Complete
by Nyssa Jayne
Taylor was on the stage in front of an enthusiastic and dedicated crowd.
In the space of an hour and a half, he'd played a guitar, keyboards, piano,
congas, drums, harmonica, and a microphone. The audience thought he was a
charismatic and talented performer, but Taylor just felt like he was exploring
his options.
After the show, when the houselights went up, Taylor looked out at all the
pretty girls from a vantage point just behind the stage, through some curtains.
A rush of them were trying to find the backstage door (one did get through, she
was following Isaac the guitarist, or Isaac was following her), some were still
singing, others were excitedly talking to friends and chaperones about how
awesome the headlining act were.
Taylor sighed, stepping back from the stage and ducking into a dingy dressing
room. He shrugged off the layers of gaudy clothing and exchanged them for
some cord pants found in an op shop and a looser fitting shirt.
There was one final glimpse at all the instrument he'd played and the costumes
he worn to be had, before Taylor walked away.
It's hard to split up when you're a band of brothers, but Hanson just stopped
making music with each other for everyone else. It seems that the girl
Isaac had been following in circles with that night had been doing it for a long
time. Her name was Natalie, and they got married. Zackie, the
drummer, defied all the jokes and went to college to learn to be a better
musician.
Taylor, initially, wasn't quite sure what to do. After all, he was free
now, he could do whatever he wanted whenever he felt like it, so there was no
rush.
"There's a club," read an article from a street press Taylor found, "where the
queens of the underworld come out of the closet to play. All the outcasts
of the world glam it up to become the beautiful people. Eccentric and
queer, check out Camp Q, in the city's gay district, north of the CBD. The
premier place to meet different men."
Taylor didn't think too hard about the club. He threw on his favourite op
shop threads, and made his way there. Everyone knew about his unique rules
of attraction and love, and also understood that it was a little hard to pursue
with the band and the pretty girls.
The taxicab dropped him off and he paid the driver. Stepping out of the
car, he looked at all the people in the line. They were were all decked
out in tailored and feminine clothing, FCUK, or they were just plain boys
dressed as glam-tacky girls. It was every gay cliché
Taylor was aware of rolled into one line of people. He immediately felt
out of place.
Taylor raced for an adjoining alleyway, thinking it would be empty. It was
littered with boys in compromising positions, non of who were paying any
attention to Taylor. He snatched his bag from across his back and opened
it. He pulled his paisley shirt over his head, leaving him in a white
singlet, shoving the shirt into his bag.
There. A little bit more... queer, Taylor concluded, as he joined the line
inside.
"It's a newbie... fresh meat!" chorused the line in hushed whispers, as they
tried to subtly cast their attention to Taylor and his pretty disguise.
Taylor's shy baby blues darted across this flamboyant, yet strangely bitter
crowd of extroverts, and wondered if he should stay. Maybe it would be
different once he was inside.
All the lights were rainbow coloured lasers that the drug-fucked disco queens
reached for all throughout the night to the tune of mind numbing and throbbing
disco noise. The air was thick with sweat and lust, as the aim of the
night became to drink the coloured potions and find a place to stay the night.
Intoxicated, purely to make the evening bearable, Taylor kissed one of the FCUK
boys under the lights, and almost followed him to the adjoining alleyway, back
to where his evening kind of started. He was almost out the side door, not
quite conscious of what would happen next, although fully certain that whatever
it was that he did, it would cement his place as one of the Camp Q boys, one of
the drug-fucked horny disco queens.
"Join me," lured the FCUK boy. Taylor tilted his head, trying to literally
see the world from a different perspective. All it did was make him feel
dizzy, making it the final straw for the below par evening.
"Nah... I'm going home," mumbled Taylor, pulling on his paisley shirt and
stumbling outside.
After he called for another taxi, his lost mind paid attention to the dry,
chapped lips the FCUK boy had left him with. Remembering how nice they
used to feel when the make-up artist on photo shoots would put lip gloss on
them, Taylor ducked into a nearby chemist and bought a small tub of strawberry
flavoured gloss.
Yummy, that feels much better.
Taylor started to get nostalgic about music, but the taxi driver picked him up
and took him home before he could get too caught up in reminiscing.
"I have a new idea," started Taylor in his softly spoken voice. He had
met his brothers at a cute little nightspot that wasn't pretentious and
supported good live music. "I'd like to start up a record label."
"That's such a cool idea!" beamed Zackie.
"You could sign whoever you wanted!" added Isaac.
"I did it my way..." crooned the girl on the stage.
"I'd sign her first," decided Taylor.
After meetings with banks and financial advisors, Taylor was moving his new
record label into an office downtown. Isaac, Zackie, Natalie, and Florance,
the singer Taylor had promised to sign first, helped Taylor furnish the place.
"You know what would be nice?" cooed Natalie.
"A painting to fill up that wall," finished Florance. "I'm friends with a
museum director who could probably help you find a very nice piece indeed."
Florance flicked through a set of business cards living in her wallet, passing
one to Taylor. "His name is Riley."
The first thing Taylor noticed about the museum was that it was so much more
refined than the nightclub. It was a stupid comparison to make and he
wasn't quite sure how he made such a connection.
"Riley?" quizzed Taylor to a man.
"Yes," the man smiled. "Taylor?"
"Yeah."
"Florance told me you were coming. Come with me, I'll just let someone
know where I am, and we'll find you a painting." Riley spoke with a slight
lisp and he was really nicely dressed, complete with a bright tie stand out.
"By the way, loving the paisley."
Riley knew of all the right places to go to find a piece of art to complete
Taylor's office. They visited one underground art studio that had just the
piece Taylor wanted.
"The lines and colour are unlike anything anyone's doing in the city's scene
right now," explained Riley. "Simplistic, yet recognisable and
distinguished. Soft, but not blending in." Taylor smiled and nodded.
"Let's go meet the artist and finish your office!"
Taylor was pretty sure he knew about Riley when he spotted a pride
flag sticker on Riley's mobile phone. He panicked for a moment, wondering
if he was a drug-fucked horny disco queen. Then again, what drug-fucked
horny disco queen would be so smart and understanding and artistic? Taylor
was glad that he knew when Riley knocked Taylor a kiss.
"I love the taste of your lip gloss... I've never had that before."