Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(59)

“You rented an apartment? Charlie, we have a house in Ohio.”

“I’m aware,” he said. “But I have to tell you, you couldn’t pay me any amount of money in the entire world to shovel snow again.”

“You never shoveled snow. Not once. I did. And salted the walkways and steps.”

“Well. It was a pain in the neck to deal with all your complaining about shoveling it then.”

“Oh, Charlie.” What was he saying? “Are you saying we should sell our house in Glenwillow?”

“Not today. But if my plan works, yes, we should. You’ll like it here so much better. We’re close to Sedona, you know. A mere four-hour drive. We can go sit on the vortex and meditate.”

“The vortex?”

“Yes, the vortex. Sedona, Arizona, is in the Verde Valley, which is one of the most spectacular places on this entire planet. Think Wile E. Coyote. But there is the spot called the Red Rock that some people think is an alien spaceship or a portal to another dimension. It’s very popular with psychics and artists. Sedona used to be full of old people and hippies, but now it’s got more private jets coming and going than you can count.”

“What makes it a vortex? I mean, isn’t a vortex something that’s moving? Seems to me that the desert is pretty still.”

“I think you’re right, and I don’t know why they call it that, either. But it’s supposed to be a place where you meditate more deeply and maybe the cosmos speaks to you.”

“Yeah, well, right now the cosmos is telling me that you’re losing your grip on reality.”

We were driving along the famous Strip, where all the big casinos and hotels are located. It was very garish and loud. Not historic Charleston one teeny bit.

“No, I’m not. Isn’t this something?”

“You know, maybe it’s the Catholic girl in me, but I feel like if I look this place square in the eyeball, I’ll be turned into a pillar of salt.”

He laughed and then I did, too. All Las Vegas was, really, was an adult Disneyland, where new crazy dreams were born and other, old, worn-out dreams came to die. Treated with the right amount of self-control, it might be fun.

“A pillar of salt, indeed!”

We were then on West Flamingo Road and we turned on Arville Street.

“We’re almost home,” he said.

I thought, Yes, your home. Not mine. Yours.

Finally, he turned onto West Rochelle Avenue and into his apartment complex, called Rancho del Sol. The landscaping was really beautiful. And the buildings were lovely. No one ever said Charlie had bad taste.

“This looks very nice, babe,” I said. “You have a pool, I hope?”

“We have a pool!” he said. “And tennis courts and a gym and a party space and a beautiful terrace where we can sit outside in the shade or the sun and have a glass of some wonderful California agricultural product.”

He pulled into a parking space. We got out, and Charlie got my bag and rolled it up to his front door. He unlocked it and went inside. It was fully furnished. In white. And chrome. No plants. No artwork. But a huge television over the fireplace. And a lot of mirrors.

“Where did you get all this?”

“It’s all rented until we make up our minds,” he said. “Except for the television. I bought that. And the stereo and some linens and kitchen stuff. What do you think?”

“I think it could benefit from a woman’s touch. It’s a little cold.”

“Yes, but considering I’ve only been here for ten days, it’s not bad, right? And it’s only temporary. At some point, we’ll want to look for a house.”

I looked all around and said, “No, it’s not bad at all.”

As usual, Charlie was operating on a lot of assumptions. I thought about strangling him for making all these decisions that truly did not include me, and I thought about telling him that this felt like I had moved from wife and lover to friend status. But maybe that’s what he was telling me. Anyway, I had come here to support him in his performance, and that’s what I intended to do. I could choke him before I left on Sunday.

“So what’s the plan?”

“I have to be at the club by six. Competition starts at six thirty.”

“Okay, are you ready for this?”

“I’m ready and I’m excited. You see, this is all part of my master plan. Instead of working retail or working in my family’s business, I’m going to make it on my own as a female impersonator. I’m going to get a full-time gig doing this and support us with money I earn.”

“Charlie, you know I love you, right?”

“I depend on it.”

“Let’s just take this one step at a time. Let’s focus on tonight.”

And we did. Charlie put on his full Cher costume, complete with false eyelashes, enough makeup for ten women, and fake-diamond bangle bracelets over his elbow-length gloves. The dress was pretty simple, a long gown of black jersey knit shot through all over with tiny black jets that shimmered. It was the wig that did me in. When Charlie put the wig on, he was more Cher than Cher. After we practiced his routine four times at his apartment, we went to the club.

“I’m nervous,” he said.

“Listen, make your nervous energy work for you and keep your eyes on me.”