Divas Las Vegas (29 page)

"Nice one," I chimed in.

"Yeah, he fell for it, too. He totally mellowed after I
agreed with him, and he quickly forgot about Zahir. Unfortunately, he didn't forget about my short dress or the knee
poking out from underneath. Thank God I had the smarts
to start asking him about his precious car. That temporarily
took his mind off sex. I had the impression that our dullwitted foe could only concentrate on one topic at a time. So
for the rest of our journey, I made sure to discuss as many
things about Bart as I could think to ask. And my knee was
safe. At least until we pulled up to that rat's nest of his."

"Uh-oh," I moaned.

"Uh-oh is right," Justin agreed. "I certainly wasn't
prepared to be going to his house so soon. I had little to no
time to prepare. But that's when his being a pig turned out
to be a good thing."

"Ooh, how so?" Glenda asked, wrapping her feet below
her thighs as if she was at a campfire about to hear a good
ghost story.

Justin, who liked an appreciative audience, gladly
continued. "First thing he did was to give me a quick tour of
his macho pig palace. And I kept thinking, Thank God I'm
gay and have a sense of style. It was like being in a fraternity house. Cheap furniture, hot babe posters, and lots of
beer. My gay nerves were totally cringing, but I made sure
to tell him how cool and manly his place was and how much
I liked it. Naturally, he saved the bedroom for last, but I
managed to delay the inevitable by steering my drag ass
to the bathroom. And that's where I discovered my salvation."

"Figures you'd finally find salvation and it would be in a
man's bathroom," I interjected.

To which he replied, "They say the Lord is everywhere."

"Amen," we all agreed.

He continued, "Anyway, you know me, when I'm in a
stranger's house and I use their facilities, I like to-"

"Snoop through their medicine cabinet," I interrupted.

"Exactly," he said. "Which is just what I did. And
wouldn't you know it, right there next to the Preparation H
and Stay Hard cream was the little prescription bottle that
saved the day."

"Thank the Lord for quality prescription drugs." Glenda's turn for interrupting.

"Amen," we all amened again.

"But what was in the bottle?" I inquired.

"Ah, just what one might expect to find in a pig's medicine cabinet: Rufinols."

"Which are?" asked Glenda.

"Rohypnol. More commonly known as the `date rape
drug,' " Justin explained. "My guess is that dear Bart has a hard time getting his dates back to his house any other
way."

"Unless they're slutty drag queens in search of pig
prick," I interjected.

"So true. Thank the Lord for slutty drag queens," he
said, and we all gave a big amen to that.

"And how did you manage to slip him one?" Glenda
asked.

"Oh, that was easy. I pocketed the Rufie, plus a few for
me for later trial inspection, and then I switched the labels on
the Preparation H and the Stay Hard cream, which should
make for an interesting experiment that I'm glad I won't be
around to see. Then I went straight for the kitchen to get
us some beers. I knew he'd be waiting in the bedroom and
that he wouldn't mind a lady who likes her booze before her
nookie. When he shouted at me to see what I was up to, I
yelled back that I was getting a beer. He took the bait and
said to bring him one too."

"Bingo," I said.

"B-I-N-G-O and idiot is his name-o," he sang. "Yes,
it was that easy. I dropped the pill in, swished the bottle
around, and prayed it had little flavor mixed up in there.
When I walked the beers into the bedroom, I wasn't overly
surprised to find Bart lying on his bed, shirtless and watching
football. My guess, foreplay for Barty Boy."

"And of course," I said, "the television is in the bedroom,
not the living room."

"Right," he said. "The living room is reserved for his
workout equipment. So he invited me to join him on the bed,
with the beers, of course, to watch some football. Just what
every red-blooded American girl loves to do. So I sat down
and handed him his beer. I was thrilled when he downed
half of it in one fell swoop and let out an `Ah' and a big burp
to boot, with no signs that he tasted the Rufie. I was also
thrilled that he was temporarily sidetracked with the game and was fairly ignoring me on the edge of the bed. Too bad
for commercials. That's when he refocused his attention
back to Tabitha."

We all cringed, and Justin became even more animated.
(No, not nelly; he really was animated this time around.)
"He looked over at me, rubbing his fingers down his body,
and said, `You like what you see, baby?' And I did. If he
wasn't so repugnant as a person, he'd actually be a hottie.
And knowing that he'd be unconscious in just a few minutes
made it possible for me to have some fun."

"Uh-oh," I said again.

"Uh-oh," Glenda reiterated. "Will this be PG, R, or
triple-X?"

"Come on, I think you know me better than that," he
replied.

We did indeed. Both of us refilled our glasses to the
brim.

"Anyway, where was I?" he continued. "Oh, yes, my
shirtless, drugged, straight man. I asked him if he'd put his
hands over his head so I could admire his big, strong upper
body. He had no problem with that. And I had no problem
touching and squeezing his sinewy muscles. He seemed to
be enjoying it enough, too, because when the commercials
stopped, he was still paying attention to me. He closed his
eyes when I started tweaking his nipples, which was definitely a good thing because I was developing quite a woody
in my too-tight, too-short dress. And then he started to slur,
`That's it baby, yeah, that's it.' I knew it wouldn't be long
before he'd be out and I'd be home free. Sure enough, a few
more moments of me running my Lee Press-On Nails down
his stomach, and he was out like a light. Now, normally, I'd
never take advantage of such an unusual situation."

"No, never," I intoned, sarcastically. Glenda let out an
appreciative snort.

But Justin carried on, ignoring my snide comment. "No, never. But I knew I had plenty of time. Those Rufies stay
in your system for a long while, or so I've been told. And I
wanted to see if Bart was as small as Glenda said."

"And was he?" I asked. (Inquiring minds wanted to
know.)

"Boo, yeah. Itty-bitty micro-peepee. Maybe that's why
he's such a schmuck. I've heard that Hitler and Napoleon
had small ones, too. Such a thing must fuck you up in the
head. Maybe that's why I'm so grounded and normal." (We
snickered, but let him continue.) "Anyway, while I was down
there, I decided to have some fun. I went into the bathroom,
found his electric razor, and shaved his bush right down to
the skin. Naturally, that was kind of hot, and I figured there
was no use wasting the boner I had, so-"

"You didn't," Glenda squealed with a gleeful gasp.

"Oh, I most certainly did. Spooged all over his tight
belly. And then, like the good spy that I am, I got down
to business. First thing, I went to get my phone to call you
guys and say that I was okay-but I had forgotten my cell,
and his was dead. The fucker apparently hadn't bothered
to charge it up. Remind me next time to put it in my purse,
okay? Now, since I knew that I was relatively safe, I figured
you two could wait to see me when I got back here. Sorry."
(We grimaced, but we understood.) "And then I went right
for the garage and the aforementioned merchandise. Glenda
was right on target: there was every kind of appliance you
can imagine piled up in there. But what Glenda didn't have
time to discover was the fact that it all came from the hotels,
casinos, and nearby restaurants. Most of the items had the
names of their rightful owners still on them, the rest had been
scratched out. Obviously, I figured, my drugged-out date is
a member of some ring of thieves that operates throughout
Vegas. And, most likely, Ahmed is working for him and/
or has threatened to turn him in. That would explain his
disappearance and Bart's desperate attempts to locate him.

Where your vase fits into all this is anyone's guess."

"Bravo. You're a regular Sherlock John Holmes," I said.
"But why are you coming back to us so late? Or make that
early. Damn, the sun is coming up already." I got up to draw
the curtains.

"Ah, I figured it was in our best interest to play the date
out to the bitter end. No sense making Bart suspicious. So I
turned on the TV and watched Turner Classic Movies until
the moron woke up. At least he had cable; otherwise, I'd
have been bored silly. And when he appeared to be regaining
consciousness, I flicked it off and pretended to be getting
dressed. When he saw me standing there, he groggily asked,
`What's going on, baby?' I told him that it was getting late
and I needed to get home. I thanked him for the amazing
sex, and he just looked at me in bewilderment. So I went on
and on about how skilled he was, and that's when he started
to smile. And when he noticed the dried cum on his tummy,
not to mention the new manscaping on his bush, that's when
I knew I was home free. Then I said goodbye, walked about
a mile-in these heels, mind you-found a pay phone, and
called a cab. And, end of story, here I am."

"Well," I said, shaking my head in disbelief, "you're
lucky to be alive."

"Hell, luck had nothing to do with it. Just thank the
Lord he invented stupid straight men."

We all let out a resounding, final "Amen" as we clicked
our mimosa glasses together for a well-deserved toast.

BEFORE WE LEFT GLENDA'S ROOM TO GO BACK TO OUR
own, I called Zahir to see where and when we'd all hook
up before meeting with Ahmed. I was shocked to find that
Zahir had no interest in having us attend the reunion. I
calmly reminded him how much we all had at stake, such
as, at most, our very lives, and, at least, my vase. But he
refused to let us join him, saying that it was his brother
and he needed to handle the situation alone. No amount of
arguing with him would've worked, so I dropped it. That is
to say, I dropped the argument with Zahir, but I intended
to be there nonetheless. Now I had to convince a few other
people to go along with me.

"So when do we meet up with Zahir?" asked Justin, as
we prepared to go back to Caesar's.

"That depends," I answered cryptically.

"On what?"

"Well, that depends on whose plan you're going with,"
I answered.

"Uh-oh," Glenda chimed in. "I feel a headache coming on. Sounds about as much fun as picking out insurance
plans."

"In a way, we are." I said. "We're insuring that we stay
alive. So are you with me?"

"We haven't heard the options yet," Justin said, folding
his arms as he gave me a stern look. I had hoped to worry
them enough that they'd just go along with whatever I said.
I should've known better. They were evil and twisted, not
dumb.

"Okay, fine. Zahir's plan is to go to his brother, find out
what's wrong, see if he can help him, and then report back
to us. He would prefer it if we didn't accompany him," I put
it mildly.

"Let me remind you, my dear Em, before you continue,
that we're already working on one Plan B. Do you intend to
offer us yet another one?" Justin asked.

"No, smart-ass, I don't," I answered, also crossing my
arms for effect. "But Plan Two goes something like this.
(They both groaned.) Seeing as the meeting is at Caesar's
and seeing as we're friends with Caesar himself, I say we
find a way to attend that little tete-a-tete without them
knowing it."

"Genius, but let me remind you that, (a) we are not
friends with Caesar and (2), to use your ordering system,
how on earth do you suppose we'll be able to be there at the
meeting and not have them know it?" he asked, shaking his
head at me in disbelief.

"Ah, wait and see, wait and see," I said, opening the
door and ushering my friends out. Though really, I had no
idea myself. (Surprised?)

Caesar was easy to find. Now all we had to do was convince
him to help. And we only had a couple of hours until the
appointed hour of the brothers' get-together, so time was of
the essence.

"My subjects, so good to see you again," Bradley
announced, giving us his royal salute and patting our shoulders. We made a quick introduction to Glenda and then got
on with the plan.

"Good to see you as well, Caesar," I said, keeping with
the theme of things. "You have been most generous in your
accommodations for us."

"Ah, that was my pleasure. Anything I can do to help my
old friend and new friends, I'll be happy to do," he said, still
smiling his big, fake Caesar smile.

"Anything?" Justin asked.

Caesar looked to the three of us, saw our grim visages,
and cut the act. "What's up?" he asked, arms akimbo.

So we filled him in, from start to finish, and when we
were through he stood there staring at us, shaking his head.
"Man, you guys are in some bad shit. That guy Bart is big
trouble. Don't know all the details, but I've heard through
the grapevine that he's a lunatic and that he works for some
dangerous people. I'm not quite sure that I can help this
time. Or even want to," he told us, the smile now gone from
his face.