Divas Las Vegas (12 page)

"Yes?" she asked, staring at Jacques and then the three
of us.

"My friends would love to meet you. Would you mind a
little company?" he asked.

"No sweat, sugar. Ya'll come on in." Well, she might not
have looked like Patsy anymore, but she sure as shootin'
sounded like her. My spirits were once again lifted.

"You were amazing, Miss Cline. What an incredible
voice. Thank you so much," I gushed. Thank goodness
it wasn't a Barbra or a Bette impersonator; I might have
fainted dead away.

"Please, darlin', call me Honey. Miss Cline's been gone
and buried for years now. But I surely thank you for the
compliment. Where you boys from?"

"San Francisco," the three of us answered.

"Ah, I see," she said knowingly.

Justin leaned in to Jacques and whispered something in
his ear. Then he leaned in to me and whispered, "I told him
I had a headache and asked if he'd walk me to our room for an aspirin. Once we're gone, you better find Mary." I
nodded my head in agreement.

Jacques said to her, "If you'll excuse us, Honey, Justin
and I have something to attend to."

"Oh, I'm sure you do, sugar," she said with a smirk, then
added, "You're awfully handsome, Justin. You an entertainer?"

"You could say that," he said, and left the room with
Jacques in tow.

"You boys care for a drink?" she asked Marvin and me,
once we were alone.

"You got any sarsaparilla?" I asked, completely drowning
in the whole Southern ambiance.

"Naw, darlin'. Just some good old Kentucky Bourbon.
Will that do ya?"

"Is a coon's ass fuzzy?" I responded.

"Now, I wouldn't rightly know about that, sugar, but I'll
take that as a yes." And she poured us each a healthy shot.
"Well, fellers, if there's nothing else I can do for ya-"

"Actually," I interrupted, "there is."

She looked bewildered at first, but then, after I explained
the whole story to her, she sat there grinning and nodding.
I hoped that was a good sign.

"My, my, my. Now, that is a mighty interestin' story.
Yessiree, Bob. Ma was sure surprised when that appraiser
told her what that vase was worth. Poor thing nearly had a
heart attack, but knew that wouldn't look too good in front
of the TV, so she stayed calm until that camera feller said
Cut. Boy howdy, then she started a-screamin'."

"So she still has the vase, then?" I asked.

"Oh, hell, no. She sold that thing the very next day."
(See, I told you they all do that.) "Didn't get nearly what
that appraiser said she would, though. Still, for a few bucks'
investment, she did pretty damn good. Excuse my French.
I'm sure sorry for you, Em."

"Well, it's not your fault. Do you mind me asking what
she got for it?" I asked, crestfallen that I had been so close
to finding it.

"Let's see now. I believe it was something like fifteen
thousand dollars. Ma's on the social security and all, so that
money was a godsend. She bought a new rocker first thing.
Just sits on her front porch a-rockin' and a-grinnin'. Bless
her heart."

"Could you tell me who she sold it to?" I asked, praying
that she at least knew that much.

"Sorry, sugar, sure can't. I wasn't with her at the
time. But tell you what, I'm going to visit her tomorrow
morning. She only just lives about an hour from here. You
fellers are more than welcome to keep me company on the
ride over there, and then me and Ma can take you to the
place she sold it at. I'm sure she'd be happy to help. Probably fix you a good home-cooked meal to boot. How's
that sound?"

"Well, ma'am, I'd say that sounds like a good plan.
Mighty obliged to you for your help," I answered, still with
a Southern twang of my own, which was highly persistent.
Once I started using it, I couldn't stop.

"Not me, ma'am, thanks," Marvin said. "I still have
work to do while I'm here."

That made me sad, as I was fast becoming attached to
him, even with the butter incident and all. But, then again,
I did have a date with Chris the next day; meaning a little
distance might do me some good.

We said our goodbyes to Honey. I gave her our hotel
room number and told her that Justin and I would be ready
for her when she got there. And then Marvin and I exited,
stage left. I'd always wanted to do that.

I have to say, I was disappointed that my vase was now
in someone else's hands, but at least we were still hot on
the trail. That was better than nothing. And a trip outside Vegas sounded exciting, seeing as I'd never been anywhere
else in Nevada before.

"Now what?" I asked Marvin as we stood in the hotel
lobby.

"Now you come back to my hotel and we do it right,"
he answered.

"No butter, no waiter, no booth?"

"No, no, and no. Just me, my bed, and some good oldfashioned spit. How's that sound?"

"Less fattening, that's for sure."

"As if you had anything to worry about."

"You're fast becoming one of my favorite people, Marvin.
Let's go. By the way, what hotel are you staying at?"

"The Bellagio."

"Make that my all-time favorite person."

THE NEXT MORNING I AWOKE FEELING OH SO RELAXED,
and sped back to my hotel, wanting to make sure that I
got there in plenty of time to hook up with Honey. I'd left
a message with Justin the night before and told him of the
forthcoming adventure in the Nevada wilderness, praying
that he received it and that he'd be capable of getting up at
such an early hour. Odds were against me, which is why I
forced myself to leave Marvin's side even sooner than I had
to. Not an enjoyable thing to do. I hadn't spooned like that
in ages.

But I did have my priorities in order, for a change. And
Marvin understood completely. Still, it was hard to leave
him, his king-sized bed, the lack of malodorous fumes, and
go back to our fishbowl. Oh, and don't worry, I'll fill you in
on the Bellagio later. Talk about fabulous.

I arrived back at the Atlantis with a good half hour to
spare. (So naturally I played the slots for ten minutes.) When I arrived at our room, I knocked on the door and waited,
just in case. I had no desire to catch Justin and Jacques in
flagrante delicto. (Look it up.)

"Come in," came a strange voice from behind the door.

"Oh, my God," I managed, surprised at whom I found
there.

"Oh, hi," said Justin, emerging from the bathroom,
newly washed. "You remember Ahmed, right?"

"Yes, nice to see you again, Ahmed," I said, shaking his
hand, and my head, in disbelief.

"Don't worry, Ahmed was just leaving and I'll be ready
in ten minutes," he said, throwing me a sly wink.

"No sweat," I replied, plopping down on my bed and
inhaling the familiar ghastly chlorine stench.

"Very stinky," Ahmed said to me, waving his hand in
front of his face.

"Very," I agreed.

A few minutes later, he was kissing Justin goodbye and
leaving-looking considerably less exotic without his silk
slacks, but still yummy, nonetheless.

"Poor, poor, Jacques," I lamented, once we were alone.

"Poor Jacques, nothing. This was not my doing."

"Come on, who are you trying to kid?"

"No, really. Jacques and I did come back here last night
after we left you, but when we got to the door Ahmed was
waiting for me. I had told him what hotel we were staying
at, and he knows someone who works here, and he got our
room number. Needless to say, Jacques was not amused
when we arrived and Ahmed threw his arms around me like
we were long-lost lovers. He stormed off in a huff, and I was
left with Ahmed."

"And, naturally, you didn't want to look a gift horse in
the mouth."

"Naturally. And speaking of horses, you should have
seen the size of his-"

"Never mind, Honey will be here in a second. Just get
dressed."

A few minutes later, Honey came a-knockin'. She was
dressed in Western-style jeans, a cowboy shirt, and a nifty
pair of boots.

"Come on in, Honey," I said. "We're ready to go."

"Phewee," she sang, "What is that awful smell?" The
ritual awful-smell-hand-wave soon followed.

We were getting used to the reaction, and did our poolpoint, in unison.

"You should get some flowers in here or something,
boys," she suggested. "That smell is plumb awful."

"You get used to it," Justin lamented, and, sadly, I
nodded my agreement.

"Okeydokey, then. But you fellers are gonna have to
change before we go. Those there ain't no ridin' clothes."

"Excuse me?" I said. "What do you mean, ridin' clothes?"

"You know, ridin' clothes. Those shorts and sneakers
ain't gonna work on the horses," she explained, much to
our city-boy chagrin. "Didn't I mention that yesterday? Ma
lives out on her ranch in the desert. If we drive, it'll take
something like three hours to get there, and most of the
roads are dirt. The horses will get us there in a jiff. Besides,
some of that clean desert air will do you boys some good."
There went that hand wave again. Anyway, by that point,
my lungs probably would've gone into shock if they came
into contact with fresh air. A few more weeks in our room
and I may have even grown a nifty pair of gills.

Justin looked less than happy at the thought of a horsey
ride, and said, "Well, you know, Honey, we're in no rush.
What's a few hours, right? The car is fine with us."

"Nonsense, the ride over there is beautiful, and I got
two extra-gentle horses for you fellers. Ain't no way we're
gonna drive. So get your long jeans on and some comfortable boots, and let's get a move on. Ma's a-waitin'."

How can you argue with that? So we obeyed and got
appropriately dressed. I was beginning to wonder if the
whole vase thing was worth it. I hadn't been on a horse
since I was a child, and for all I knew, Justin had never
been on one. My thighs were chafing in anticipation of the
journey that lay ahead of us.

Minutes later, we were in Honey's pickup truck and on
our way to a horse farm just outside the city. The look of
dread on our boyish faces said it all. This was not how we
expected to spend the day. And when we arrived at the farm,
my stomach sank even further. I kept trying to tell myself
that everything would be okay. Look, if a young Miss Elizabeth Taylor could ride that big Black Beauty, then I could
certainly ride for an hour through the desert. I kept telling
myself that, but it wasn't sinking in.

When we arrived, Honey parked the truck just outside
the farm, as vehicles were not allowed in. Then we hopped
a ditch and walked over to the stables. (And I thought our
room stank. Damn, it was funky in there.) Then we met our
horses. Mine was on the small side, thankfully, and was
white with gray spotting. She was cute and nonthreateninglooking. My fears were, for the time being, allayed. Justin
had a fine old stallion. He was big and brown and gloriouslooking. Funny how our horses matched us to a tee. Honey
assured us that both were fairly old and had very little fight
left in them, so we had nothing to worry about. But, in my
experience, it's always the quiet ones that you do indeed
need to worry about.

Honey introduced me to my horse first. "Em, this here is
No Name. They call her that because she doesn't answer to
anything else. Kinda stubborn, she is. But gentle as can be.
Hop on and let's see how you look up there."

Okay, that sounded easy enough. I put my foot in the
stirrup, heaved myself up, and threw my leg on over. "Look
at me," I shouted, "I'm Gene Autry!"

"More like Dale Evans," Justin said, mounting his horse,
Lancelot.

"Now, boys, you be nice," admonished Honey. I felt all
of eight years old again.

Honey spent a rather short few minutes giving us directions on how to ride. I nodded, but nothing was sinking in.
From the ground, No Name was a beautiful, gentle mare.
From eight feet up, she was a weapon of mass destruction.
My mass, that is. But I held my tongue and, before I knew it,
we were off. Honey, on a gorgeous white stud-oh, I should
be so lucky-took the lead, and our horses followed. I held
on to the reins for dear life and allowed myself to be carried
away. Not much else I could do, really.