He kissed my forehead, let me go, walked in the bathroom and shut the door.
I turned, straightened his boots and folded his sweater and put it on the bed.
“Your Dad is a nut if anyone’s a nut, he thinks my parents are interesting. Interesting! That’s just plain crazy,” I told Shamus who sat by the bed, staring at me and wagging his tail. “He hasn’t called them nuts and they are nuts.”
I put on my underwear and then spritzed with Boucheron and carried on talking to Shamus. “As soon as Billy’s caught, I’m taking you out to play Frisbee. If you don’t know how, I’ll teach you. I’m good with Frisbees. Gil and I used to play in the front yard all the time. We’ll go and buy like, ten of them just in case they get lost in trees or something. You and me will be Frisbee freaks. We’ll enter competitions. They’ll do documentaries about how good you are with Frisbees. You’ll be the Frisbee Dog King.”
I figured Shamus was in to the Frisbee gig as he got up on all fours and his body started shaking with his tail, his excitement was so great.
I leaned over him and gave him a full body doggie rub.
“I’d take you tomorrow, but Billy’s still out there and I don’t think Luke would like the whole Frisbee idea. He doesn’t seem the Frisbee type,” I told Shamus.
I heard a noise and turned my head to see Hank standing in the bathroom doorway, shoulder leaned against the jamb, belt undone, jeans mostly undone, socks gone, watching me.
“Frisbee Dog King?” Hank asked.
Oh shit.
Okay, so maybe I was a nut.
I straightened, looked to Hank and Shamus sat on my feet.
“Come here,” Hank said softly.
“No,” I told him. “I have a feeling you’re going to ruin my hair.”
“Come here,” Hank repeated.
“No, Hank. It took me forever to do my hair.”
“Sunshine…”
“Oh, all right.”
I had to go to the other bathroom to fix my hair.
* * * * *
Once I finished fixing my hair, I helped Dad tie his new bow tie to his new tux. This took me six tries. These six tries were interrupted by Mom slapping my hands away and trying to tie it six times herself. Then, I slapped her hands away and tied it on the second go of my second attempt.
“Don’t know why I need to own a tux,” Dad grumbled, pulling at his collar.
“Herb, we talked about this,” Mom said.
“We didn’t talk about it,” Dad returned. “You just upped and bought it. I’ve worn a tux twice. To my senior prom, and you were my fuckin’ date, and to our wedding, and you were my fuckin’ date to that too. I’m fifty-eight years old and, counting today, I’ve worn a tux three times in my life. I don’t need to own one.”
My Dad was as cheap as they come. He’d pinch the last drop of blood out of a penny (if a penny had blood). Unfortunately for him, my Mom spent money like it grew on trees. I knew that day shopping had been pure torture for him. The tux was just plain cruel.
“You have two daughters who, pray to the Sweet Lord Jesus, will get married one day. You’ll need a tux for their weddings,” Mom pointed out.
“Mimi says she’s gettin’ married in Vegas. I don’t need a tux for that, I need a pair of shorts and a Hawaiian shirt and I’ve got, like, twelve of those.”
Mom whirled on Dad and, aghast, she exclaimed, “You are not wearing a Hawaiian shirt to Mimi’s wedding, I don’t care if it’s in Vegas.”
“I am,” Dad said.
“You are not,” Mom replied.
“Yes… I… am!” Dad repeated.
“Guys –” I tried to butt in (and failed).
“Well, Roxie isn’t getting married in Vegas. Roxie’s going to have a designer wedding. You’ll need a tux for that,” Mom said.
This was true. I was going to wear Vera Wang and Manolo shoes. I was going to have shrimp cocktail (not those little, useless shrimps but the meaty king prawn ones) and I was going to spend ten thousand dollars on flowers; there were going to be flowers everywhere. I told them about the flowers and shrimps when I was eight. They’d been saving ever since.
“The way she and Hank’re going, Roxie’ll be knocked up in a few months. It’ll be a shotgun wedding and she’ll have to get a dress from JC Penny.”
Both Mom and I gasped.
“Dad!” I shouted just as Mom yelled, “Take that back, Herb!”
“Well, excuse me, but they practically jumped each other over the breakfast table. You were there, Trish, you saw it. Hell, she’s livin’ with the guy!” Dad defended himself to us both and then turned to me. “Not that I mind, Roxie. I like Hank. And, it’s your time. You ain’t gettin’ any younger, you hear what I’m sayin’? Anyway, Hank’s a good-lookin’ guy, you two’ll make beautiful babies.”
Good God.
“I am not getting a dress from JC Penny!” I snapped (priorities, of course). “And I’m not going to have a shotgun wedding! And I didn’t practically jump Hank over the breakfast table!”
“Right,” Dad said, just a hint of sarcasm in his voice (okay, a lot of sarcasm). “Jesus. I’d like a fuckin’ grandchild before I’m slobberin’ in my fuckin’ Jell-O. Gil ain’t ever gonna get married, he and Kristy don’t believe in marriage, whatever the hell that means. Mimi goes through men like water. Roxie’s finally caught herself a live one. Hank’s a man’s man. Roxie, the way I see it, you and Hank are my only hope,” Dad told me.
How in the hell did we get on this subject?
I gave up.
“We’re running late, I’m getting dressed,” I announced, turning my back on them and flouncing out of the room.
I stopped dead when I reached the kitchen.
Hank was standing with his hips against the counter, palms on the counter top, an open beer in the fingers of one hand. His head was bent and he was looking at his feet. It was a pose of reflection. A pose that said he’d heard every word.
Mortification that he heard the ridiculous conversation was not why I stopped dead.
I stopped dead because Hank was wearing a suit. A dark gray suit with a midnight blue shirt, no tie, opened at the throat. His hair was damp and curling around his collar, a week or two passed needing a cut. He looked good in a suit. He looked better than I’d ever seen him look. He looked so good, I couldn’t even move.
His head came up and his eyes came to me, full on grin in place, showing me he thought the conversation with my parents was amusing, not run-for-the-hills-scary-as-shit.
I put my hand to the counter to hold on and blurted, “God, you’re handsome.”
At my words, the grin left his face and something else came over it. There was no lazy in his eyes, they were just intense.
My legs went weak.
He stared at me for a few seconds, then said softly, “You better get dressed.”
I nodded, mentally shaking off my Hank Stupor and walked to the bedroom.
I got dressed quickly. We were already late.
The gown Tod loaned me was black satin; the skirt had a bias-cut, was full and had a beautiful drape. The dress was boat-necked, sleeveless and seemed elegant but plain… until you saw the back.
It was totally backless, all the way down passed the small of my back, just barely, but not quite, to indecent level. Tod had explained he’d never worn it, hard for a drag queen to go backless, even though he tried. He’d bought it on a whim and tried everything he could think of to pull it off but it never worked.
As far as I was concerned (and as far as Stevie, Tod, Jet, Indy, Annette, Ally and Daisy were concerned), it worked for me.
I put on a pair of black, strappy, high-heeled sandals, the diamond studs Billy got me and the diamond tennis bracelet Mom and Dad bought me as a bribe to graduate from Purdue in four years rather than the five I was heading for in my junior year. I didn’t have a wrap or coat so I was just hoping Hank’s 4Runner heated up quickly.
I grabbed my bag and ran to the kitchen.
“Re
ady, ready, I’m ready,” I said, looking through my bag. “Shit! Not ready.”
I’d forgotten my lipstick.
I whirled and ran back through the bedroom, to the bathroom and pawed through my makeup, grabbed my lipstick and liner, shoved it in my bag and, on the way back through the bedroom, collided with Hank.
The room was dark but I could see Hank from the light coming from the kitchen.
“Sorry, I’m ready now,” I told him.
His hands were at my waist and they slid around my back. I felt them leave the satin and hit my skin and I shivered. His fingers trailed the edge of the material, just above my bottom.
“We’re comin’ home early,” he said quietly.
“What? Why?”
He didn’t explain, instead he said, “I’ll arrange for someone to bring your parents home later.” His fingers dipped into the material. “A lot later.”
Holy cow.
“Okay,” I agreed instantly.
I saw his shadowed grin.
“I take it you like the dress,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I like the dress.”
I thought he was going to kiss me, a kiss that would necessitate me fixing my hair (again), but he moved to the side, one hand coming away and one hand sliding around my waist. We walked into the living room together.
Dad and Mom watched us.
“She’s still wearin’ the dress,” Dad said, somewhat bizarrely, to Hank.
Hank didn’t respond.
“I thought you went in there to tell her to change outta that dress,” Dad went on.
“No,” Hank replied.
“Herb –” Mom started but Dad’s eyes were bugging out of his head.
“She can’t wear that dress! It’s indecent. Her ass is hangin’ out.”
I looked behind me. I couldn’t see my ass because Hank’s arm was around me but I was pretty certain it wasn’t hanging out.
I turned back to Dad. “My ass is not hanging out.”
“It’s almost hangin’ out,” Dad replied.
“Almost and hanging are two different things,” I returned, beginning to get angry.
“Roxie –” Mom started again.
“Son, take my advice, you gotta get this girl in hand. You can’t let her run around with her ass hangin’ out. You allow it once, she’ll do it again. Trust me. I know,” Dad told Hank.
Good grief.
“My ass is not hanging out and Hank does not have to get me in hand,” I flared.
Hank’s arm tightened and he pulled me deeper into his side.
“Girl, you were almost the death of me runnin’ around almost naked, your underwear showin’. I’m warnin’ your boy here before you become the death of him,” Dad flared back.
“Herb –” Mom said again.
“I didn’t run around almost naked!” I snapped.
“That’s not what Mrs. Montgomery said. Mrs. Montgomery said you looked loose,” Dad snapped back.
Good God.
“Mrs. Montgomery also said that Ginny Lampard looked loose and she was president of the Youth Club at the Christian Church and wore button-down oxfords with a string tie every day of her life!” I shot back.
“Roxie –” Mom said.
“Herb, she isn’t changin’ her dress,” Hank cut in, his deep voice low and not inviting argument.
Dad stared at him, agog.
“She looks beautiful. We’re late. Let’s go,” Hank finished then moved us forward and opened the door, stepping away from me so we all could precede him.
Mom passed me, smiling.
Dad passed me, glaring.
I was trying hard not to do a cartwheel of joy.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Daisy Doesn’t Do Boring
“Holy cow.”
I was standing outside Marcus and Daisy’s house, understanding why it was called “The Castle”, mainly because it was a castle, complete with moat.
Mom stood beside me, staring at the house.
“Is Daisy wealthy?” Mom breathed.
“Her husband must have a real good job. What’s he do?” Dad asked, standing beside Mom and staring up at a turret.
I looked at Dad then I looked at Hank who had secured the car and was approaching us.
“Um…” I said, not sure how much to share.
“Sales,” Hank replied, stopping at my side.
“He must be a slick talker,” Dad commented, clearly impressed.
I smiled at Hank, laughing under my breath. He grinned and took my hand.
“Sir. You can’t park there,” a valet was jogging up to us and staring at the 4Runner. Hank had parked beside two other cars, both of which I knew, Lee’s Crossfire and Eddie’s red Dodge Ram. They were the only cars that were parked near the house.
Hank flashed his badge to the valet.
The valet pursed his lips. “Go on in,” he relented.
“It’s good having a cop in the family,” Mom said, sotto voce, to Dad as we walked across the bridge over the moat.
“Yeah, good parking anywhere. That’s the reason it’s good having a cop in the family. Jeez, Trish,” Dad returned.
Hank squeezed my hand and I sighed, and for the first time in a long time, it was a happy sigh.
The front door was opened for us by a uniformed butler-type person and we walked down a long hall; the walls made of stone, a deep red, thick carpet runner down the middle. The hall was decorated in “Castle Chic” with sets of armor, torches and crossed swords.
Every once in awhile, there was a table displaying a fabulously expensive necklace or set of earrings, a glossy brochure depicting a sunny vacation spot, a shiny crystal vase or a glass sculpture and all of them had a silent auction bid sheet next to them. A quick glance showed all of the bid sheets had bids. Some of the tables had elegantly dressed people standing around them. They all turned to watch us walk in, most of them smiled at us (or, I should say, most of the ladies smiled at Hank, some of them just stared, wide-eyed and lustful).
At the end of a hall was a huge room with an enormous fireplace that had a roaring fire and more people standing around, drinking glasses of champagne. Uniformed waiters walked around with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
We barely made it into the room when I heard, “Yoo hoo!”
It was Tod and Stevie, standing with Indy and Lee, Jet and Eddie and Carl and Ally. All the men were dressed like Hank, suits and open-necked shirts. They all looked heart-stoppingly, mouth-wateringly, unbelievably great. Indy had on a deep green, sheath dress with one shoulder bared. Jet was wearing a pale pink strapless number with a black ribbon at an empire waist. Ally was in a dark blue halter dress with a deep slit up the front and serious cleavage. Tod and Stevie were in tuxes.
Hugs, air-kisses and handshakes were exchanged, I introduced my folks to Tod and Stevie and Eddie stopped a waiter to get us glasses of champagne.
“Girlie, you look gorgeous. I’m giving you that dress. It was made for you,” Tod said to me.
I laughed for the second time that night and I hadn’t been there ten minutes.
“You can’t give me this dress. It had to cost a fortune,” I told Tod.
“Fortunes come, fortunes go. Gowns are forever and that gown was meant to be yours,” Tod replied.
“Tod, the last time I wore a formal dress was to a frat party Christmas ball. Thank you but, I couldn’t,” I declined, I thought graciously.
“You can, you will, you won’t give me any backtalk,” Tod contradicted and then turned his eyes to Hank. “See she has somewhere to wear it,” he ordered.
I looked to Indy for help, not only with the dress but because I didn’t know how Hank would take being ordered about by a gay man (or any man for that matter).
She was smiling huge.
“Don’t fight Tod. You’ll lose,” she advised.
“Ha!” Tod barked. “You want to talk about your wedding colors again? Lee!” Tod turned to Lee. “How do you feel about tangerine and
chocolate as wedding colors?”
“I thought we went over this –” Ally butted in.
“Shush, I’m not talking to you,” Tod shushed Ally and his eyes cut back to Lee. “Lee?”
“Don’t ask me, the wedding doesn’t concern me. My job is to show up and I’ll be sure to do that,” Lee answered.
All the female and gay men’s eyes grew round.
Eddie looked at his shoes. Carl grinned. Dad chuckled. Hank’s arm slid around my waist but his head turned to the side. He was feigning avid interest in a banner with a crest that was attached to the wall.
All this meant Lee was very, very alone.
“I’m sorry?” Indy asked, turning to Lee.
“Do what you want. I don’t care. I’ll be responsible for the honeymoon,” Lee told her.
“That’s it? You want to have a tangerine and chocolate wedding?” Indy asked.
“I don’t even know what that means,” Lee returned and when Indy opened her mouth to speak, Lee went on, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “And, gorgeous, I don’t want to know.”
“I don’t believe this,” Indy hissed under her breath.
“Son, let me tell you something. Even if you don’t care, pretend you do. Honestly, it’s the best way to go,” Dad, the voice of experience, decided to wade in. “She talks about toss pillows. You don’t care about toss pillows. You don’t even know what toss pillows are. Pretend that toss pillows are your highest priority in life.”
Eddie chuckled under his breath. Carl did it straight out. Lee smiled at Dad. Hank was still memorizing the banner but he was now biting his lower lip.
Mom turned to Dad, eyes narrowed and said, “Excuse me?”
“Trish, just last week, we had a forty-five minute discussion about the curtains in the living room,” Dad said. “You think I give a shit about curtains? I care that there’s beer in the fridge and the TV works. I don’t care about curtains. I didn’t hear a word you said about the curtains.”
“You agreed to the curtains with the little trumpets on them! You said you loved the idea! I already ordered them. I thought it was all decided,” Mom cried.
Dad looked back at Lee and nodded sagely.
Mom’s face got red, “Are you saying you don’t like the curtains with the trumpets?”
Rock Chick Redemption Page 37
