Divas Las Vegas (22 page)

Justin didn't have to think too hard on that one. A minute
later, we were downing our mimosas and talking strategy.
Basically, the plan was simple. Glenda would go down to
the disco, dressed to show some leg and some boob, she'd
flirt shamelessly, and then agree to go out with our mystery
bartender. Then she'd find out all she could about him. Okay,
it smacked of danger, but it seemed that it could work, so
we decided to stick with it for the time being. Actually, the
three of us liked it because it was ridiculously easy to come
up with and we didn't have the minds for any convoluted
schemes so early in the morning. Well, okay, any time of
day, really.

Once we were good and liquored up, we sent our genie
lure into action. Glenda wasn't in Vegas for even an hour
and she was already dressed like a common hooker: high
heels, short skirt, and a low, low, low neckline. Oh, our
little girl was growing up (and out). And then she was gone.
I felt a twinge of guilt, but knew that it was this or Detective Lombard, and I doubted that the latter was hard at
work for us. Just to be on the safe side, though, Glenda had
brought us several pieces from her wardrobe for disguise. We decided to put something on and go down to have a
look-see for ourselves, just to make sure that everything was
going okay.

With Justin in a blonde wig, a classy black mid-length
dress, and two pairs of pantyhose to cover the leg hairs
(he could go with a revealing neckline, as his chest, arms,
and shoulders were always shaved, the big fag) and me in a
brunette wig, a demure pair of slacks, and a cashmere pullover, we made our way down to the disco. Ah, to be in heels
once again. It's amazing the sense of power you feel when
you gain two inches and strap on a pair of fake boobs.

We got there just in time to discover Glenda already deep
in conversation with our prey. He looked totally mesmerized by our gussied-up friend, and, from what we could
see, Glenda was showing no restraint to reel him in. If she
had placed her breasts any closer to him, she'd have been
sitting right in his lap. To assuage my guilt I kept telling
myself King-sized bed and welcome basket. King-sized bed
and welcome basket. It was comforting that, at the very
least, our bartender was on the cute side. I couldn't begin to
imagine what we would've had to offer Glenda if he'd actually been ugly.

"Well, all appears to be going as planned," Justin said, a
smile wide on his face.

"So far, so goo-"

"Can I get you lovely ladies something to drink?" interrupted Zahir.

Uh-oh.

"Yes, please," said Justin, in his barely feminine drag
voice. "I'll have a double martini."

"And I'll have a double of what he's having," I added,
demurely crossing my legs.

"Oh, I see you ladies have-how you say? A strong
constitution."

"Yes, you could say that," I replied, and batted my eyelashes at him. Why? I don't know. Something about
being made up like that makes me act the hussy. In any
case, Zahir winked at me and practically ran to get us our
drinks.

"Slut," Justin said when we were alone again.

"Oh, you should talk. Just look at that outfit you have
on. Could you be any more desperate-looking?"

"Jealous."

"Bitch."

We were rescued by Zahir and two very tall and very
strong drinks.

"I am Zahir," he informed us after we took our first
potent sips. "Are you ladies staying at the Aladdin?"

"Oh, no, we're just visiting a friend who's staying here,"
I informed him. "There she is over there." I pointed to
Glenda, and Zahir made a nasty face.

"You should tell your friend to stay away from that man.
He no good," he told us, and we nodded, already well aware
of that fact.

Just then, Glenda stood up, shook the bartender's hand,
giggled a bit, and then started to walk out of the bar. She
did a double take as she passed our table, then turned back
around to join us.

"Girls, how nice to see you," she said, suppressing
laughter.

"Would your friend like a drink?" Zahir offered, and
we accepted for her. Glenda's eagerness to help is only
surpassed by the size of her liver. In other words, she could
drink Justin under the table. A truly stupendous accomplishment, no doubt.

A minute later, we three ladies were sipping our smart
cocktails and chatting aimlessly with Zahir, who seemed
to have nothing better to do than stand there and flirt,
primarily with me. Gulp. And when our drinks were done,
Zahir made his move.

"I get off work at seven, pretty lady. Would you like to
go have dinner with me?" he asked.

"Oh, Zahir, I'm flattered but-" I started to say.

"She'd love to," Justin finished my sentence. "Her name
is Marilyn. She'll meet you here at seven."

"I will?" I asked, very confused.

"No," Glenda interrupted, "She'll meet you at the
entrance to the hotel at seven."

"I will? I asked again, even more confused.

"Yes!" they both practically screamed.

Zahir looked equally confused, but took their yeses as
my yes, and before I could even begin to think of a way out
of it, he excused himself to get back to work. He told me
he'd see me at seven and then left. I was too shocked to say
anything but okay. Never in my wildest dreams, and let me
tell you, they can get pretty wild, did I ever imagine that I'd
go on a date with a straight man. And in drag, no less. What
the fuck was going on?

"What the fuck is going on?" I asked them both.

Justin answered me. "Look, Zahir says that that
bartender-"

"Bart," Glenda interrupted.

"Bart the bartender?" I asked, giggling.

Justin continued, "Fine, Zahir says that Bart is no
good-"

"He did?" Glenda interrupted again.

Again Justin continued, perturbed by the continual interruptions, "Yes, he did. Which means that he may be able to
shed some light on all this. And you, my dear Marilyn, are
gonna pump him for that information."

"I hope that's all I'm gonna pump," I added.

"Whatever it takes," Justin said. That had me worried.

"But why did you make the date at the hotel entrance,
Glenda?" I asked her.

"Because I'm meeting Bart here at seven and he, appar ently, doesn't care for Zahir either," she explained.

"Ah," Justin and I aahed.

"And what will you be doing, my dear Tabitha, while
the two of us are going out on our reconnaissance dates?"
I asked Justin.

"I'm going to drop in on Earl and Ahmed and see what
else I can find out," he/she told us.

"Wow, I feel like one of Charlie's Angels," I said, getting
up to leave.

"I'm Jill!" we three shouted in unison.

We gave that one to Justin, as he was the blond.

"I'm Kelly," Glenda and I called.

We gave that one to Glenda, as she had the long brown
hair.

And that left me as Sabrina, which was fine by me, as
I always did have an affinity for Kate Jackson. (Well, I'd
rather have been Farrah, truth be told, but who wouldn't?)
And with that agreed upon, we headed back to Glenda's
room to get out of our outfits.

"Okay, Angels, now that we have our individual assignments, let's get out of these heels and into the rest of that
bottle of champagne. This isn't going to be easy and I think
we need to be good and toasty if we're gonna get through it
in one piece," Justin proclaimed as he swished through the
lobby.

"Man," Glenda said as we boarded the elevator, "I missed
you guys. San Francisco was so boring without you. This
kind of stuff never happens to me when I'm by myself."

"And this is a bad thing?" I asked, scratching my head.
(The wig was itchy.)

To which she replied, "Hmm. Good point."

Luckily, Glenda brought a lot of extra clothes, as I wanted
to look just right for my first straight/drag date. Does that
sound, er, creepy? Don't worry, it did to me as well-but since I was going undercover, I decided to go all out. We did
have a lot to lose if one of us wasn't successful that night.
And a cute, sexy Marilyn had a better chance of finding
out some good dish than a homely, frumpy one. In the end,
we decided on a long evening dress and a soft, feminine
sweater-vest to cover up my otherwise manly physique. I
even bit the bullet and shaved my arms and shoulders. (Yes,
dear friends, I'm a big fag as well.)

When we were through, and my wig was combed out
long and flowing, and Glenda applied enough makeup to
cover up my stubble and add some lovely cheekbones, I
looked, well, let's just say that I was no Bo Derek, but I was
a far cry from Bo Jackson. Still, I planned on insisting on
a dark restaurant with nice wide tables. No sense tempting
fate by placing a horny Arab right next to my hairy knees.
After all, I doubt he would have appreciated what I was
hiding beneath my dress. (Impressive as it was.)

With the three of us dressed for our missions, we went
into action. Justin left for Earl's, Glenda for the disco, and
me for the lobby. Zahir was already there waiting for me
when I arrived, with a lovely smile on his face and a pretty
pink corsage in his hand. I nearly felt guilty for what I was
about to do. I say nearly, because absolutely no one looks
nice with a small spray of flowers pinned to their dress or
adorning their wrist. And this was no prom we were going
to. Still, when he offered it to me, I gracefully pulled it from
his hand and quickly pinned it to my dress. There was no
way I was going to let him touch the fake boobs. Actually,
the tiny bouquet did a good job of hiding the fact that I had
no nipples. (Big woman nipples, that is-I have nipples of
my own, of course.)

"Ah, how beautiful you look tonight, Marilyn," he said,
giving me the once-over. I hated to admit it, but he looked
pretty swell too. Out of his genie outfit and in a nice pair
of khaki slacks and a form-fitting button-down shirt, he looked downright handsome and devilishly sexy. Sort of
like a grown-up-looking Ahmed.

If gay white guys who like Asian guys are called rice
queens, what are gay guys who like Middle Eastern guys
called? Mujadara queens? And how about gay guys dressed
like straight women who like Middle Eastern guys? I have
no answer for that one. Let me know if you find one. More
than likely, I'm the only person on the planet with this fetish,
so feel free to make something up. In any case, what I'm
trying to say is that he was making me quite moist beneath
my dress, figuratively speaking, naturally.

"Shall we go, then?" he asked.

"After you," I said, forgetting my new gender rules.

"No, ladies first."

"Oh, er, right. Thank you."

A moment later, we were in a cab and on our way to
dinner.

And then, as luck would have it...

"Earl!" I shouted, noticing who our driver was.

"Do I know you, lady?" he asked, looking at me in his
rearview mirror.

"Oh, um, oh, no, sorry. I just saw your name on your
license up on the dash. Earl was my father's name. I guess
I just get a little excited when I meet someone else with the
same name. We were very close," I explained. Quick save.

"Apparently," said Earl. "Where to?"

"The Venetian, please," Zahir told Earl.

"Yes, sir." Earl looked up at me again through the mirror.
"You know, you do look a bit familiar, ma'am. Maybe we
have met before."

"Oh, no, I don't think so. I'm not from here. Never been
here before this week. No, sorry." A mite too edgy, but,
considering the circumstances, I think you can see why.

"Sure, calm down, lady," Earl said, his eyes returning to
the road.

"Yes, Marilyn, calm down," Zahir said, reaching over
to hold my hand. (Uh-oh.) "It's just that you are so beautiful. This man probably thought he see you in some fashion
magazine."

"Oh, yeah, that's it," said Earl, snickering beneath his
breath, but loud enough for me to hear. I let it go. No sense
rocking the boat, or cab, as was the case.

"My, my, Marilyn, you sure have nice, strong, large
hands," Zahir whispered in my ear, and gently lingered
with his lips on my earlobe. (Did I say uh-oh already?)

Thankfully, the cab arrived at the Venetian not a
moment too soon. It was getting awfully hot back there.
And a nylon dress did little to protect against sudden bursts
of, well, male turgidity. Especially since all I had on beneath
the dress was a skimpy pair of Glenda's panties. I should've
Saran-Wrapped myself down, but who knew that Zahir
would turn out to be so brazenly sexy. And I was relieved as
hell when Earl got out to open the door for me and I could
release my hand from Zahir's grip. Between the smell of
smoke and the smell of my date's cologne, not too mention
his big, strong, hairy hands on mine, my poor little head
was spinning.

He paid Earl and we walked into the stunningly beautiful
lobby of the Venetian, and my heart started to flutter. Sick
truth be told, I was semiexcited to be out with Zahir. Yes, it
was under horrible circumstances, and yes, he thought I was
a woman, but I was still flattered that he found me attractive. Okay, he found Marilyn attractive, but you have to
assume that he must've seen my inner beauty as well, right?
Well, whatever, I did, and that's all that matters.

Okay, before I tell you about our date, let me give you the
quick rundown on the Venetian. Obviously, by the name,
you can tell that the theme is Venice. Now, first thing, the
Venetian is one of the few hotel/casinos in Vegas that from
the outside is just as amazing-looking in the daylight as it is in the evening. At night, the Bellagio, Paris, Bally's, etc.,
are all stunningly beautiful, but during the day, they are
somewhat drab and average-looking. This is not the case
with the Venetian.

You walk up to the place on a ramp that has outdoor
canals with authentic gondolas on either side. The water is
a clear, cold blue, which goes so well with the off-white and
muted tans of the entire building. To your far left is the clock
tower of St. Mark's, complete with the standard big-screen
casino ads. To your right is the beautiful Rialto Bridge, the
Campanile, and Madame Tussaud's wax museum. (On a
side note here, inside the wax museum you can take pictures
with Bette, Barbra, Liza, Cher, and Judy. You go right on
up and put your arms around them. Really. It's like, well,
almost, sort of, like being there with them. Okay, if you're
a big old screaming queen like me, this is something to
get excited about.) The facade of the building is gloriously
finished with intricate brick patterns, statuary, and Italian
architectural features, which lets you know immediately
that you're about to enter something grand. And trust me,
you're not disappointed.