Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(72)

She said, “Send pictures!”

I promised I would, and we hung up.

And as day rolled into night, there was plenty to photograph. Sometime in the afternoon, Suzanne Velour called Charlie to speak to Momma. They had just arrived home with an astounding amount of shopping bags.

“What?” Momma said. “She wants to talk to me?”

She dropped all her bags on the floor.

“You need your own cell phone, Momma,” I said.

She took Charlie’s phone and I heard Momma say, “What? Italy? But I don’t have a passport! Oh! Oh! I see! You had me going for a minute, Suzanne. Yes, I think we can be ready by eight. That was my new friend, Suzanne. She’s taking us all out tonight. She said we should get gussied up. What does getting gussied up mean in Las Vegas?”

“It means, get fancy!” I said. “I’ll do your makeup, if you’d like.”

“Well, someone had better take over for me. All I’ve got is a bottle of Oil of Olay and a Chapstick,” she said. “But I have those Eileen Fisher black silk pajama pants with the tunic. Maybe we can dress that up.”

“Oh, Momma,” Charlie said. “Don’t you worry! We’re going to have you looking like a queen!”

“That’s what Holly and I call her, you know,” I said.

“That’s right,” she said. “You girls!”

“Actually, Momma, we call you the QB, for queen bee.”

“I’ve heard you two mumble it,” she said, obviously pleased instead of irked. “I think I kind of like that name! Although I have a very small kingdom with very few minions.”

“Well, you’ve got us and Holly, and I’d say that’s not a bad start,” Charlie said. “Now let’s get you dressed!”

“Charlie?” I said, with some trepidation. “Are you going out tonight as Charlie or Charlene?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Do you have a preference?”

“Why don’t you try Charlene?” Momma said.

Please someone come and get my dead body off the floor.

“Because if Suzanne shows up in drag then we’re just having a girls’ night out!” the now and forever QB said.

“That’s hilarious, QB! I love it!” Charlie said.

As he applied his own makeup, he began to gradually and ever so subtly wade into the waters of Charlene’s personality, which I’d noticed he did from time to time. The changes were extremely subtle. There would be more expressive hand gestures, more gentility, and a different posture. I had to say, I liked Charlene just as much as Charlie. Charlene was merely Charlie completely relaxed and at home with himself. Charlie with his guard down. Charlie in perfect humor. But also Charlie exuding confidence. Were these changes so odd? When I put on new shoes or had my hair blown out by a pro, I felt more confident, too. So what was the big difference? The whole world of female impersonation fascinated me. Well, Charlie fascinated me, probably because I loved him so much. This whole new aspect of him was incredible.

By eight o’clock we were all set to go out for a night on the town. Charlie had decided on a cosmetic transformation instead of a complete change.

“You know,” he said, “I have a few things for the stage but not a lot for dinner. So, I’m thinking this black shirt and pants with ballerina flats, lots of bangles, and this scarf tied like this.” He stopped and looked in the mirror. “Dear Lord! I look like that old dame Anita Bryant in the orange juice commercials from a thousand years ago!” He quickly untied the scarf and tossed it on a chair. “I need a little black dress.”

“What is your problem?” Momma said. “You’re beautiful!”

He looked in the mirror again.

“Wasn’t it Coco Chanel who said to ditch one accessory before you walk out of the door?” He said. “Or was it Wallis Simpson?”

Would a straight man know this? I asked myself this, knowing the answer was, who’s to say?

Suzanne rang the doorbell promptly at eight.

“Hello, lovelies! Our gondola awaits! Don’t you look chic, Miss Katherine?” she said to Momma.

“You may address me as Queen Bee, or Miss QB!” the QB said with the most mirth I’d ever seen her show in my entire adult life. “Are we ready, ladies?”

“We are,” Charlene/Charlie said.

We stepped outside. Suzanne drove a 1960 convertible Cadillac. It was jet black and as long as a city block. The rear end featured shark fins, and its interior was white leather with red piping. It was a treasure.

“Wow!” I said. “What a fabulous car!”

“Thanks, honey. She’s my fave. I got her from Jay Leno.” Suzanne touched her fender with tenderness. “Okay! Our first stop is the Venetian! I have a reservation for us at Sushi Samba. You’ll love it. It’s absolutely divine.”

“Sushi?” Momma said.

She wouldn’t eat raw fish on a bet. Suzanne sensed Momma’s concern.

“There’s also Bouchon or Morels if you would prefer,” she said.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Momma said. “I’m sure there’s something on the menu for me.”

And off we went into the night.

We gave the car to the valet service and entered yet another world. The lobby of the Venetian was unlike anything I’d ever seen, even in the movies. Opulent would not begin to cover it. The Uffizi Gallery in Florence was a total snore next to this. The ceilings were indescribably high, vaulted, painted with murals, trimmed in gold; there were mirrors everywhere, fountains, and, of course, the Grand Canal, complete with gondoliers. Whew! Momma and I were simply dumbfounded.