any tears left. A miserable cloud hovered, leaving her exhausted and sullen. The bluntness and finality of Carmine’s death had her reliving her father’s funeral all over again as well.

At her side, she felt Westley stiffen, Maxine looked up and saw a full-figured man walk toward them. He was the biggest Judy Garland she’d ever seen. “You must be Max,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “You make that vixen suit sing,” he complimented.

“Thank you.” Maxine smiled. At first, she wondered if wearing the green wool suit was disrespectable because of the cleavage, but then Westley reminded her that this was Carmine’s funeral after all, plus the green outfit was the most vivid thing she owned that would be warm enough to wear.

“I’m Ambrosia,” he said. “Carmine talked about you often.”

“The Ambrosia Dellagio? I love your clothes!”

He chuckled. “I understand you inherited the store.”

Maxine and Westley traded weak smiles. That aspect of the will had been shocking. Carmine not only left her the store, but the apartment above as well. At

first, it was bittersweet, then she thought it was more than perfect to continue the store for him. But once Stuart looked into the store’s books, it was obvious Carmine wasn’t making a profit and the amount of money he owed the bank would make it impossible for her to continue the business. She had no choice, but to put the whole building and its contents up for sale.

Maxine did take one thing for herself, however, the red dress. She told Ambrosia about the note Carmine had left on it. “Always go for the right fit,” she told him.

He put a hand on his hip. “The right fit is divine, my love. It molds so perfectly, it feels like you’re wearing nothing.” Then he leaned in and said in a softer tone, “The right fit is freedom.”

With the other twenty guests, they all made their way to the theatre. Westley was quiet, staying close to Maxine’s side. Once they found their seats in the opulent balcony, she leaned close and asked, “Are you okay? This must be tough, you’re the one who found him.”

“I never got a chance to talk to him.” Westley’s cheeks bloomed. He undid the top button of his pink shirt and loosened the tie as well. “I needed his advice. I think…I think I’m in love with Stu.”

Maxine snorted, then her face fell. “Seriously? You think you’re gay?”

“I don’t know, maybe, kind of—I hate how he goes on about other guys. It’s like I get jealous or something. I’ve known him since I was eleven. It must be love.”

“Yes, but are you gay?” She waited a moment then said, “Have you told him?”

He shook his head. “No. I need to be sure. What if it freaks him out and never wants to speak to me again? Or what if I’m wrong? How can I say something like that and then take it back?”

She glanced around at all the drag queens settling in around them. “This is pretty major, Wes,” she whispered.

“I know. I’m scared.”

Maxine slipped her hand over his. “Don’t worry.

Keep it simple, just tell him how you feel.”

He stared at their hands. “Do you think that’s what Carmine would’ve told me?”

“Maybe.” She smiled. “He probably would have suggested kissing Stu on the mouth as well, but I guess you’ll have to figure that bit out on your own.”

His expression was a mixture of terror and anticipation. He dropped his voice again, “Can we keep this our secret for now?”

“Of course.”

The lights went down, layering the elegant vintage theatre in darkness. She felt Westley relax beside her.

Kinky Boots turned out to be the perfect show to celebrate Carmine’s life. Maxine laughed, truly laughed for the first time in weeks. Her body had forgotten what it felt like to feel joy.

There was a momentary sting of a memory with Antony in his kitchen, but she pushed it down, compressing it, making it slim and void of senses. He still took her breath away and always when she’d managed to forget about him for a few minutes.

At the first light of intermission, Westley took out his phone and wordlessly made his way to the lobby. Wanting to keep a distant eye on her brother, she followed him out and slipped into the ladies washroom, wondering what state of mind her brother would be in for Act Two.

A woman was putting on lipstick in the mirror. “I love your dress!” she remarked to Maxine. “Is it designer? You totally pull it off. I’m so sick of wearing shapeless tents.” She put a hand on her bulbous stomach. “Due next month.”

“Congratulations.”

The woman tilted her head. “You look familiar to me.”

Maxine frowned at the dark-haired woman. “I work at the Cascades spa. Maybe you’ve been there?”

“Maybe. No, that’s not it. Where did you go to scho—oh! Oh my!” She bent at the waist and screamed. Between her legs a pool of fluid spilled onto the floor. “Oh my God!” She held her stomach. “I think my water just broke.”

Maxine stared as rivers continued down the woman’s legs. “Are you sure?”

“Get my fiancé!” She rifled through her purse and handed Maxine her ticket. “He’s sitting beside me.” She started to pant.

“I don’t think I should leave you.” “Go!”

Maxine bolted out of the washroom. An usher standing by the doors gave her an alarmed expression. “There’s a woman in labor in the washroom,” she said as she ran past. “I’m getting her fiancé. Call 911.”

Heart thudding madly, Maxine rushed down the main aisle to row G—the expensive seats, she thought giddily. The prospect of delivering such exciting news made her feel like a hero.

She found the woman’s empty seat and saw the fiancé bent over, reading the program. “Excuse me, sir?” Maxine was two seats into the row when he turned his head. They both looked at each other as if they were seeing ghosts.

“Johnny?” She breathed. The woman’s ticket was still pinched between her fingers.