Divas Las Vegas (4 page)

Well, that was just fine and dandy by me. "Okay," I
responded, and unlocked the door to the motel room. I'll
let you use your vivid imagination to fill in the rest of the
details. (Fine-the backside was just as nice as the frontside.
Happy now?)

He spent the next two nights with me there. We ventured
out only to get our meals at nearby Castro restaurants. (And
some lube and some rubbers.) It was nice. Actually, it was
more than nice, but I knew he was going to leave on that
third day to go back home, someplace not in San Francisco;
and I also knew better than to get attached. Too bad my heart
wasn't as smart as my head. I could have seriously fallen for
the guy. Oh, well. Anyway, I had a big adventure ahead of me,
so I enjoyed our time together and, when it was time to leave,
I told him how great he was and that I would miss him.

"Thanks, I'm sure we'll cross paths again." That was it.
Less than what I would have liked, but he was off before I
could get any more out of him. Two nights and days of fabulous sex was more than I usually got, which means I wasn't
about to complain.

So, with a smile on my face and a gleeful spring to my step,
I left the motel and headed over to Justin's. It was weird not having a job to go to. And by weird, I mean terrifying. But I
had money to live on for a while, or at least until I got that
vase back. And though I love Justin, I prefer not to rely on him
too much for his money, of which he has gobs. His friendship
was way more than enough. (Way, way more.) And I was sure
I'd find a job once I returned. It was just, well, I wasn't too
sure what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Also, I'm just
naturally the kind of person who needlessly worries. Which
probably goes a long way to figuring out why Justin and I are
such good friends in the first place: he worries about absolutely nothing and I worry enough for the both of us.

"Oh, honey, you look positively fucked out." He greeted
me at the door, martini in hand, and then led me to his
comfy leather sofa. "Spill."

"Please, you've been there and done that already. Why
do you need the nasty details? Must you live vicariously
through me?" I giggled into my martini.

"As if. And, for your information, Chris and I have never
done it before. He's not my type."

"Huh? He breathes. He walks. He talks. Fits your criteria
exactly. And, knowing you as I do, the talking thing isn't all
that mandatory anyway. So what's the real reason?"

"Yes, dumbass, he meets all that and then some, but he
has that one fatal flaw I simply can't tolerate."

I knew the answer. "Ah, he's relationship-oriented. Am
I right?" I knew I was. It was the one and only thing that
frightened little Miss Fuckit away.

"Bingo. But we did fool around some, just not all the
way-which, by that frightful glow you're emitting, I take
it you achieved."

"Well, I didn't want to see that lovely motel room go to
waste, now, did I?" I was playing coy. Justin knew I was not
one to kiss and tell, so he gave up.

"Fine, fuck if I care. So, I take it he left for home already?"
he asked, pouring us both a second round of drinks.

"This morning," I replied, rather glumly. "Where is
home anyway?"

"He didn't say?" Justin snickered.

"We had other, more pressing topics to discuss."

"Ooh, like which flavored lube to use or who was gonna
get spanked first?"

"No, just nothing that personal."

Honestly, it never came up. I'm sure you've been in that
kind of situation before: where you spend a whole weekend
with someone and don't bother to get their last name, or
family background, or career highlights, but you end up
finding out who their favorite Backstreet Boy was. Well,
Chris and I had one of those kind of short-term things.
Blissfully ignorant, I like to call it.

"Whatever, Mary. Never mind." And he made the
universal "whatever" sign: three fingers waving in the
air. Actually, they were waved in my face. But so was my
martini, so I ignored his rudeness.

"Speaking of Mary," I said, now speaking of Mary.

"Ah, our new raison d'etre. I just have to pack and then
we can skedaddle. Oh, by the way, I bought us our plane
tickets," he announced.

"You really didn't have to do that. I have money now,
you know," I offered.

"First-class tickets," he added.

"Okay, rightee-o, then. First class: drinkees in crystal
glasses, warm nuts served on white linen, and hot towels..."

"These are a few of my favorite things," Justin singsonged. I agreed, though. There's nothing like first class,
and I never would have paid for two tickets at whatever
price he had paid, so I gratefully accepted the offer.

"And when do we leave on our hunt for the great, white
Mary, Tarzan?"

"We swing from big tree vine when sun comes over
mountain, little queerboy, Jane."

"Yikes, that early?" I asked, surprised, as Justin rarely if
ever woke before sun was over mountain.

"The early bird catches-" he began.

"The Mary," I finished.

"Nope, the breakfast buffet at Caesar's. So let's get
packing and get the hell out of this one tree vine town. I so
need this vacation."

He had to be joking. The man didn't work, had no stress
in his life, and this trip was certainly not going to be a vacation. Finding my vase was going to be work. Or at least I
thought it would be. But I let it go. He was paying for the
tickets and was going to help me on my journey. Why burst
his gin-soaked bubble?

"Okay, then, I'll go home and I'll be over to your place
as soon as I finish packing. I'll spend the night and we can
get up early and start our adventure."

I was starting to get sort of excited about the whole
thing. The whole, I don't know, well, unknown of it all.
Where would we find Mary? Would we find Mary? Would
she sell us back my grandma's vase? I was full of questions
and my body was a bundle of nerves all of a sudden. And it
was obvious, too.

"Will you take this pill and calm your ass down?" he
asked, and magically handed me a nice yellow pill.

"If it will make you happy, fine, I will." And I swiped it
from his hand. I did need to calm down a bit, I justified.

"Now go home, pack, and hurry on back over," he
commanded. "I'll have dinner ready when you get here.
Now scoot."

And scoot I did; though twenty minutes later the pill
had kicked in and my scoot became more of a crawl.
I arrived home, moving a bit slowly, and packed. Also, I
made a few farewell phone calls to some friends. I wanted
them to know where we were in case we needed bailing
out. I was nervous about going to Sin City with the man who practically invented it-sin, that is.

And then, three suitcases later, I was out the door and
on my way. The taxi I had called arrived in less than five
minutes. Now that I had some money, I gladly squandered
it on such extravagances. Me and my bags were at Justin's a
few minutes later.

I lumbered slowly up the stairs with my luggage. Of
course, being medicated, I didn't care. I rapped on the door
and, lo and behold, was greeted by Justin in full Las Vegas
showgirl attire. (A definite plus about living in San Francisco. I doubt you would or could find someone dressed like
that in, say, Des Moines.)

"Oh, were we supposed to be dressed for dinner? I left
my outfit at the cleaners. Damn," I said, and dragged my
belongings into his apartment.

"Sweetie, now, you know it's always cheaper to buy these
things in pairs." Dear God. He pulled a nearly matching
outfit from behind his back and handed it to me.

"Before dinner?" I gulped. It looked beautiful floating
there. All shimmering in blue and gold sequins. In my
present state, I simply didn't know if I had it in me to slip
my ever-widening ass into it, though.

"Before, during, and after. Yes. Here," he commanded,
and handed me my outfit.

Why not? I figured. I was fast getting beyond my prime
to do such things and still look good at the same time. So
I gracefully took the ensemble, laid it on his couch, and
proceeded to undress.

"Wait!" he shouted, and ran to the kitchen. "Dinner is
served." He handed me a martini in a frosted glass and then
curtsied. Or at least tried to. The dress looked painfully
tight on him.

"Ah, a liquid dinner. How dietetic of you."

As I stood there almost naked in his living room, drink
in hand, pill in stomach, dress spread out before me, I had a strange premonition that a bizarre adventure lay ahead of
us. Thankfully, I was never one to believe in such nonsense
or I might have put my clothes back on and hightailed it
out of there. On second thought, maybe not so thankfully. (You might recall I am sitting in this closet and I am
still wearing practically nothing. Even worse, I have no
martini in hand. Ah, there's that nasty hindsight dilemma
again.)

I set my drink down and lifted my dress up. It weighed a
ton. The gown itself started at the neck in vivid blue sequins
and, as it worked down to the bustline, turned several
shades of paler blue. Beneath what would soon be my fake
bosoms, the material came to a sudden stop, creating a large
and very revealing circle over the tummy region. There was
some sequin-covered Lycra on the left side and around the
soon-to-be-padded ass. This was done up in several shades
of yellowish gold. The colors for the remainder of the dress,
the part that cinched in the thighs and legs, grew progressively darker blue again. It was lovely, actually, though
certainly not on my body.

"Holy hockey pucks, Batman, this is a doozy of a dress
dilemma. Are you sure I can fit into this thing?"

"One size fits all," he told me, reassuringly. "Just step on
in, suck in that gut, and pull hard."

"Oh, when you put it that way..." I grimaced, slid my
feet through the narrow opening at the middle of the dress,
stepped in, sucked in, and pulled with all my might. The
heavily weighted gown bunched clumsily around my body,
so I had to yank it up in bits and stretches until it encased
me. Then I slid my arms through the holes near the top.
Justin zipped up the side until the tiny white zipper was at
my neck. Voila-instant diva. Almost.

Again he shouted, "Wait!," and ran out of the room.

"Oh, please, another drink!" I shouted after him. "For
dessert!"

He returned, drink in hand. In one hand, that is. The
other hand held a stunning and oh-so-high pair of sequined
pumps. My heart was racing. It had been quite some time
since I last donned heels. In all honesty, I loved that towering
feeling. I gracefully slid them on and ventured to stand up.
Between the pills, booze, and sheer height of the shoes, it
certainly was a challenge. I tottered for a few seconds, but
retained my balance. (Drag queens wobble, but they don't
fall down.)

Standing there like that, I felt, er, regal. Justin slid his
heels on as well and stood face to face with me. Other than
the colors of his gown, which were red and gold, we had on
identical outfits. He looked stunning. I knew better than to
imagine that I did.

"Wait!" he shouted, yet again. I gulped as he sauntered
out of the room, though he was not as fast in the heels as the
previous two times. What next? I thought.

Next came the headdresses. And, goodness gracious me,
they were enormous once fully assembled and fanned out.
Each one matched our specific dress and was equipped with
two dozen extra-long feathers surrounding a high crown
covered in shimmering rhinestones and sequins. Glamour,
glamour, glamour. Though glamour had a price. Each headpiece had to weigh a good five pounds, and we had to be
securely strapped into them so they wouldn't slide off, so we
helped each other get them on. The effect was mesmerizing.
(Then again, that might have been more from the pills and
booze than anything else.)

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Fashion Girl Barbie on steroids," I answered, somewhat
awestruck. In fact, he did look stunning.

"And me?" I asked, rather pathetically. I never could
pull off the whole drag thing. It must've been some kind
of genetic predisposition of mine to look tragic in female
attire.

"Come see for yourself." He pulled me into his bedroom
and placed us in front of his double-wide, full-length mirror.
(Vanity, thy name is Justin.)

"Wait! Don't look!" Again with the wait. I obeyed and
shut my eyes tight. Seconds later, I felt the familiar feeling
of lipstick being applied. When I was allowed to open my
eyes again, I beheld a vision of, if not loveliness, then at
least not downright ugliness. The outfit had such a strong
presence to it that I think most everyone would have looked
somewhat glorious in it.

Justin stood next to me and we both, simultaneously,
crouched an inch and flung our hands up in the air as if to
say, Ta-da! We did indeed look dazzling.

"The return of Marilyn and Tabitha!" he proclaimed.
Though officially we were known as Miss Em and Miss T.
The EmT Twins. (Pronounced "empty." Though I usually
called Justin Humpty and he called me Dumpty. Sad, if not
befitting.)

"I missed them. It's been too long." And I was telling
the truth. Our alter egos were so much fun. Certainly more
glamorous than our usual day-to-day personas. Well, mine
anyway.

"Me too," Justin agreed as we stood there and admired
ourselves.

"Where did you get all of this?" I asked, when the magic
started to wane.

"Good question," came the response.

"And is there a good answer?" I knew better, but tried
nonetheless.

"Wait. Just wait."

Well, that word seemed to be working for me so far, so I
did. And now, so will you.