Diva Las Vegas (2 page)

I knew I had to get sexy for Hef’s party, so I chose a Little Bo Peep outfit. It seemed like a good idea at the time. How was I supposed to know there’d be so many ruffles? I didn’t feel particularly sexy with a pile of blond ringlets on my head and a big blue bow on my butt, not to mention petticoats jutting out and knocking over everything in my path. I was carrying a staff to finish off the look. George thought it would be funny if he went as a sheep. Get it? Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep? I wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but George had really pushed for it. He’s my best friend and hairdresser—and brilliant at both.

George is only five feet four, and when not on a diet tends to lean a little toward chubby. He had on a total-body sheep costume of curly faux fur, complete with a headpiece that he tied under his chin. His nose was even painted black. He looked like Richard Simmons on acid. He looked like a cotton ball that had been shoved into a light socket. He looked like he was the crazy, gone-wrong entertainment at a kids’ party. He looked like . . . oh, you get it.

Shana Stern, on the other hand, was an old pro. An ex-Playmate, she obviously had been to the mansion many, many times. She was wearing a barely there devil outfit. So were about fifty other women. Bobbing up and down across the lawn was a sea of devil horns. I didn’t know devils wore thongs, but apparently they do at Hef’s parties. Shana was in her midforties, but, God bless her, she could still pull it off. Tasteful? I’m not so sure. You know that saying: Just because you can doesn’t mean you should!

“Well, I’m glad you guys could make it! And, George, you’ve outdone yourself. But couldn’t you have toned it down a bit? Look around! There aren’t a lot of gay guys here. At least none that are out of the closet.”

“Honey, this place has seen it all, but they’ve never seen the likes of me. I figured go
baa
or go home.”

“Thanks for inviting us, Shana. This’ll be fun,” I said.

Shana was the ex-wife of Barry Stern, an actor on my show,
The Bare and the Brazen
. We had seen each other at events and parties over the years, but we were only passing acquaintances. That’s why I had been surprised when I’d received an e-mail from her inviting me to this party. I needed a girls’ night out, since I had been concentrating on my six-year-old daughter, Sarah, just about 24/7 for a good while, so I said yes. I had mixed feelings, however. Shana had a reputation for having a bit of an inner diva, but I decided, What the hell? She couldn’t be that bad, right?

“Let’s go get hammered!” Shana said. She grabbed my hand and I grabbed George’s, uh, hoof, and off we went.

As we entered the massive foyer of the Playboy Mansion, we saw every kind of costume imaginable.
Sexy
was the name of the game and there was no shortage of bare flesh, even if originality was lacking. Most of the women were angels, devils, maids, fairies or nymphs.

Shana dragged me through the house and outside to the backyard, which was the size of a football field. It was covered completely by a massive tent.

“Ow! Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry!” My stiff crinoline had taken out some guy, but it wasn’t just any guy—it was actor Matthew Perry. And he was chatting with talk-show guy Bill Maher. Neither looked at each other while they talked. Probably scoping out the hundreds of women. I couldn’t fault them, though. This place was very distracting, with its four-to-one ratio of women to men.
Naked
women to
clothed
men.

Music pounded from the multitude of speakers. Four girls dressed only in body paint were dancing on the stage in cages.

“Oh, my God! That’s Paris Hilton!” George gasped. I turned, and sure enough, Paris had jumped up on the stage and was doing an impromptu cage dance.

“Wow, she looks . . . cute.” In a fairy costume. Of course.

As we were approaching one of five bars on the premises, we heard, “Miss Stern? Miss Stern?” A strange-looking man pushed a beautifully wrapped gift basket into Shana’s arms.

“Oh, sweet Jesus! Not that asshole again. Security!” Shana yelled. Loudly.

“Wait! Miss Sternnnn! I need to speak with you. I just want to speak with youuu.”

His voice was very low, and he had a weird and off-putting way of talking. His hair was frizzy and unkempt. On top of that, he seemed to be squinting with his left eye, giving him the appearance of a deranged pirate. He held up his camera phone. Real cameras were strictly banned from Hef’s parties.

“Who is this guy, Shana?” I asked. “He seems a little weird.” I was being kind. He was a
lot
weird.

“What the hell do you think? He’s a stalker! I’ve been getting ten letters a week from him for the past two years. He’s not supposed to be anywhere near me!” As she spoke, she put me in between herself and the man. Having had my own share of psycho stalkers, I was nervous, so I grabbed George and used him as a buffer.

“Hey, missy . . . I know what you’re do—” Before George could finish his sentence, two extremely buff security guards jogged up.

“Sorry, Miss Stern. We don’t know how he got in!” the tall blond one said.

“But that’s your job, isn’t it?” she berated them. “Aren’t you supposed to know these things? Aren’t you called
security
exactly for that reason?”

I understood Shana was upset, but she was coming down on the guys a little too hard.

“Perhaps they should call you
morons
. Would that be more appropriate?”

The security guards didn’t look too happy, especially since people had started to gather around. It was embarrassing.

“I need to speeeeeak with you,” the stalker whined. “You need to know about Genesis 1:27. Genesis 1:27.” He was still trying to take a photo of her even as he was being led away.

This wasn’t just your garden-variety stalker. Shana had gotten herself the classic Bible-quoting stalker. I was surprised he wasn’t warning all of us about Sodom and Gomorrah, considering where we were.

“There are so many weirdos in the world and too many idiots. Now I really need a drink!” Shana said as she dumped the gift basket into the closest trash bin.

“Hey, Greenie! Three shots of tequila, with salt and lime. Make mine a double. And don’t take too long!” Shana shouted to the bartender. He was dressed as the Incredible Hulk and had the muscles to back it up. He gave her a look, then turned away to get the drinks. Her inner diva wasn’t so inner anymore.

“Shana! Don’t be so mean! He’s cute.” George said. “I like his tat.” I looked and saw a huge eye tattooed on the bartender’s right bicep. “Did you get that on
LA Ink
?” The bartender looked at George but didn’t say anything. “Just want to make sure you keep an
eye
on me?
Haaaa!
”

I turned to face Shana.

“Shana, I know the stalker thing can be upsetting, but you don’t have to be so rude. And a double? Isn’t that a little hard-core?” I asked quietly.

I finally got a good look at her. I hadn’t seen Shana in a couple of years. It was clear that time hadn’t been very kind to her. She looked a little rough around the edges. Like she’d been living a hard life. Maybe she had a drinking problem. I could tell from her demeanor it wasn’t the first shot she’d ordered that night.

Shana ignored me. “Hey, George.” She was slurring. “Could you pleashe go and check out the grotto? It’sh over there behind the buffet. That’sh where everyone uzsually ends up naked at around three a.m. See if anyone is starting early, huh?”

George looked at me with a raised eyebrow, knowing he was being brushed off. I shrugged.

“Sure, honey. I’ll be right back. Save me that shot.”

George and I exchanged a glance, and off he went, wagging his tail behind him. I wondered for the umpteenth time whether that costume was really his idea, or his life partner, Wayne’s—some wicked form of revenge. I’d have to ask Wayne the next time I saw him.

“What’s going on with you?” I asked her. The bartender laid down the three shots, and Shana tossed back her double without hesitation. The movement caused her to stagger.

“Whoa, take it easy.” I put my arm around her. “Are you okay?”

“You have no idea what it’sh like, Alex. No idea. I can’t talk to anyone. And I mean anyone. You think I ashked you here just as a friendly invitation?” She brushed away a strand of bleached blond hair that had gotten stuck in her lip gloss. “I’ve got a big problem. I didn’t know who elshe to talk to. All these years, I’ve seen you at parties. Umm, you seem nice. You know, normal?” Now, that might be a stretch, but I guess everything is relative.

“Well, sure, Shana. If you’re having a problem, I’m happy to talk to you. Is it about that stalker? I do have some experience dealing with guys like him.”

“No! It’sh not about that stupid jerk.” She spit the
J
in my face. I flinched. “Just listen. I know your boyfriend is a cop, right?” She was referring to Detective Frank Jakes.
Boyfriend
always sounds strange at this stage of life, but he was a boy and he was my friend. Oh, whatever.

“Yeah, he’s a detective with the LAPD. Why? Are you in trouble?”

“It’s more than that. Much more.” She was really nervous and kept looking over her shoulder, sucking on her lower lip.

“Okay, soooo . . . ?”

Before she could answer, a very tall redheaded wood nymph or fairy interrupted us. I would guess she was a wood nymph. She had leaves strategically placed on her green-painted body, and a head covered with leaves and flowers. Maybe she was a tree branch. Or a green tomato worm.

“Shana! There’s a photographer taking pictures of all the Playmates from the eighties in the dining room. You were Miss September 1986. We need you!”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Just do it without me. Can’t you? I’m busy!” Shana snapped. “I’m talkin’ to someone.”

“You don’t have to be so mean.” Wood Nymph seemed hurt. “We need you. We have all the girls from ’eighty-six but you. It’s important to Hef.”

“Like Hef could give a shit!” Shana clearly didn’t want to go. She took George’s shot and tossed it down the hatch. Jeez, she could drink. But could she stand?

“I’ll be right back and I’ll tell you . . . everything.” She had a crazed look in her eyes. She pointed her finger at me and again said, “I’ll be right back! Twenty minutes or so. Okay? Right back.”

She took her fingers and plumped up her teased hair, licked her lips and put on a well-worn Playmate pout. She and the wood nymph made their way through the crowd on their wobbly stilettos, heading back toward the mansion. I didn’t know then that Shana’s fanny, covered in red fishnet pantyhose, would be the last I’d ever see of her . . . alive.

“Where’s Shana? And, more important, where’s my shot?” George was back and he looked a little sweaty.

“She had to do a quick photo op and took your shot with her. What happened to you, anyway?”

“That grotto is steamy. I’m not sure if it’s the hot water or all the naked people.” He wiped his forehead with a cocktail napkin. “And how rude is that Shana? I mean, really? Really?”

“Don’t take it personally. Turns out she has something bad going on and is interested in talking to Jakes about it. She’s going to explain when she gets back. Want another shot?”

“Honey, I want something more civilized. Helloooo! Mr. Bartender!” George waved over a bartender dressed as Zorro. “Where’s my Incredible Hulk? Oh, never mind. He was a snob. Nice pants, BTW. Cosmopolitan, please. Not so sweet . . . sweetie.”

George caught the look I was giving him.

“What? All this blatant heterosexuality brings out my inner Liberace. Now what do we do?”

“Well, we wait for Shana.” I made a face. “Want to dance?”

We both looked out at the dance floor. Lots of girls dancing with girls, guys dancing with girls. No Bo Peeps dancing with their sheep, however.

“What the hell? Let’s get our party on, girl!” George pushed me toward the dance floor.

I carefully made my way out into the crowd, trying unsuccessfully to avoid getting my high heels stuck in the grass. We found a spot and started shaking our groove things to some old-school disco. I was feeling kind of fabulous until my puffed-out skirt sideswiped a glass of champagne sitting on a nearby table. It went flying and landed on a guy dressed as a corpse. His hands had been all over a woman who appeared to be a good fifty years younger. I looked closer. He wasn’t dressed as a corpse. He was just
really
old. And he didn’t look too happy. I grabbed George.

“Let’s get out of here. I’m too dangerous!”

“Where to, Miss Bo Peep?”

We looked at each other. “The haunted house!” we said in unison.

I’m a big lover of being scared. I mean
safe scared
. The kind where you know it’s not real. I’d had my share of the real kind the past couple of years, and fake fear is better. George is always game for fun, so off we went.

We wended our way past the grotto, another bar and the buffet, being careful not to knock any grilled shrimp kebabs off the table with my skirt. After passing a dozen or so of the Porta Potties set up for the party and an area set aside for the two smokers left in Los Angeles, we ended up on the expansive front lawn. Smack-dab in front of the haunted house.

A blanket of fake fog covered the ground and crept up the walls of the newly erected building. Screams emanated from inside. There were only a few people in line, so our timing couldn’t have been better.

“Nice outfits.” A pimp and his hooker were looking George and me up and down. I assumed they were in costume, but who knew?

“Thanks,” I managed to say as we shuffled ahead with the line.

A couple of angels were behind us now, giggling as their boobs tried to make a run for it out of their skimpy costumes. As we got closer, I started to get excited. And nervous.

“I love this, Georgie! Now, don’t be a baby. Don’t scream and don’t grab me. Man up. Okay?”