Max briefly compared the information on the business card in his hand to his surroundings before slipping it back into his coat pocket and heading inside. He had finally gotten some info out of his quiet new co-worker, S.D. Vixen, when he was handed this card and told it was S.D.ās second job.
āIf youāve got time, come see me this evening and we can talk more. My shift ends at 10.ā That was all he said before getting back to the story they were working on. The card intrigued Max, matte brown with shiny yellow lettering, reading āThe Honey Trapā in big, curly letters that practically dripped off the card. Below, in smaller plain font, were the address and description, calling the place a ācabaret and lounge.ā He presumed his new avian partner worked there as a bartender, which was alright by him. Maybe knowing him would get Max some free drinks.
He glanced at his watch. 9:36. Plenty of time before S.D. got off his shift. He was quickly greeted by a glamorous hostess cheerfully checking his I.D. and informing him that it was their ādrag night.ā
āWell, as long as no one asks me for a light.ā Max quipped.
āOh, youāre a riot.ā She said, playfully swatting at his arm before getting back to business. āWould you like a bar seat or table? The tables are little closer to the stage, so youāll get a better view of the show, but folks seated there do have a chance of being called up by the performers.ā
āIn that case, Iāll take the former. Like a performance-shy ballerina, Iām better at the bar than on the stage.ā He said. The hostess grinned again and led him to a soft cushioned barstool at the edge of the bar. The whole place was pretty open, and although it seemed the table seats were indeed closer to the stage, the whole bar area was elevated slightly and still provided a decent view. As the hostess returned to her stand, Max looked around the place for where S.D. might be. He wasnāt the bartender, who was a buff human man. The various waitstaff were dressed up in shiny brown and gold uniforms with lots of makeup, but none of them looked anything remotely like S.D.
Max had just begun chalking it up to the low atmospheric lights, the notion that perhaps S.D. worked in the back, or even that he was being fooled and his trip was the result of a small prank, when the drag queen on stage finished up her set and walked off. A large bee, who referred to herself as āThe Queen Beeā and seemed to be the proprietor of the place, went up and performed some jokes before introducing the next performer. In the meantime, the bartender caught Maxās eye and asked what he would like.
āPreferably something with booze.ā He replied. āWhatever will get me drunk in as few sips as possible.ā The bartender only nodded, and went to fetch the drink. Max sighed, feeling his words were lost on those around him. He made an effort to incite conversation and banter, but there were few who brought their own to the table. While he waited, he glanced back to the stage, not really listening as his mind hummed with thoughts about the current story, but watching with glazed eyes as the emcee introduced the next act. The lights went low for a few moments, giving time for whoever was about to perform to get into position.
The lights came up, but only behind the figure on stage, casting them in a silhouette backed by red light. The person was posed in profile, sharp beak and crested head feathers accentuated by the angular costume. It was such a striking sight that Max didnāt even turn away as he heard his finished drink sat down on the bar. He simply blindly felt for it until he grabbed the glass and raised it to his lips.
A simple drum beat began to play, soon a bass joined in with it, and on each beat the figure struck a different pose. A few languid, melancholy guitar chords descended as some other performers swept a prop onto the stage, namely large armchair. Then, the guitar fell in with the rhythm right as the lights came up, revealing the performer in full.
He was a small bird man heightened by platform baba boots. His red feathers that spiked off the top of his head also spread down his neck to a gaudy plumage bursting out of his buttoned shirt. His suit was exaggerated in proportion, with massive shoulders pads and lapels, narrowing down to skinny dress pants. The whole thing was stark black and white vertical stripes, which caught the eye as he shifted his hips and tapped his foot to the beat.
Max stopped mid-sip, quickly swallowing as something dawned on him with the familiar figure. S.D. had white feathers, not red, but dye could always be an option. When the Queen Bee introduced himā¦ she said the name āVixen,ā didnāt she? Wasnāt that S.D.ās surname? But it was only when the bird on stage aggressively fell back into the chair and began to sing that Maxās recognized the voice.
He downed the rest of his drink.
