InVestments

Sarah felt the brookies through the cling wrap, and was relieved to find them still warm. Taking a last deep swig of her diet soda, Sarah assessed her makeup in the rearview mirror, smoothed her skirts, fastened her best smile, and rang the doorbell on Frontier Street.

A drag queen answered the door.

Not just a drag queen. Sarah suddenly had a lot more context for phrases like ‘thicc’ and ‘bricked up’ that had until now remained a mystery. “U-uh,” she stuttered, feeling like a Disney mermaid whose seashells would never match up to this tentacled enchantress. “S-s-sister Dale?”

The queen smirked beneath a sculpted eyebrow, and called over a glittering shoulder, “Oh, Sister Dale! Get on over here, sista!” The drag queen’s eyes flicked up and down Sarah’s quivering form, an acrylic-tipped finger circling her pastel outfit. “This was a choice.”

When Sister Dale appeared, Sarah hardly recognized her. Cinched into a patent leather corset and thigh-high boots, her hair beneath a black nylon wig, Sister Dale clearly recognized Sarah, her black lipstick plastered with shock. “What are you doing here?”

“U-uh, I-I-I,” Sarah swallowed. “I’m so sorry—”

“God—come on!” Sister Dale closed the door in the drag queen’s leer and grabbed Sarah’s arm, steering her and her plate of baked goods around the side of the house. Passing beneath the windows, Sarah got the impression of colored lights and throbbing music, but the kitchen was quiet when Sister Dale dragged her surprise guest inside.

“Sit down!” Sister Dale hissed, pulling a chair out from the kitchen table. “What are you doing here? Who gave you this address?”

“I-I-I,” Sarah could not keep her lip from trembling. “Th-the d-d-directory—”

“Oh, calm down, sweetie, I’m not gonna bite you!” Sister Dale pulled the wig from her head, releasing the blonde waterfall that matched Sarah’s own. She filled a glass with filtered water and held it out to Sarah, coaxing the plate of brookies from her shaking hands. “I’d offer you coffee, but…”

The beaded curtain over the kitchen door clattered aside, and it took Sarah a moment to recognize the man as Brother Dale. Most of that moment was fixated on his oiled chest, bursting from a brocade bustier, slick with glittery sweat. “Hey—oh,” Brother Dale frowned a little, shrinking from Sarah’s shocked gaze. “Everything okay?”

“It’s okay, honey, I got this.” Sister Dale put a hand on his heart, polished nails matching the lipstick kisses on his neck. “Give me twenty more minutes before the presentation, okay?”

Brother Dale put a tender hand to her face, pressing his fingers through her hair as he gazed into her eyes, and his smile returned. “You’re the boss,” he said, kissing her forehead, and disappearing back between the beads.

Sister Dale lifted a pale pink pinafore apron from a hook. Sarah knew that apron from Sister Dale’s videos, dusted with flour and smudged with brown sugar, and there was something profane about securing it across black leather lingerie. “Okay,” said Sister Dale, sitting down at the table across from Sarah, the baked offering in between them. “Feeling better?”

“What is going on?” Sarah hissed. “Are you—I don’t want to know.”

“We’re not swingers,” Sister Dale smirked. “This is a business meeting.”

“What kind of business--!”

“We’re brand ambassadors for a company that sells health and beauty products,” Sister Dale explained. “Albeit catering to a demographic well outside the temple. Our customer base leads alternative lifestyles, and we reflect their values for business purposes.” She winked. “Ox in the mire, as they say.”

The familiar words had a soothing effect, even issuing from black lipstick. “Okay. Th-that makes sense, I guess.”

Sister Dale folded her black-nailed hands. “You’ve seen my YouTube channel, right? You’ve heard me talk about Natural Lite? This is just like that; it’s a lifestyle brand for a different kind of life.”

Sarah let go of the breath she’d been holding. “I had no idea. Have you talked to the bishop about this?”

Sister Dale snorted, pushed back the collar of Sarah’s sweater, and hooked a finger under the hidden spaghetti strap. “Going to the gym, are we?”

Blushing, Sarah pulled the sweater tight across her chest. “I just can’t believe your husband makes you do this.”

“Oh, honey.” Sister Dale flicked her hair over her shoulder. “You only see him on Sundays because I make him go.”

Relief washed over Sarah’s shoulders. “That’s so good of you to redeem him—”

“For business purposes,” Sister Dale specified, tapping her acrylics on the table. “We’re smack in the middle of the Morridor; the chief currency is righteousness. Our investors, our legal advisors, the man who sold us our house, all of them are members who want to promote within the faith. As a newly divorced woman, I’m sure you know that’s a double-edged sword.”

Sarah looked down at her hands. “You can’t afford to move away?”

“I like it here,” Sister Dale insisted. “You know how easy it is to push an MLM with the LDS? I get a little pull from YouTube, and these parties are fine to pass the time, but you would not believe how much our fellow members have helped our finances.” She tapped a finger on the cling-wrapped plate. “We’ll certainly never go hungry. I suppose you thought my success was a sign that I was doing everything right.”

Sarah swallowed. She breathed. At all times, in all things, and in all places. “I came here to talk about Natural Lite.”

“Of course you did.”

“But,” Sarah said quickly. “I want this; I want to know about this.”

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Sister Dale said, “It’s a lot. Bunch of coffee drinkers in there. Something your family might not understand. Or your next husband, for that matter.”

Sarah shook her head. “What next husband? I’m still sealed to the first.” She leaned her elbows on the table, pushing the plate of sweets out of her way. “My family thinks I’m a failure because I couldn't keep a grip on him. The other members think God is punishing me for not being faithful enough, when I have nothing left to give. I have no individual worth. I invested everything into my marriage, and my husband threw it away. I need something for myself. That’s why I came to you.”

Sister Dale leaned back in her chair, looking Sarah up and down with a little smile on her face. “You want to stay for the presentation? You’re not exactly dressed for it.”

Sarah shrugged and tugged at her sweater. “I’ve seen the comments; I know tradwives are kink.”

“It’s not about kink,” said Sister Dale, pointing toward the swinging curtain. “Everyone in there is exactly who they are. Now, who are you?”

Sarah stared at the still-warm, cling-wrapped treats. And slowly pushed the plate off the table.

Sister Dale side-stepped the smashed confection, and took her apron off. Resetting her wig, she took Sarah by the hand, and led her into the colored lights beyond the whispering beads.