Putting the Madge in Danna (11 page)

This is an awful feeling. I need a paper bag
to breathe into or something. I don’t lie to Zeus, as I’ve
mentioned. I’m sure you’re wondering, why doesn’t she carry a cell
phone? I don’t for the obvious reason that I don’t want Mama Zepkos
hounding me minute by minute. Not just her, but anyone who wants to
intrude on my privacy. Not Zeus, you know, but still. It is a
little weird to have people up your ass every minute, don’t you
think? And then, if you let it go to voice mail, people will wonder
if you are avoiding them or something, and they’ll get mad. It’s a
damned if you do, damned if you don’t scenario.

But this time, I kind of
wished I had taken Zeus’ advice and picked one up at
Best Buy
when they were
having that sale. I wouldn’t have missed the call that came at
seven in the morning. I could have reiterated my insistence that
Zeus promise me he would never leave on an overseas work assignment
without me by his side, especially when he’d mentioned another
small earthquake. I needed to yell at him for leaving me like this,
since I have been such a bad, bad girl.

He had left that message
plus he’d said that his parents are planning to host the rehearsal
dinner at Eli’s on Friday the
28
^th
, instead of the night before the wedding, so that he can go
on with his American-style bachelor party plans in the city on
Saturday night. That’s fine, because my parents and I had already
discussed it, and Gina had already put the deposit on the hotel
rooms we are using for the bachelorette bash on the same night. Of
course, I trust Zeus – I doubt he’ll engage in strip clubs, and
finding girls in cakes. And he’s never had a hangover the size of
mine right now. He has incredible integrity, about as much as my
dad does, and that’s a lot….

Okay, I just puked. I prayed to the
porcelain god and afterwards I drank a giant Virgin Mary. Then I
took a shower, although now I’m back in my little nightie, sitting
on the sectional with the laptop on the armrest, pointing my hooey
towards the air conditioner. I’ll be okay, I think, as soon as I
quit worrying - and rehydrate.

I met Margot at Jasmine’s last night. It was
late – the store had officially closed for the evening. I actually
waited for Jasmine to drive off in her old Caddy before I ventured
in. Kind of felt like a thief or something out of a TV Land
detective show - a cuntessa thief. Zeus calls my hoo-ha the
cuntessa sometimes, which is his way of calling me a princess.

Margot let me in through the back door then
took my hand and led me to the podium. My dress hung on the hook by
the mirror. It is so architectural in design that it almost doesn’t
even need a body in it. I really love it.

“
I finish clean, okay?”
she said. I nodded yes. I didn’t want to distract her from her
store duties, and it goes without saying that I wasn’t going to
help.

I sat down and opened the
shoebox. Those Jimmy Choos are really spectacular! Worth every
penny that my mother paid for them. Margot vacuumed the front of
the store as I put them on. I rose and proceeded to do a bit
of
Never on a Sunday
. Love the way the shoes sparkle when I do the
stomp-swoosh.

When Margot returned, she helped me disrobe,
which was easy since I was wearing another sundress, this one a
maxi length floral with smocking at the boobsies. She pulled gently
on the strapless top and it slid right off. This time I did not
bother with panties of any sort. Thought it would better put me in
the sex-mode mood if I felt my hooey freely dribble moistness down
my thigh. I had briefly considered shaving my mon-mons for the
occasion, thinking it worked the lez-lez theme, but that would have
looked weird on me. I certainly don’t want to look like a child on
my wedding night. I’ll save that look for when I go gray in thirty
or forty years.

I looked at myself, all nudie-toons and
stilettoed, and I thought I looked very sexy, I must say. I wore my
hair in bed-head fashion, long and messy-like. I kept my make-up to
a fresh faced minimum so all that competed with those fabulous
shoes was my Asscher cut diamond engagement ring, which sparkled
like Glinda’s wand.

“
Maybe too skinny, you
are,” Margot said.

“
I’ve been working out.”
Had she found me unattractive? I was kind of thinking I was about
to give her a gift, you know, and I guess I almost felt insulted.
She is a very slender woman herself, so I was very surprised by the
comment at first. But then I saw her blushing and I took it as a
sign. It was simply small talk to avoid a jumping bones escapade,
no more. It was probably fair to assume that even lesbians like a
bit of foreplay before the big hurrah.

“
Do I look thinner than
last time?” I asked.

“
Done worry bout it,”
Margot said as she helped me into the gown. “We can fix dress.
Always fix.”

She zipped it up and
affixed the pearl buttons into their respective loops. I stared at
myself in the mirror while Margot fastened me in. She was very
adept at pulling tightly the strings of the corset part. I know it
sounds stupid to say that the dress fit like a glove but really – I
mean, I took deep breaths and it moved with me like swimwear. The
refitted Alexandre gown looked incredible on me, if I do say so
myself. Despite my preference for something sexier, it is a
suitable and appropriate garment for the Orthodox Church and for
the reception at Eli’s, the restaurant and banquet hall Dad owns.
The train is long, but not so much that I couldn’t maneuver it. I
decided to walk around the store. I met Margot at the register. She
held my veil in her hands. Together we strolled back to the mirror
and she placed it on my head. My hair wasn’t styled the way I plan
to wear it on August 30
^th
, but the effect was still
transformative. I started to cry. Margot kneeled down to adjust the
train the way it would look for the photographs.

“
I feel so bridey,” I
said. “I can’t believe I’m actually a bride. Why am I crying?” My
guess was that everything seemed way more real, now that the dress
fit. Mom had cried when we’d selected it, even though I had these
creepy giant hair clip thingys pulling it against my back. The
original sample had been at least three sizes too big.

I tried to think funny thoughts. I didn’t
want the costume to have so much power in case I spilled Diet Coke,
wine or cum down the front of it. Then I would really cry.

“
Bu-ti-ful,” Margot
announced as she clapped her hands with glee. “Sexy, but without so
much toot-toot.”

I said, “Do you really think it looks sexy?
I don’t know.”

Margot rose from hands and knees formation.
She put her fingers together and kissed them then placed the wet
digits on my cheeks. “I dunno prettier bride. Sweet girl.”

It was as if we had shared a moment or
something. Margot became like a surrogate mother in a way. A
profundity overtook me and I wondered if this seemed in any way
similar to a lesbian connection. Not about hoo-has and prickers,
but emotional stuff, like compassion and love. I still feel a
little confused by the sensation, truth be told, because it had
something to do with Madonna. I looked into Margot’s blue eyes and
I saw her. I saw my pop-idol as though her spirit had performed a
hop in into my seamstress, and I’d somehow fallen into my dream. I
tried to shake it off because it kind of scared me.

“
Okay then,” I said as I
tried to get at the buttons to unburden myself of the lace
encrusted polyester. “Pack it up and I’ll take it to my parents’
house. That’s where I’ll be getting dressed for the
wedding.”

“
Greek wedding,” Margot
said.

“
Yes.”

“
I think one more fitting
and we make it perfect,” she added as she held the gown. “Sexy girl
might lose more weight from bang-bang.”

“
All right, Margot,” I
replied. “But I doubt I’ll lose any more weight. I’m always hungry,
and Zeus isn’t in town, so, you know.” I pointed to my hooey and
made a sad face then I looked at her expression. Her eyebrows kind
of rose up in one of those
oh,
really?
poses. I hesitated at first. Could
I actually do this, I wondered? Then I smiled and before I could
stop myself I said, “Girl bang-bang?”

“
Ya, ya. She bang it,”
Margot replied and laughed. I looked to my left then right like a
coconspirator – making sure no one else was around. I hated to
think a secret hidden camera was capturing any of this – and if it
were, then I’d have grounds to sue due to my nakedity.

Margot covered her mouth with her hand as
though it embarrassed her to be attracted to me. I didn’t want her
to think I felt sexually harrassed by her interest, so I removed
it, gently, and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. When I moved
away, she remained eyes-closed lingering in the kiss as if it was
the kiss of life. That gave me the confidence I needed to
continue.

“
You do great work,” I
said. “I can come back next Thursday for the last fitting, if that
works.”

“
I check the book,” she
said. Margot rushed to get the appointment book by the desk and
moved her finger down the calendar. “Jasmine will be
here.”

“
That’s great,” I said.
“I’ll bring my mom.”

I think Margot seemed a bit saddened.
Perhaps she had thought our encounter had ended? That’s when I
asked her out.

“
Are you hungry, by any
chance?”

Margot and I ended up going to Tully’s
because she had wanted to watch some World Cup soccer game. I used
my credit card to buy the drinks, beer for me and seltzer water for
Margot. I tend to drink beer at sports bars. Let the venue fit the
alcoholic beverage, I always say, and Tully’s wasn’t exactly Ouzo
country.

We had burgers and fries, but I couldn’t
stomach mine because I was so nervous. I wasn’t sure how to behave
on this date – would Margot expect more emotional talk? Would she
appreciate my knowledge of everything Madonna? Where would I find
common ground with her?

As I kept drinking on a
fairly empty stomach, I stopped fussing once Margot became
engrossed in the soccer game, because the date became very similar
to a typical Sunday afternoon with Zeus. We watch a lot of soccer
on
ESPN
or live,
when Zeus plays a pick-up game with his college buddies or the guys
from church, you know, when he’s not in Japan or otherwise
traveling.

Okay, so I got wasted. I plied myself with
drinks. Isn’t that what gay people did? I mean closeted gays,
naturally. I heard they tended to drink a lot due to their extreme
shame for liking same sex couplings so much. Or was that just
dudes? I don’t really know, I’m only going on hearsay from the
mouth of the always opinionated Kathy Duke-Dike. My apologies to
any of you closeted gays out there for my ignorance. I promise you,
I’m not a big drinker. I hope you don’t think badly of me. I do
care what you think, bloggers. It’s just that I had never done this
before, and I wasn’t sure I even wanted to go through with it until
I got hammered. Because the drunker I was, the more Margot became
Madonna.

Margot helped me into her car. I was
borderline pukish at that point. Her little Hyundai sputtered about
and almost stalled a couple times. I think she didn’t do well with
stick shift. I imagine that’s because it is a phallic symbol. What
do you think?

Holiday
played on the radio. Another omen. It will
definitely be playing at my wedding. The Greek band can even do it
Greek-style. I sang at the top of my lungs, as if I was trying to
beat the favorite on
Idol
or impress a record producer.

“
Madonna make sexy with
girl but she no like,” Margot said.

“
I don’t know about that,”
I replied. “She’s very pro
the gay
movement
. I’m sure she enjoyed it very
much.” I kissed her stick-shift hand. She kind of shrugged me off
so she could have it back to use.

“
Danna, you no like
girls,” she said.

“
But I do,” I said. “I
really do. I have heaps of girlfriends. And we kiss – oh, and
shower together whenever we can.”

I was referring to that time my college
roommates met Zeus and me in Athens one summer. Zeus hung out with
his uncle’s family while we went to a spa and there was that big
shower room. Technically, it wasn’t a gay experience, but it still
counted, I thought in my drunkenness.

We drove back past the bridal shop - I saw
my Accord in the lot where I’d left it - then around the corner
onto Lincoln Street. Margot lived in a studio apartment above
Milano Bakery. The smell of hot Italian bread soothed my queasy
stomach. I love Italian bread. Every morning my dad gets bread from
the restaurant from Milano’s and sometimes, on his way home from
work, he’ll drop off a loaf at my apartment. I love to tunnel out
the inside and save the crust for when I eat soft-boiled eggs. Do
you do that?

I wish I had a loaf of bread right now and
maybe some orange juice. I think I’ll call Dad later and see if he
could stop over with some. Mom and Dad always come right over if I
tell them I’m sick. They are very loving parents. But if I call
them now, they’ll probably want to hop out on another real estate
outing. I don’t want to look at houses in the suburbs for Zeus and
me without him – I’ve told them that a thousand times. My apartment
is plenty roomy for the two of us, at least for a little while,
probably twice the size of Margot’s.