Diva’s Razor by Evan Witmer (New York, 30)

Crafting a compelling drag persona is not about idealizing or mocking the opposite gender. It's a fusion of one-part flash and two-parts ego, a character designed to become a living legend—the captivating stranger you'd eagerly encounter during a night of revelry, where memories are both forged and sometimes forgotten.
    While not every Arkansan may entertain the thought of spending a night with a drag queen or a drag king, Eureka Springs stands out as a community that fully embraces diverse and inclusive experiences. The renowned establishment, The Black Catastrophe, draws a significant portion of the gay community to Eureka's main street. Within these vibrant walls, the drinks are skillfully crafted by none other than Diva Demise, given name Walter Cousins, the original winner of Ms. Fierce Arkansas back in '89. As long as she was behind the bar, she was always in costume: a jet-black bouffant, porcelain foundation, and a velvet nightgown with little bat wings on the back.

    Since the inception of Diva’s lounge, every night has seen a bustling crowd until closing time. The exceptions, however, are the special parties held on each solstice. On four occasions, the bar closed its doors to regulars, welcoming instead the quarter's most exceptional drag stars. This tradition, curated by Diva Demise, offers her contemporaries a unique opportunity for insight and celebration.
    This year’s runner-up to Ms. Fierce Arkansas, Tony Olstein, drag moniker Sinead O’Zark, sat at the bar in red gym shorts and a plain white tee. Beside him were the two other drag queens and the drag king, who would also receive Diva’s gift tonight. Tony felt particularly honored to be amongst the selected, given that he did not win his competition.
    “Did you feel I was cheated?” asked Tony as Diva peeled a tomato behind the bar.
    “No, Tony. Glimmer gutted you in the lip-sync competition—a noticeable difference in conviction.” A sassy grin curled on her deep purple lips. “But Glimmer doesn’t want to step foot in the South.”
    “Amen!” said the only queen to show up in costume, Sweet Sacramenta, legal name Arthur Welsh. While the rest of the girls came from Arkansas and its neighbors, she flew in from the West Coast. She playfully scratched the counter with her extended red nails and fluttered her long lashes at Diva. “When are we getting you out of here, girl?”
    “Oh, Eureka Springs has been good to me. The more queens live here, the better. We need to balance out all the crazy.” Diva slid four glass tumblers in front of her guests. “Here we are, new friends, my signature cocktail, the Razor: Three ounces of Kentucky bourbon, one ounce of peach juice, half an ounce of honey, a ginger beer, a sliver of tomato skin, and, of course, the magic ingredient- tears of a unicorn.”
    “And where did you get those?” asked Tony.
    “Amanda.” Diva pointed to the drag king at the bar. 
Amanda had an orange bob and was dressed in a t-shirt covered in Sylvia Plath quotes, flowy flower-print pants, and glasses crafted from thin copper wire.
    “It’s true, I’ve been thrupling a lot lately,” said Amanda, “and I love a good cry.”
    Tony sniffed his drink and then set it back down. “Do we have to slam it for it to work?”
    “A potion is a potion,” said Diva. “Drink it however you want. ”
    “Boof it with me, Tony!” The heavyset man beside Tony, Trey Eckles, stage name Panthera Bread, reached over and shook Tony’s shoulder playfully. Trey was the only local to Eureka, a close protege of Diva Demise. He wore a baggy striped shirt two sizes too big and a pair of blue cargo shorts. His bellowing voice added a spectacular resonance to his cackle; Tony couldn’t help but laugh along. 
    “Cheers, everyone,” said Diva, holding up her amber drink.
    “Will you be joining us too?” asked Tony.
    “No, no. This is iced tea,” replied Diva. “I’m already well acquainted with boring ol’ Walter.” She brought her drink to her lips and sipped her beverage. The performers at the bar all did the same.
                                                                                                                                                ***
The Razor was a stiff drink, so it took three-quarters of an hour before Tony could finish the concoction. He stared at the half-melted ice cube at the bottom of his glass and saw the image double. He turned to see the same doubling amongst the other bar patrons. Each drag royal was conversing with their public persona—two sides of the same coin finally meeting face to face.
    “You really want me to punch a guy?” asked Trey to Panthera Bread. Panthera looked like Trey but was wearing a black tunic with cat eyeliner and a box fro. She touched Trey’s shoulder when she was excited.
    “He punched you first,” said Panthera. “I don’t care if he’s packing a demon doodle. Larry’s jealous and crazy.” The voice shared between them was used rather differently, with Panthera capitalizing on its raspiness.
    Trey spoke more smoothly, his words carefully measured. “You’re fearless, babe, but you shouldn’t punch crazy. Crazy escalates things.”
 Trey’s hand quivered, sending waves over the surface of his drink. Panthera petted Trey’s arm.
    “Darling, sometimes you gotta show them you won't back down. Larry's been prowling around with his envy for too long. It's time to put that alley cat in his place.”
Trey nervously tapped his fingers on the bar. “Well, it may take a few more drinks to convince me.” 
    Tony's attention was drawn away from the others' banter by a loud, crunching sound behind him. As he turned around, it felt like staring into a mirror. His cheeks were covered in blush, his eyes outlined with pencil, and his teeth were biting down on a brick of ice.
    Tony plunged into the conversation with the enthusiasm of a man keen to know himself. “It's great to finally sit with you, Sinead.” His eagerness showed in his shimmering eyes. “You look remarkably real.”
    Tony admired the meticulously airbrushed bald cap, giving Sinead the appearance of a buzzcut. Whether it was the magic enhancing its realism or Tony's exceptional skill at texturing, the result was a convincing and authentic appearance.
    “Sweetie, I’m as real as the cease and desist you got from Paramore,” replied Sinead. 
    Caught off guard by his own sass, Tony couldn't help but smile. Their shared memories meant she had full knowledge of his brief stint as Hayley Hellfire before the lawyers shut that down. 
Lowering his eyes to Sinead’s red-painted Army boots, Tony remarked warmly, “I feel I know you so well already, but I'd love to hear it all again, coming from you.”
    “Please don’t ask that of me. I feel like I’d be setting myself up for some sort of exchange.” Sinead’s brows rose as her eyes slowly dropped. “And I’ve learned all I need to know about you from whatever this outfit is.”
    Tony snickered at the abuse. “These are my summer clothes. It’s gonna stay hot all through the night.”
    “Then why don’t you order us some refreshments?” Sinead fanned herself with her fingertips.
    “Well, of course.” Tony waved at Diva, who had been exchanging stories with Arthur and Sweet Sacramenta at the end of the bar.
She excused herself and approached Tony. “What can I get ya?”
“Two French martinis, please.”
“Blek! And you claim to know me,” exclaimed Sinead. “You only drink those to fit in with the other girls.”
Tony’s gleam faltered a little bit. For some reason, this bit of cheekiness hit differently. “What, uhm, what would you like instead?”
    Sinead waved for Diva to come in close. “A Rusty Nail.”
    Diva leaned back and eyed the empty bottle on the shelf. “Fresh out of Drambuie.”
    Sinead surveyed the available liquors. "Let’s make it Scotch, neat."
    “We do love a good Scotch,” said Tony.
    “I love good Scotch.” Sinead expressed a look of sickness. “You like rotgut.”
    “I guess I’m… well,” Tony crossed his arms and shifted in his seat, “I’m not picky when I’m thirsty. ”
    “Let me show you what a good whiskey is,” said Sinead. “Diva, make that four shots of your finest Islay.”
    “Four?” asked Diva.
    “Tony, why don’t you go ask that hunk at the end of the bar to join us.” Sinead pointed to Amanda’s drag king dressed in a sleeveless jean vest, red handkerchief, and a low-crown cowboy hat. “His girl mode can come too.”
    Tony grinned, always up for a bit of socializing. As he approached the pair, he noticed the drag king's confident swagger and the charming smile accompanying it. “Hey there,” Tony greeted, “Sinead over there thinks we should make this a party. Would you and Amanda be up for a round of shots?”
“I could never say no to new friends and a free drink,” said the drag king, casually biting down on a cocktail straw like a bit of hay. “You got a name, partner?”
“Tony Olstein.”
    “Jason Allpeen.” The king tipped his hat with a wink. “What’s your poison?” 
“You like whiskey?”
“I was raised in Knoxville, son.” Jason puffed out his chest. “Tennessee’s got the finest malt in the nation.”
    Tony’s shoulders slumped a little. “Actually, I think we’re having a Scottish variety.” 
    Jason clenched his teeth, skepticism etched across his face. “I don’t know if I trust a man in a skirt to know a good rye.”
Amanda, swaying slightly in her chair, interjected, “You dyngus! Half the people we perform with are men in skirts.” The potent drink seemed to hit their smaller frame with an extra punch. She turned to Tony with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I made him a bit of a himbo.”
Glasses clanged as Diva dropped the shots on the countertop in front of them. “Tony, did you still want four or just the three?” asked Diva.
“Why just three?”
“Well, I saw Sinead head out the door. Is she coming back?”
    “I- have no idea.” Tony spun around and was shocked to see Sinead’s seat empty. “How far can she roam without me?”
“You’re not tethered, Tony. She’s free to run about till sunrise.”
     A flicker of worry crossed Tony’s face. He charged up to Trey and Panthera, who were closest to the exit. “Did you happen to see where Sinead went?”
    Trey shook his head with a concerned expression. Panthera touched Tony’s elbow. “As soon as you turned to leave, she marched right out the door.”
    Tony released a frustrated sigh. “What the heck?” he muttered. 
    Tony's gaze shifted to the bar's exit, and he absentmindedly scratched his neck. The urgency to follow Sinead tugged at him, but the unfamiliar streets of Eureka Springs posed a challenge. Hailing from a small countryside town, he felt a twinge of apprehension about navigating the city alone. However, with the realization that Sinead couldn't have ventured too far, Tony mustered a bit of bravery and left The Black Catastrophe behind.
    As he stepped onto Main Street's sidewalk, a mix of urgency and perplexity accompanied his jog. He scanned the surroundings, swinging his head left and right in the hope of catching a glimpse of her. Though the streets were relatively quiet in the early hour, there was no sign of her distinct presence. However, a busker with a typewriter at the end of the block caught Tony's attention. He seemed to have been there for a while, observing the passersby as he patiently awaited requests.
    Tony wasted no time tossing a few bucks and loose quarters into the writer’s jar without hesitation. “Please, I’m looking for a striking young woman. Think Sinead O’Connor mixed with a bit of trick bitch. She just came out of that bar.”
    The writer stared up at the sky for a moment, scratching his chin. Then, his fingers began to tap the keys of his typewriter. The paper rose slightly, and the bars took form. Once he was finished, he tore off the page with a quick snatch. 
    Tony brought the paper to his face:
    Courage makes up for the hair she lacks,
    She approached a pack of college lads.
    They called her out; she made them laugh.
    She puts the sass in Arkansas.
    Tony lowered the paper and tilted his head. “You know that last part doesn’t really rhyme.”
    The old man behind the typewriter gave an indifferent purse of the lips. 
    “Why is she hanging with college boys?” he asked the writer.
    The writer said nothing, then tapped his jar.
    “Just tell me where they took her,” said Tony irritably.
    The writer's hand raised up and pointed across the street. Tony turned around and saw a dingy brick bar with a tattered awning over the entrance reading Magic City Tavern. Several surly characters smoked at the picnic table outside, and a pink-skinned colossus checked IDs at the door.
    Tony wandered in with a touch of apprehension, unsure if the crowd here matched the friendliness of Diva’s bar. In the back corner, a small stage and a karaoke machine stood quietly, promising a hint of familiarity. The ambient hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses created a lively atmosphere. Tony couldn't shake the nagging feeling of being out of his usual element.
    As he moved deeper into the bar, weaving through small groups of animated patrons, his eyes caught a surprising sight. There, at the booths, his drag persona was engaged in an arm-wrestling showdown with the rowdy college boys. A few of them sported the same red t-shirt with white print on the back: UArk Cavaliers Club.
     Sinead was in the heat of competition with a blonde-haired boy in a pair of Croakies that slowly slid off his face as his body shook from the strain in his arm. A chorus of roars and gasps echoed around them as the tension grew palpable. The glasses finally lost their hold, falling around the boy’s neck. He let out a short cry, a mixture of determination and adrenaline. Sinead, sporting a confident grin, playfully bantered with her opponent.
    “Don’t breathe on me, darling, that’s cheating,” quipped Sinead.
    The boy appeared agitated by the remark. "I have to breathe, you—."
    Sinead wrinkled her nose theatrically. “Why does it smell so rancid?”
    “I had leftovers for dinner!” he responded, a defensive tone creeping into his voice.
    “Leftover what?”
    “Offal.”
    “Why would you eat something awful?” she jested, raising a playful eyebrow.
    “Offal—organ meat. Gizzards and hog maw. Offal makes you strong.” The boy injected a little extra vigor into his defense.
    “Well, I’ve certainly swallowed a lot more organs than you,” Sinead's arm skillfully guided the opponent’s wrist inch by inch, bringing it closer to the countertop. The blonde boy panted wildly while Sinead’s calmness persisted.    “I never knew it was giving me super strength.”
    Sinead's boisterous demeanor momentarily faded, replaced by a serious expression that synchronized with a savage surge in effort. The audience, including Tony, erupted into cheers as the last angry inch turned to a fraction, then vanished entirely.
    As soon as the match concluded, their hands separated with a swift motion.
“Who’s next?” she declared rhetorically and triumphantly, igniting a wild response from the crowd.
    "I think I’d be a fair challenge," Tony declared, a hint of boldness in his approach as he set aside the room's intimidation.
    The light in Sinead’s cheeks gracefully dimmed. “Highly doubtful. There’s a significant gap in our determination.”
    Tony squinted with annoyance. “Why did you leave me behind?”
    “Why did you follow me?”
    Tony’s annoyance turned to anger. His brows crossed. “Cause I wanted to spend the night with my other half like everyone else was doing.”
    “Well, I needed some time away from you.” Sinead wore a tired expression. “Tonight’s my only chance.”
    “Is this your boyfriend or something?” asked one of the Cavaliers.
    Sinead glanced at the college boys with impatience. “Someone play against Johnny in the loser’s bracket.” Rising from her seat, she motioned for Tony to follow her. “I’ll be back.”
    Sinead and Tony strolled into the narrow, dimly lit corridor housing the kitchen’s entrance and the women's restroom.
    “I’m sorry, Tony. I should have set some expectations for tonight,” said Sinead. “How about a drink together, and then we part ways?”
“You don’t want to hang out with me?” asked Tony. His eyes dropped to his feet. “I must really hate myself.”
    “No, you like yourself just fine.” Sinead's sharpness softened, a hint of empathy glistening in her eyes. “But you’re uncomfortable trying new things, and I’m not. I want a tattoo of a fae on my ass. I want to do acid on a stormy day. I want a three-way, then a four-way… maybe with a Cavalier involved. I won’t let you limit me.” Sinead held out her hand towards the boys still battling at the table. “You’d never do anything like I’ve just done.”
    “I- I guess not,” he murmured, sliding his hands into his pockets, his gaze drifting toward the end of the hall.
    “It’s fine, Tony. You found something you’re good at, and you’re in your comfort zone. I, however, believe we're capable of so much more than just drag..” Sinead raised her arm and tensed each muscle from her wrist to her shoulder. “We’re so well-toned we’ve fit a man’s body into a size four slip. An hour of arm circles every day has made us the perfect amateur wrist wrestler.”
    Tony's arms dropped and so did his head. “I’m not afraid of new things. I guess I’ve just grown used to the way things are.”
    “Well, you need to step outside that groove if you’re gonna keep up with the likes of me.” Sinead grinned, a challenge gleaming in her eyes. “Now, excuse me for a second. I need to leak my ladybits.”
    As Sinead disappeared into the women’s room, Tony lingered in the vacant corridor. Alone, he grappled with the realization of how unappealing he appeared to Sinead. It was disheartening to feel unloved by a creation, perhaps his greatest creation of all time. Yet, the nature of crafting a character often involves shaping a personality that surpasses one's own—the extraordinarily charismatic detective, the courageous star soldier, the articulate murderess. Tony couldn't fault himself for Sinead's disappointment in her creator; after all, her creator was merely human, and she was a product of fiction. Despite this, Tony yearned for her approval, hoping to demonstrate that her remarkable audacity mirrored his own boldness.
    Tony retreated to the center of the room, observing the arm wrestlers from a distance. A question lingered in his mind—could he summon the same strength that Sinead effortlessly displayed? As he observed the robust competitors grappling with biceps, his confidence refused to rise. It was an ingrained apprehension, a culmination of years of feeling like he didn't quite fit in.
    Outside of the flamboyant world of drag, Tony struggled to find his place. The vivid memories of awkward interactions and misunderstood gestures seemed to play on a loop in his mind, creating an invisible barrier that hindered him from fully engaging with others.
The sudden sound of a melody broke Tony from his self-deprecation. The introduction to Gerry Rafferty’s “Baker Street” began, and the distinctive saxophone riff captured the crowd’s attention.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, sign-ups for karaoke are officially open,” came a voice over the speakers. “To kick it off, we have the stunning, the beautiful, the fully-baked… Panthera Bread!”
    Tony watched carefully as the familiar face stomped onto the stage, wearing a radiant smile. She grabbed the mic and held a hand out towards the curtain.
    “And I won’t be performing alone! I’d like to introduce a very close personal friend of mine… give it up for the handsome Trey Eckles everybody!”
    Trey came in holding a second microphone, singing the smooth vocals in the first verse. Soon, Panthera harmonized, and a duet was in full motion. 
    Tony got up close to the stage to support the duo, joining a small puddle of women cheering the performance, comfortably dividing themselves from the boys still roughhousing in the booths. 
    While Tony was happy to see Trey having such good fun with his double. Deep down, he was slightly jealous. The way Panthera and Trey complemented each other on stage underscored their deep connection and left Tony yearning for a similar sense of cohesion within himself.
    Amidst the crowd, a stranger caught Tony's eye. A person standing alone, seemingly lost in thought, wore an expression that mirrored Tony's own internal conflict. The stranger's eyes flickered between Panthera, Trey, and the cheering audience. There was a shared sentiment, an unspoken acknowledgment of the jealousy that simmered beneath the surface, creating an unexpected connection between the two. However, while Tony masked his insecurities, this tall, dapper man in an argyle jacket released his frustration over the performance. “Who’s this wearing your costume, Treyson?” he yelled during the next sax interlude. “Some new whore you’re screwing?”
    Trey visibly squirmed under the heckler's intrusive words, the microphone trembling in his hand. Panthera, sensing his discomfort, placed a hand on his shoulder to assure him. Then she shoved him forward gently. “She's none of your business, Larry!” Trey declared into the microphone, his voice cutting through the heckler's disruption like a sharp melody.
    Larry squinted his beady eyes as he scrutinized the features of Panthera’s face. “Whoever they are, they’re an absolute boar.”
    “That’s a gem coming from you, Larry.” Panthera marched confidently to the edge of the stage. “Why don’t you just let poor Trey be?” She kicked Larry’s forehead with the toe of her boot, sending the audience into fits of laughter.
    Larry staggered backward to the back of the crowd. While Panthera and Trey continued to the next verse, Tony kept his eyes on the envious malcontent. Larry rubbed his forehead and dropped his hand, revealing burning green eyes that glowered with resentment. He reached into his pocket and revealed a sleek skinning knife with a wooden grip.
    Fearing the worst, Tony attempted to call up to the singers as their voices rose to match the song's growing intensity. Some of the women heard Tony's warnings, but they offered no assistance, glaring at him as if he were nothing more than a distraction.
    Tony saw Larry approaching from the side of the stage. Tony was disgusted by his own weak, little voices debating in the back of his head. They considered the possibility that two large adults could handle a single guy with a knife on their own. But then there was Tony's stifled courage, a force he longed to unleash. Sinead’s genesis was never miraculous; within Tony existed a hidden biome of lust, power, and pride from which she evolved from a single speck of sass. Tony could draw from this wellspring whenever he chose to, and now was his moment to prove it.
    As Tony climbed on stage, Trey and Panthera put their arms around him and tried to put a microphone in his face, assuming he had come to help them finish the last leg of their song. Tony spun them around to face the monster that approached them from behind. The metal of the blade gleamed under the stage lights.
    “Larry, don’t be so stupid!” shrieked Trey.
    “He’s just trying to scare us.” Panthera shielded Trey with her body.
    Tony progressed past the duo. He felt his hand curl into a weapon: a stiff deltoid, a veiny tricep, a blunt force honed by those meticulous arm circles.
    With calculated precision, Tony closed the distance. Larry, unaware of the impending strike, tightened his grip on the knife. The crowd hushed, tension building, as Tony unleashed the full force of his pent-up tenacity.
    In a fluid motion, Tony's fist connected with Larry’s face right between the eyes. The impact resonated through the venue, a resounding thud that echoed the shock in the air. The blade, jarred from Larry's hand, clattered to the floor, its threat neutralized.
    The crowd gasped, captivated by the unexpected turn of events. Trey and Panthera stared wide-eyed as Tony, the embodiment of his untapped strength, now stood between them and the fallen menace. The stage, once a platform for music, transformed into a battleground where Tony's relentless resolve prevailed. 
    In the midst of the stunned audience, a solitary pair of hands proudly applauded. Sinead’s head peered over the edge of the stage as she hoisted herself up, then immediately ran in Tony’s direction.
    “Transcendental! Enigmatic! Ethereal! Profound!” Sinead's fingers delicately traced the contours of Tony's face as if deciphering the secrets etched into his skin. Her touch, a blend of curiosity and admiration, lingered at the edges of his features. “Truly a masterpiece of Sartrean authenticity.”
    Confusion clouded Tony's eyes. “What the heck does that mean?”
    “I liked that you punched that guy, Tony!” Sinead’s head tilted slightly and drew closer. “I could kiss you right now.”
    “Sinead, no. Oh my god.” Tony turned his face away.
    “I can’t help it. You’re a bon a fide Chad.”
    “All I did was protect my friend.” Tony rubbed his elbow with a humble gesture.
    “You could have socked a defenseless baby, and I’d still be proud.” Sinead patted Tony’s cheek. “It’s good to finally see it—you’re a character too, Tony.”
    Tony looked behind himself at Larry, knocked out cold, then turned to Trey. “Sorry if I stole your moment.”
    “Oh, Tony, honey. I don’t have a violent bone in my body. I could never have done that.” Trey redirected his attention to Panthera. “Sorry, girl. I know you wanted me to lash out.”
    “Oh, babe!” Panthera draped an arm over Trey’s back, delivering an affirming rub to his shoulder. “I adore your meek ass just the way it is.”
    “Hey, is everyone alright?” The Cavaliers surrounded the stage. “We called the cops; they’re on the way.”
    “Thanks, boys. I think we’re okay,” said Sinead.
    “Join us for a song,” said Panthera. “You boys like Glen Campell?”
    A resounding cry of approval echoed through the room.
    “Oh, you little Rhinestone Cowboys.”
    “You too, Tony,” said Trey. “Sing with us!”
    “To be frank—I’m more accustomed to lip-syncing…”
    Tony looked at Sinead, sporting a flat, judgmental expression.
    “But we’re trying new things now, aren’t we?” Tony picked up a microphone off its mount.
    “That’s the spirit,” said Sinead. “Now, how ‘bout a few drinks while we wait for the five-o?”
    “I don’t know how quality the whiskey’s gonna be at a dive,” replied Tony.
    “Then let’s not do whiskey.” Sinead snapped her fingers, getting the bartender’s attention. “Four of your finest French martinis, please.”
    “What’s, uh, what’s a French martini, dude?” asked the dusty bartender.
    “Uh, dude, you’re ruining our wholesome little exchange.” Sinead sighed and looked back at the mastermind who made her. “Four vodka sodas, then.”





Evan Witmer (he/him) is a six-foot-three Gemini thriving in the vibrant city of Buffalo, New York. His contemporary fantasy short story "Capitulism" will be published in Bewildering Stories in March 2024. By day, he's at the forefront of innovation, navigating the realm of technology commercialization for SUNY. Evan is not your conventional representative of the bipolar and bisexual community, but he embraces his unique journey with authenticity and pride.
Evan is a skilled storyteller with three surreal short story collections available for purchase: "Pages from the Pizza Crows," "Digest: Ten Short Stories by Convicted & Plausible People-Eaters," and "How to Burn This Book." For a glimpse into his creative world, follow him on TikTok @oddfiction528 or explore his website at www.oddfiction.com.