Divas Las Vegas (23 page)

The main entrance to the building is the two-story Doge's
Palace. The first floor takes you into the casino and the
second into the Grand Canal Shoppes, which I'll get to in a
bit. Either way you go in, or even if you enter through the
side, which is the hotel entrance, you're greeted to spectacular ceiling murals and lots of gilt. (That's gilt, as in covered
with gold, not guilt, which is what I was feeling for tricking
poor Zahir.) The casino is lavish and large, and everything
serves to make you believe that you're in Venice. From the
murals to the rugs to the furniture, they don't spare a euro
to bring you the real deal. But what really brings it on home
is the Grand Canal Shoppes.

If you can't make it to Venice, this has got to be the next
best thing. You enter into a space with a tranquil, cloud covered blue ceiling overhead and beautiful marbled floors
beneath. Between heaven and earth are faux houses, palaces,
storefronts and, the piece de resistance, a canal running
down the center of the whole thing. And running up and
down the canal are sleek gondolas manned by opera-singing
gondoliers, and tacky tourists being serenaded by them. The
ambience of the place, combined with the music and the
sense that you're outdoors, really makes you feel relaxed
and awed at the same time. When you reach the center of
the mall, you are treated to a large open plaza surrounded
by wonderful restaurants and fake two-story buildings.
Honestly, it's magical, in an unreal sort of way.

And here is where my date, also somewhat magical,
continues.

"The canals of Venice, they are beautiful, no?" Zahir
asked, in his dreamy accent.

"No, um, I mean yes, they are," I answered, languishing
in his sexy presence.

"Though not half as lovely as you," he added.

Just my luck to meet a straight man with charm and good
looks. Why couldn't I meet gay guys with lines like that? I
was falling for his magnetism when I should've been finding
out what he knew about Bart. But then again, I figured, I
had all night. Why not enjoy the moment?

"Oh, Zahir, you are such the sweet talker," I said, nearly
blushing. Though through all the makeup, I'm sure it was
impossible to tell.

"It helps when you are with someone as lovely as yourself."

Damn, he was good. With that little number, I allowed
him to hold my hand again as he walked me to Lord knows
where. Actually, that's about when I started wondering
exactly where he was taking me. We'd walked almost to
the very end of the mall when it dawned on me what he had
planned. Needless to say, I was not thrilled at the prospect.

"Um, Zahir, you're not planning what I think you're
planning, are you?" I nervously asked.

"Why not, my dear, is it not romantic?" he responded,
surprised at my obvious apprehension.

"Oh, yes, it's romantic all right. It's just that I hardly
know you," I Justified.

"Well, then, this will give us a good chance to get-how
you say?-acquainted," he countered. By then, arguing
seemed moot, as we were already in line. He had made the
requisite reservation beforehand, and I couldn't decline,
politely or otherwise. So I agreed, and decided to make
the best of things. Why not? It was just a little boat ride,
right? A boat ride, trapped, on the water, in a mall, on a
thin, tiny boat in drag and in front of hundreds of strangers.
Oh, joy.

Moments later, we were climbing aboard our authentic
white-and-gold gondola and introducing ourselves to our
authentic white gondolier, Gino. And then we were off. I
don't know about you, but traveling down a man-made
canal, through a mall, and under a fake sky is not my idea
of relaxing, even under the best of circumstances, which
these clearly were not. But Zahir looked decidedly happy,
so I sat wrapped in the crook of his arm as Gino started to
serenade us with something operatic. Well, that's the way
things were going, anyway, until...

"So, Zahir, I've seen Ahmed," I mentioned, casually, to
start the ball rolling-forgetting, of course, that Marilyn had
no way of knowing who Ahmed was. But the wig was tight,
and I was confused. More confused than normal, that is.

Unfortunately, ball rolling led to boat rocking.

"Where he is?" Zahir shouted as he leaped up and looked
anxiously down at me. That, of course, ended the evening's
serenade. Especially when I jumped up to try and get Zahir
to sit down. Now Gino had two distraught people dangerously standing up and moving about.

"He's safe," I shouted, trying to push Zahir back into his
intended seat.

"That is fine. Now tell me where he is." Again he was
shouting, causing most of the tourists around us, on both
sides, to come over to the wall to get a better look. I'm sure
we were offering the best free show in town. Why pay a
hundred bucks for a performance when you can watch a
floating domestic dispute for nothing?

"Okay, okay," I shouted back to him, "I'll tell you, I'll
tell you. Just please sit down. You're rocking the damn boat,
Zahir!" But it was too late. Too late for our gondolier, that
is. Our shenanigans weren't only rocking the boat, they
were veering us off our intended course. And with Gino
trying hard just to stay upright, he was no longer steering
us forward. When we rammed into the wall to our right, he
went flying into the water, shouting Italian obscenities at us
the whole way. Poor guy. In Venice, his customers must've
been better behaved.

"Okay," Zahir finally agreed. "I sit now. But you promise
you tell me or we stay out here all night."

"I promise, I promise," I promised, and sat down. He
followed suit.

But then we had a new problem. We now had two
behaved, seated riders and no one to drive the boat. Or row
the boat, as the case may be. Gino, fed up with the both of
us, was sloshing through the two feet or so of water and was
headed for the stairs on the other side of the canal, leaving
us ever so stranded.

"Come back, Gino, come back," I shouted over to him,
sounding like a bad Italian movie. (I felt like an overly done
up, decidedly homelier Gina Lollobrigida.)

"Come back, Gino, come back," echoed Zahir. "We be
good now."

"Come back, Gino, come back," the crowd yelled from
above, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. But it was too late. Gino was already up the stairs and on his way back
to wherever it was authentic gondoliers go when they've
had enough of inconsiderate Americans. (Of course, Zahir
wasn't an American, but you get my point.)

I turned to look at Zahir and shrugged, but rather
than appearing concerned, or even pissed, he was grinning and looking deep into my eyes. Then he did something completely unexpected. Actually, he did two things
completely unexpected. First, he leaned in and planted a big
wet one on my lipsticked lips. What did I do? I kissed him
back. It seemed like the Italian thing to do. Next, he jumped
up, grabbed the rowing thingamajig, and started us moving
on our merry way again, with the by-then-enormous crowd
cheering us on.

And when we reached the end of the canal, where the
gondolas usually turned to go back up the way they came,
and where the gondolier would briefly stop to serenade the
audience, Zahir stopped, reached out to take my hand, and
started to sing, at full voice and in his deep, rich accent,
"I Got You, Babe." Caught up in the moment, I stood up
and sang Cher to his Sonny. Western culture had apparently
made its way to the Middle East.

The mob around us was applauding at full throttle and
throwing change into the canal. What an enormous waste
of slot quarters, I thought, but I bathed in the adulation,
nonetheless. Far be it from me to lecture the masses.

Then, with our duet over and the crowds returning to
wherever it was they were headed in the first place-oh, those
fickle fans-Zahir rowed us back to our starting point. The
other gondoliers gave us nasty looks as we passed by, but
Zahir seemed not to notice. He was intent on staring at me
and getting us both back safely at the same time. My hero.
I was just glad that we hadn't followed Gino into the water.
My disguise wouldn't have held up well. Still, it might have
been funny to see the reaction from the spectators above.

My reverie was cut short, however, when we docked and
were thrown back into reality. And the reality was this:
Security at the Venetian was not overly happy with us. With
a modicum of subtlety, they politely escorted us out of the
shopping center and back to the street. That was fine by me.
I was plenty over the Venetian by that point, anyway. There
was one thing I forgot to do though, and it put me in a bit
of a dilemma. Well, there were really two things I forgot.
One, I didn't get a chance to find out Zahir's connection to
Ahmed. And two-

"Urn, I think I should've used the little girl's room
first, Zahir. My teeth, like those gondolas back there, are
floating," I said, rubbing my thighs together to indicate my
need to pee.

"Ali, that is a problem, Marilyn. I don't think is a good
idea to go back in this hotel anymore tonight. Do you want
to try to make it across the street to Treasure Island? There
is a restroom near the entrance, I believe," he offered, and I
nodded a yes as I started to speed-walk across the street. But
then something that could only happen in Vegas prevented
us from achieving our intended goal.

"Goddamit!" I shouted, very unladylike, as we suddenly
encountered the crowd that had gathered in the street and
on the sidewalk to watch the nightly Siren spectacle that
made Treasure Island famous. Now, normally, I'd have been
thrilled to watch actors cavorting aboard ships and raising
hell for the appreciative tourists, but I really had to go
tinkle. Badly. And it would've taken forever to get through
the crowd. Luckily, my hero came to the rescue yet again.

"I know where we can go. You follow me," he said, grabbing my hand and leading me around the crowd to the side
of the hotel. When we arrived at a dark corner with nothing
but bushes in front of us, my need to pee was replaced by
my need to flee. Going to the bathroom in front of Zahir
seemed not the best of ideas.

"Oh, well... Oh... You see, Zahir, er, I'm what you
call-" I stammered.

"Pee shy?" He finished my train of thought.

"Yes, that's it," I said. "Pee shy."

"Nonsense, Marilyn. You go pee right here and I will
not look," he said, pushing me into the bushes.

Well, he didn't have to tell me twice. My bladder was
about to burst. Besides, I could just as easily squat as stand,
and he'd never know the difference. So I ambled forward,
found a nice spot between two bushes, crouched down,
pulled my panties to the ground, and let go with a nice,
powerful stream. Aaaahhh.

"Oooohhh!" I shouted, as Zahir joined me in my precarious position.

"I missed you, Marilyn," he whispered. We were face to
face when he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to mine.
And still I continued to pee. That is, until...

"Wh-what are you doing?" I asked, feeling Zahir's hands
on my hips. He was gently raising my skirt. That shut my
bladder right off. Nothing like the fear of getting beaten to
a pulp to stop the flow of things, so to speak.

"I am touching your hips, Marilyn," he sighed, never
taking his deep brown eyes off me.

"That's fine, just please keep them there," I said, sternly,
so he'd get the point.

He didn't. "So I can't do this?" he asked, moving his
hands to the bunched-up material around my thighs.

I grabbed his hands before he could make it to my honey
pot, and again told him to cease and desist. He responded
by swirling his tongue around my neck and earlobe. That
felt too good to tell him to stop. Besides, it was way dark
and there was no chance that he could see my rigidness,
which was now standing straight out and was barely being
covered by my dress anymore. Unfortunately, when my
instincts kicked in and my hands let go to reach for his crotch, he again went for my G-spot. Though now, the "g"
stood for gay.

"My, Marilyn, what a big dick you have," he said,
giggling.

I nearly jumped out of my pantyhose, but instead fell
backward into one of the bushes, panties around my ankles
and dress flung up around my waist. My heart was racing,
and I would've run for dear life had I not been in such
disarray (and in the midst of a rather thick bush). I prayed
that if he was about to pulverize me, he'd be so kind as to
not disfigure my face. My body I could cover up.

But I was quick to discover that he had completely other
intentions. My first clue was that he was rolling on the
ground, howling with laughter. Not a sign that he was upset
with my little charade.

When I had regained enough composure to speak to him,
I asked, "And what are you laughing at?"

"Oh, Marilyn, I am sorry, but I am laughing at you,"
he said, relapsing into his laughing fit. I was not amused.
Relieved, yes, but amused, no.

"So you knew all along?" I asked.

He stopped laughing long enough to say, "Oh, yes.
You are not a very pretty woman, but you are a very cute
man."

Okay, I wasn't so angry anymore. "So why did you let
me go through all that?" I asked, and then scootched out of
the bush and closer to him.

"Because I needed to find Ahmed. You were my only
hope, dress or no dress," he replied, regaining his composure. "Ahmed is my brother and he's in trouble. And since
you promised to tell me where he is, there was no longer a
need for you to be a woman. I am sorry, Marilyn, but I very
much love my brother and I have to find him."

The tenderness in his voice was melting my heart, but
I had to wait just a bit longer before I could find out what kind of trouble Ahmed was in. Seems that even in the dark,
Zahir's proficient hands had once again found their way
beneath my dress, and he was gently stroking that sweet
spot betwixt my thighs.