Divas Las Vegas (27 page)

"Chris!" I shouted.

"Who the fu- Wait, Em? Is that you?" he shouted back.

"Yes! What are you doing here?" I asked, scootching
away from his slobbering mouth.

"I work at several casinos. Better question: What are
you doing here, and why are you dressed like that? And
who is Zahir?" Well, that was three questions and I wasn't prepared to answer any one of them. Shame really, I owed
him that much, but before I could answer, the door flung
open and Zahir walked on in.

"Did someone mention my name?" he asked, surprised
to find me there with another man. Though not half as
surprised as I was to be there with the two of them.

"What's going on?" they asked in unison, looking over
at me.

I demurely shrugged.

"Do you know this man?" they both asked, still looking
at me.

I nodded in the affirmative.

Well, that set Chris off. "Look, I don't know what game
you're playing, but I'm not into drag queens. (Could have
fooled me. He sure was going at my you-know-what pretty
well.) And I'm not into threesomes or mind games, so maybe
I should just leave."

Before I could object or even comment, Zahir interjected.
"Well, maybe you should."

"Fine, I will," Chris said, bounding off the bed and out
the door.

And another good man was out of my life. Listen, being
gay has its distinct drawbacks. We, and by we I mean me,
of course-though I'm not too sure about you-anyway, we
walk a thin line between wholesome ethics and complete
depravity. Some of us cross that line more than others, but
it always seems to be there, nonetheless, waiting for us to
make that leap. Lately, I'd been leaving that line far in the
dust. In any case, at least there was one man still standing
in my wake.

"I said to take a left, Marilyn, not a right," he said, when
we were alone again. Since he was grinning, I took it that he
still had his sense of humor.

"My bad," I oopsed. "Your mat tai got me all turned
around."

"So this is my fault?" he asked, closing the door and
hopping on the bed.

"Basically," I replied, again lifting my skirt. "But I forgive
you. Now how about that problem of mine?"

"Your wish, my juicy Marilyn, is my command."

And again I crossed that line, but lines are made to be
crossed, my friend. Aren't they?

Still in drag, and still a bit loopy from the booze but considerably more relaxed, I returned to Glenda's room to find my
friends in bed watching Absolutely Fabulous on Comedy
Central. The similarities between the lives of the television characters and our own were striking, right down to
the champagne bottle on the bed, the cigarette smoldering
in the ashtray, and the "Sweetie, darling" that greeted me
upon my entrance. What was more shocking, I discovered, after I glanced at the screen, was that Edina had a
purse quite similar to my own. Mere coincidence? Who
knows, but I took it as a good omen and joined my friends
on the bed.

"Let's see, now," Justin began, as soon as I was comfortable and a commercial was on. "Judging from that familiar
pungent odor that's coming off of you and that silly-ass grin
on your face, I take it that you did more than just have a
drink at the bar. What were you doing all this time?"

"Getting you a date with Bart," I announced rather
proudly. They both jumped up at the news.

"Nuh-uh," he said, and slapped me on the arm.

"Yuh-huh," I replied, and slapped him back.

"Oh, goody, another intellectual conversation," chimed
in Glenda, who was cradling her champagne glass should
we obnoxious boys knock it over.

"No, really," I said. "We're doubling tonight. You and
Bart and me and Zahir."

His face scrunched up, but then he obviously saw the genius in my plan. "Fine, just one question, Marilyn, darling."

"Which is?" I braced myself.

"Did you melt in his mouth or in his hands?"

"Oh, how droll. Now, if you don't mind, can we please
go back to our own hotel and take a nap before our big
date? All this undercover stuff is fairly exhausting," I said,
stifling a yawn.

"Yes, leave, already. You two are depressing me," Glenda
interrupted. "Here I am, a real, honest-to-goodness, attractive woman, and I have no one to go out with tonight. And
there you two are, completely unattractive faux women,
and you both have dates. And, even sadder, I'm bisexual,
so my chances should be doubled." She took a swig of the
champagne to drown her sorrows.

"Poor Glenda," said Justin as he rose from the bed to
get ready to leave. "Would you like to trade? Bart can be all
yours, sweetie."

"Nice try, just go," she said. "Besides, I've had no time
to do any gambling. Oh, that reminds me, give me some
money to go do some gambling."

"Sugar daddy to the rescue," I said, opening the door.
Justin reluctantly forked over a few twenties.

"Thank you," she said, gladly pocketing the bills. "I'll
make sure to pay you back should I win."

"Like that'll happen," he said, meeting me at the door.

We waved our goodbyes as Glenda added, "Now you
boys behave yourselves, and remember, no getting killed."

Words to live by, literally. I made a mental note of it.
Well, we were three against one, for the time being, so at
least our odds were getting better.

Of course, we still had to make it back to our rooms.
Sounded simple enough, right? Not so, my friends, not so.
No sooner had we made it to the lobby of the Aladdin than
we noticed an irate-looking Earl to our far left and the Feds to our far right. Caught between a rock and a hard place
(and not the good kind of hard place), we strolled gaily
forward and prayed that neither would recognize us in our
drag disguises. We were not so lucky. As usual.

First, when we got to the front entrance, those damn
COMDEX people were completely blocking the lobby with
their equipment and preventing us non-nerds from exiting.
We had little choice but to turn around and use the side
exit. Unfortunately, we had to walk by Earl to get there. My
guess was that he was waiting to see if Ahmed returned.
Wouldn't that have been a fortuitous event? I would've
loved to see Ahmed too, by that point. But it wasn't Ahmed
he was looking for, as it turns out-it was Zahir. And guess
who he recognized as we walked by? Yep, Zahir's date from
the previous night.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Don't I know you?" he asked as we
strolled by.

"No, I don't think so," Justin answered for me.

"Sorry, but your friend looks familiar. Weren't you in my
cab the other night with a tall, dark fellow?"

I decided on honesty for a change. "Oh, yes, I think I
was. You're name is Earl, right? Just like my father."

"That's right. Actually, I'm looking for your friend. I
have a message for him from his brother," Earl said, holding
up a folded-up note. "Could you tell me where I can find
him? I know he bartends here at the nightclub, but he's not
at work."

"Oh, um, sure. Actually, I'm seeing him tonight. Would
you like me to give him the message?" I asked, praying that
it would end our encounter before Earl could see through
our thin disguises.

He looked out at his waiting cab, then back at me.
Obviously, he was missing work by waiting for Zahir,
so he reluctantly accepted my offer once I promised to
give Zahir the message. I stashed the note in my lovely new purse, and he thanked me and sped away in his cab.

"Um, Earl has met Marilyn before?" Justin asked,
surprised that Earl had recognized me. I guess I neglected
to tell him about our chance encounter.

"Briefly, yes," I said, without explanation.

"I see," he said. "And what does that note say that he
handed you?"

Good question. I popped open my purse and took out
the note, but before I could read it, our two men in black
approached. Only one of them flipped us his badge-I guess
Detective Shelling couldn't get a replacement for his lost one
that fast.

"Ladies, can we take a look at that note?" asked the
detective I hadn't bumped into yet.

"Oh, sure, detective. Here you go," I said, handing him
the note. What choice did I have? I gulped as he read it.
Not a good thing to do when you're trying not to have your
Adam's apple show, but neither man looked up or noticed.
Thank goodness I had the forethought to use that wonderful
scarf I had bought earlier to cover said body part. (Again,
see how important it is to accessorize?)

Both men appeared embarrassed after reading it and
promptly handed it back to me. They apologized for
detaining us and excused themselves. We both found that
very strange, but gladly accepted their apology and started
out of the casino yet again. When the heat outside hit our
faces, we breathed a sigh of relief and started to walk in the
direction of our hotel.

I'm afraid we weren't out of the woods just yet.

"Ma'am, oh ma'am," came a voice from within the
casino. We both turned around to look and spotted the
detectives running our way.

"Uh-oh," said Justin under his breath.

"Yes, detective?" I asked, when they were standing in
front of us again. "Is there something else you'd like?"

"Actually, I was wondering if we'd met before," Detective Shelling asked me.

"No, I don't think so," I said, starting to sweat-not
so much from the Las Vegas heat as the thought of being
locked up in a federal penitentiary for stealing an F.B.I.
badge. Drag queens don't look good in horizontal stripes.

"Really? Because I never forget a face, and you look
awfully familiar," he said, inching in for closer inspection.
Too bad the circumstances were so lousy. He was damn
cute.

I paused to think of something, anything, to say to get
him to move away. My limited brain capacity was working
feverishly for an answer. Why did I look familiar? Why did
I look familiar? Why did I look-

"Randall? Randall Shelling?" I practically screamed at
him, and with my limp lady wrist pushed him away like we
were long-lost friends. (Sort of in that way Elaine does to
Jerry, in case you watch Seinfeld.)

"Ye-es," he said, trying to retain his balance from my
push and still attempting to place my face. "Do we know
each other?"

His partner looked at him strangely, and Justin looked
at me like I had finally cracked. (We both knew that would
happen sooner or later. I think Justin preferred later and not
in front of the F.B.I.)

"Why, Randall Shelling. Don't you recognize me? It's
me. Marilyn. Marilyn... Siegfried," I practically shouted,
mostly from shock at hearing my own voice spewing all that
out. (Oh, and I was looking up at the Mirage sign when I
said it, which is how I came up with the last name. Don't
worry, I didn't introduce Justin as Tabitha Roy. That might
just have given us away.)

And still Detective Randall looked at me quizzically.

"Oh, come on now. You know, from school," I continued,
praying that I was going in the right direction.

"From Auburn?" he asked.

"Go War Eagle!" (Don't ask me where I got that one
from. I guess my brain can pull out some practical bit of
knowledge when it's facing a long jail sentence.) I raised my
fist in the air and lifted my thigh up so he'd think I was a
cheerleader. (A girl can dream, can't she?) The overall effect
was, to say the least, bewildering.

"Marilyn? Marilyn Siegfried? Oh...um...yes, of course.
I remember you now. How have you been?" Thank God he
was too embarrassed at having not recognized me to admit
that he really didn't recognize me.

"Oh, Randall, you old flirt. It's good to see you," I said,
again slapping his brawny chest. Justin looked on in amazement. "You're still the same old Randall, aren't you?" Again
he stared at me strangely. I looked over at his partner and
asked, "Is he still flashing women in public with his, er, billy
club? That's how we met. Isn't that right, Randy?" I stroked
his lapel with my index finger and gave him a sly wink. That
did it.

"Well, Marilyn, it was nice seeing you again. Sorry for
inconveniencing you. Please, go back to doing whatever it
was you were doing," he said, very nervously, then turned
away, pulling his gaping-mouthed partner along with him.

When they were gone from earshot again, Justin, also
gaping-mouthed, turned to me and said, "Em, good buddy,
the student has just become the master." And he gave me a
slight bow.

"Just don't expect a repeat performance," I said, locking
arms with him and walking rapidly away from there, lest
our new friends return. "That was my one great, shining,
original moment. All remaining brain cells are now officially exhausted."

When we were halfway back to Caesar's, and the shock
had worn off a bit, he turned to me and asked, "What
exactly did that note say that would make two F.B.I. agents blush and run away? I doubt Ahmed is sleeping with his
brother."

"Good question," I said, and pulled out the note. Once
I read it I knew immediately what had happened. "No, but
his brother is sleeping with me."

The note I had pulled out of my fabulous new purse (no,
I never get tired of saying that) to show the detective was
the note Zahir had evidently passed to me just before we
parted the first time around. It read: Marilyn, until we see
each other again, please keep your bush out of the bushes.
Cannot wait to fill your hole again. Sweet, if not a tad
raunchy. Just how I like it. I could see why the Feds turned
red after reading it.

"What's that about?" asked Justin, strumming his fingers
on his dimpled chin. "As if I couldn't guess."

"Whatever, Mary," I said, waving the three-fingered
"whatever" sign at him. "Just be glad I didn't pull out
Ahmed's note instead."

"Agreed," he agreed. "Now, what does that note say?"

"Ah, a good purse always has more than one inside
pocket. Now let's see... Okay, here it is," I said, pulling out
the other note and reading it aloud. "Zahir, I am in trouble.
Need your help. Please meet me in the garden at Caesar's
Palace at noon tomorrow. Your brother, Ahmed."