Divas Las Vegas (26 page)

"Now what?" I asked, fairly trembling. Well, teetering
was more like it. Glenda had picked a pair of pointy-heeled
pumps for me. (Say that ten times fast.)

"Now we tuck our price tags into our outfits and stroll
out of here. I guess the outlets in Nevada don't worry about
those pesky security tags or are too cheap to bother. Let's
just count our blessings they don't have them," Justin whispered, heading out of the Gap first. Glenda and I followed
close behind. Thankfully for us, the store was busy and run
by gawky, uncaring teenagers, because we made it out of
there without even a sideways glance from anyone.

And when we strolled nonchalantly by our mysterious
followers, they didn't even notice us. (Let me tell you, being
gay certainly has its advantages sometimes. A straight man
could never have convincingly pulled off those heels.) My
heart nearly returned to normal once we were beyond their
range of sight.

"And the plan now?" I asked as we hurried into a Starbucks for a much-needed pick-me-up.

"Now? Now we continue with our original plan of the
day. Tabitha needs some new clothes, shoes, and accessories. And since these disguises seem to work to our advantage, I'd say that Marilyn needs some as well."

"Works for me," I replied. And it did. Shopping is the
ultimate cure-all. Even shopping for Marilyn had an immediate relaxing effect on me. And Glenda could give Imelda Marcos tips on shoe shopping. So the three of us, with our
double lattes, went hog wild at the Las Vegas Fashion Outlet
and completely forgot about those nasty men in black.

Almost.

We separated, to better maximize our energies. Justin
went off for slacks, dresses, and tops; Glenda for her precious
shoes; and me for accessories. I'm not ashamed to admit
that a fabulous bracelet gives me a hard-on. A marvelous
handbag can do the same. Hell, even a well-priced pair of
earrings can make me break out in a sweat. (Okay, maybe
I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but we all have our weaknesses, you know.)

I was admiring a darling little Gucci clutch, marked
down twice, and I got so nervous that I dropped it. Oops.
And while I regained my composure, I lost my balance and
went toppling over, landing on said purse and tripping one
of the men in black. Double oops. When I looked up and
beheld what I had done, I nearly panicked. I say nearly,
because it was obvious he didn't recognize me. And I looked
right into his eyes before we both got up, so I would've been
able to tell. Actually, he turned beet red when he saw that
he had knocked down a woman (or the next best thing), and
apologized profusely as he helped me back to my feet.

When he was satisfied that neither the purse nor I was
damaged (I was much more concerned about the purse than
myself. Did I mention that is was marked down twice?), he
very politely left. No chase scene. No stabbing, shooting,
beating. No nothing. And I, for one, was grateful. I had
finally fooled someone into believing that I was a woman.
The whole Zahir thing had given me my doubts.

And that's when I noticed it, sitting just beneath some
stunning Versace scarves that were hanging down from
a rack. I looked around to make sure he was out of sight
and then I gingerly bent down to retrieve it. The man had
dropped his wallet when we collided. Flipping it open, the first thing I saw was his badge and ID. It read: Detective
Randall Shelling, F.B.I. I don't know whether it was from
noticing that the scarves were half off or from it dawning on
me that the F.B.I. was following us, but I started to hyperventilate. And I got weak in the knees. And then I plopped
down on the floor and tried to catch my breath.

When I looked up to see if anyone had noticed my current
state, I spotted the detective coming back down the escalator. From my position, I was sure he couldn't see me, so I
crawled around the scarves, making sure to grab the prettiest one for myself, and hid my drag ass in the middle of a
circular rack that was overflowing with marked-down furs.
Now, normally, I'm opposed to the slaughter of animals for
their fur, but in this case I made an exception. After all,
now it was my own hide that was at stake. I sat huddled in
the middle of all those soft jackets and waited. And waited.
And waited some more. I didn't want to take any chances
of getting caught.

"Marilyn, oh Marilyn, where is your nelly self?" It was
Justin.

"I'm down here, you loud-assed queen," I replied, still
hidden down below.

Justin bent down to find me among the furs, and asked,
"Did we find a new way to shop for coats?"

"No, a new way to hide from the F.B.I."

Well, that got his attention. He too plopped down on
the floor and slid in among the coats. It was, fortunately, a
rather large rack, so we easily fit, even with the several bags
of merchandise he now had on him.

"Excuse me?" he asked, feeling the plush merchandise
around him.

"You heard me, F. fucking B. I." I flashed him the badge.

He took it from me and gaped in shock that it was now
in my possession. "As if we weren't in enough trouble," he
lamented, handing it back.

"Well, he did drop it. It's not like I took it or anything."

"No, but you didn't give it back to him either, did
you?"

"Not exactly, no. But it all happened so fast, and I was
shocked that he was who he was, so I hid here instead," I
explained, but realized how damning it sounded as soon as
I said it. Still, the less time spent with Detective Shelling,
the better. We didn't know what he and his friend wanted
with us, so I was playing devil's advocate and assuming the
worst. Hence my foray into the world of fashionably expensive coats.

A few seconds later, we could hear Glenda sing-songing
from somewhere close by, "Tabitha, oh Tabitha. Yoo-hoo,
Marilyn."

"In here," we said, just above a whisper, and rocked the
coat rack for good measure.

"Is this your version of the burning bush, only with fur?"
she asked, standing a few inches away from our hiding place.
She now had several boxes of shoes with her.

"Yes," Justin answered from within. "What's the password?"

"I have new shoes for both of you," she answered,
correctly.

"Please, do come in," Justin said, parting the coats to
make room for our companion. Now it was a tight squeeze,
what with the third person and three boxes of shoes.

"Did you guys lose your room at Caesar's?" she asked as
she tried to make herself comfortable.

"We'll tell you, but let's see the shoes first," demanded
Justin.

"Take a look at these," she said, lifting the lids off
her goods. There was one pair of stunning black-leather
Ferragamos, one pair of sexy burgundy demi boots from
Nine West, and an ultraglamorous pair of navy pumps from
Jimmy Choo. All three were stunning. (And I've seen my share of ladies shoes to know. How very sad.)

"They're gorgeous," Justin exclaimed, grabbing for each
one to get a closer look.

"And dirt cheap. Each for under a hundred bucks," she
said, beaming. We sat there awed by her success.

"I know, this place is amazing," I said, showing them
my purse and scarf, plus a few odds and ends I'd already
purchased. They oohed and aahed at my bargains as if they
were stolen treasures.

"And look at these," Justin said, adding to our fashion
melee. He whipped out several slacks, skirts, and blouses.
All were stunning and inexpensive.

Glenda and I whistled in amazement.

"Maybe we're living in the wrong town," she said.
"These are the fiercest bargains I've ever seen."

"Um, Glenda, were any of the men who waited on you
gay or at least reasonably cute?" Justin asked.

"Not that I noticed, no," she answered.

"Then we're not living in the wrong town," he retorted,
and we nodded our agreement.

"By the way," she said, after putting the shoes back in
their boxes, "why are we in this cavern of fur? You know
my opinion on that."

"Unavoidable detour," I told her, and flashed her the
badge. I was getting quite good at doing that. When I
explained how it came into my possession, she just waggled
her head and tsk-tsked me.

"Well, out of the frying pan and into ...into... Well, at
least it's something soft. Anyway, if it makes you feel any
better, we can get out of this rack. I spotted the Feds leaving
the store about five minutes ago," she informed us.

We gladly abandoned our new clubhouse for the spacious
environs of the mall. On our way out I purchased my darling
purse, scarf, and a few bracelets and clip-on earrings that I
found on the way to the counter. Justin's outfits were lovely and the shoes were great, but it's all about the accessories,
child. (Listen to your Auntie Marilyn.)

We three ladies, heavy with our shopping goodies, left
through a side entrance and cabbed it back to the Aladdin.
We agreed to leave all the clothes with Glenda, in case our
room was being watched. That way, no one would know
about our secret identities. Now we just had to keep Bart
from finding out as well, and all would be grand. We
hoped.

First thing I did when we got back to the Aladdin was to
go visit Zahir. Justin and Glenda went up to the room for a
nap. I was still high from our shopping spree and couldn't
even think about lying down. Besides, I was horny for my
desert lover.

"Oh, no," he said, seeing me approaching from the side
of the bar, "Why is Em in girl clothes again?" I filled him in
on the day's events. He was none too happy with the F.B.I.
thing. That meant, more than likely, that Ahmed was in
even bigger trouble than he thought. I hadn't even considered that, and felt truly awful for being the bearer of such
bad news, so I decided to make up for it a little.

Sitting on the side of the bar, and with no one else near
me, I ordered a frozen mai tai and flirted with Zahir. I
noticed Bart on the other side of the same bar, but he was
busy helping other customers, meaning Zahir and I were
relatively alone. Well, as alone as you can get in the middle
of a casino nightclub. Happily, it was still early and the place
was only sparsely populated.

"Um, Mr. Genie, sir, I have a big problem," I whined,
finishing my drink and lifting my skirt for him to see why
panties were definitely not made for men.

"My, my, pretty lady, that is a big problem," he whistled,
then added, "But I can definitely help you with it." He slid
something atop the bar and winked at me. When I looked
down, there was a lovely Aladdin key sitting on the counter. "Wait ten minutes, then go to the end of the hallway to the
left of the nightclub. There will be a door. Use the key, open
the door, and wait for me, just like you are now, and I will
help you with that problem of yours." He bowed.

I nodded my assent and shot him a wicked-ass grin just
before I slid my skirt back down and hid my obvious stiffy
with my purse. (Again, see how important those accessories
are?) Actually, I got it down just in time. Our nemesis, Bart,
approached from Zahir's left and peered down at me just as
I hid myself. Talk about your close calls.

"Well, now, who is this pretty lady?" he asked, giving
me the once-over. Normally, I'd be flattered, but seeing who
the compliment was coming from, I was... I was... Okay,
I'm vain, so I was flattered, but I barely gave him a smile in
return.

"This is um, er, Marilyn, Bart. She is a new friend of
mine," Zahir said, introducing me.

"Well, Marilyn, any friend of Zahir's is a friend of mine.
And if you have any pretty girlfriends, send 'em my way. All
are welcome," he said, repugnantly. I almost ignored the
comment until I remembered Plan B.

"Actually, Bart, I think I know someone who would be
just your type," I offered.

"You do?" Zahir asked, slightly taken aback.

"You do?" Bart asked, thrilled at the prospect.

"I do," I replied, proud of my quick thinking. "Her name
is Tabitha, and she's free tonight if you boys want to doubledate."

And before Zahir could think of a way to say no, Bart
readily agreed to my offer. I gave Zahir a look to indicate
that everything was all right and not to worry, but I could
tell he was plenty worried. For good reason, I'm sure, but
these were desperate times, and desperate times called
for ridiculously impossible measures. I told the boys we'd
meet them back at the nightclub at eight, politely excused myself, and went to search for my genie's private room.

That's when I got a tad confused. I mean, really, you
drink an enormous mai tai and see if you can follow directions. Did Zahir say to go to the left or to the right? So I
did what any half-drunk drag queen would do. I closed my
eyes, spun around, and then pointed. I ended up going to the
right. There was a door at the end of the hall, and I figured
I picked the correct room. The key worked, so I let myself in
and made myself comfortable. The room I was in appeared
to be a breakroom for, I supposed, hotel employees pulling
long shifts. I guessed that was why Zahir had a key.

Oh, by the way, did I say half-drunk? I realized, as my
new quarters spun dizzily around me, that I was very nearly
wholly drunk. But I did remember Zahir's command to
appear as I had on the stool, so I lay down on the bed, hiked
my skirt back up, and rested my head on the nice comfy
pillow. I guess I must've dozed off, because I awoke to a
very warm and wet mouth wrapped around my regained
woody. Yes, perhaps I should've opened my eyes to see who
it was, but I assumed it must've been Zahir. In other words,
I sat back and enjoyed the attention. It wasn't until I moaned
Zahir's name that I realized I had made a big mistake.

"Nope," came a voice from my crotch area.

Well, that shot me right up, drunk or not. That's when
that fickle finger (and tongue) of fate appeared again, and
they both belonged to none other than Chris. In all the
excitement, and I certainly had plenty of that, I had almost
completely forgotten about my hot dealer man.