Tats Too (32 page)

I just know that I love Vivian, no matter how she got this way and maybe that’s all that counts anyway.

“Your body is a temple,” I say in awe, squeezing the loofah over her tits and watching the soapy water run its course.

“My body is an amusement park,” she giggles.

I look into her eyes and that’s when an epiphany swoops down and smashes me upside the head. I’ve always loved her since the moment I met her, but something else happens when I look in her eyes this time. It’s a flash of understanding, no, of
knowing
that I’m a small part of something much bigger than myself, bigger than just Vivian, too. The only other time I ever felt this way was when my grandma took me on a trip to the Ozarks and I stood at the foot of a mountain and looked up at its gi-normity. It was so big I had to stretch my neck way back just to see the top of it. So much bigger than me. Yet, I felt like I was a part of it. I felt connected. Connected from the calloused bottoms of my bare feet all the way to the tippy-top of that mountain.

“What?” Vivian asks full of concern, lightly touching my cheek.

“I don’t know how to explain…” I stutter.

“Explain what?”

“I just love you so much.”

Her face softens and she whispers, “I love you, too, you big goof.”

“I feel whole,” I whisper, then emphasize, “I love you with all my heart and both my hands.”

We make love then and not with Mr. Happy either, because three’s a crowd right now, and I want it to be just me and her. And when we come, it’s together, at the same time, which happens all the time in the movies, but rarely in real life.

***

“Did you get what I asked you to?”

“Yes, baby sister, it’s in a drawer in the bathroom.”

“Let’s divide this up,” Vivian says.

Vivian’s and Lulu’s whispers wake me up. I guess after the shower sextivities I fell asleep on the couch like a corpse—on my back with my arms crossed over my chest. I open one eye and peek at them. They’re sitting Indian-style, facing each other, on the sofa across from me, with a huge pile of cash between them.

Lulu says, “I don’t want any of it. I have enough money.”

“Well, you’re going to take half of it and that’s that. Lee would totally agree with me. Plus, you’re going to have to pay the taxes out of your half.”

Lulu turns her head my way, and I quickly shut my eye, playing possum.

“I’m so happy for you, Viv. I’m so happy that you found somebody to love. It sounds corny as hell, but at my age, and you’re the only one who knows my true age, you learn to recognize what’s real. And what’s not. Love is real. Everything else is just illusion.”

“I certainly didn’t expect to fall in love with a woman. I just did.”

“The woman part isn’t what’s important.”

Vivian laughs low. “You got that right. You think she feels the same for me?”

“Don’t you?”

Vivian sighs, “I do. I know that, but still I worry sometimes. Lee’s always had a string of women. I worry that I’m just the
latest flavor.”

“She looks pretty gone on you if you ask me.”

“I know I’m probably being stupid…” Vivian hesitates, then
continues, “But, I’ve never been this happy with anyone. And that scares the shit out of me. If she left me, if she took Georgia and left me, I don’t know what I’d do. Well, yes I do, I’d fucking kill the other bitch is what I’d do.”

“Has she ever done anything to make you think she’d cheat?”

“No. Not really. I just—”

Lulu cuts her off, “Honey, if somebody loves you, you need to accept it.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“Let her love you. Love is not about fear. Or jealousy. Or anything else. If somebody trusts you with their love, the least you can do is accept it and cherish it. It’s a rare gift she’s given you.”

Silence for a long time.

“You and Rachel are good?”

“I make damn sure it stays that way,” Lulu says with an undercurrent of ferocity.

“How?”

Lulu chuckles, “I never let her leave the house with a loaded gun for one thing.”

Vivian laughs.

“That way even if she did want another woman, she’s too tired to do anything about it. I let her look, of course. That’s good for any relationship,” Lulu says with authority.

“You think?”

“I call them her fluffers. She can look and get fluffed, I don’t care, as long as she brings it on home. You have to keep the sex going strong, darling. Don’t let it slip. Good sex is like fluffy bangs, it hides a multitude of sins.”

They both laugh. Then there’s a moment of silence. I imagine they’re hugging, or maybe Vivian is holding Lulu’s hand in a gesture of poignancy.

“You’re a good big sister to have, Lulu.”

“I was a little afraid that…well, that you would be like Mother and think…” Her voice trails off.

“Lu, honey, you’re just you. I love
you
. I don’t care what’s in your pants, it’s what’s in your heart that I love. I always have.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Lulu’s
voice cracks.

“Well, I mean it.”

“I thought when I’d never heard back from you…”

“Heard back? What do you mean?” Vivian asks.

“All those letters I wrote you?”

“Letters? I never got any letters.”

“That bitch,” Lulu snarls.

“You wrote me and Mother took them all? Oh my God… And I thought you left and didn’t care. All this time, I thought you just left me there with that bitch from hell to fend for myself. I hated you for a long time after that.”

Lulu caresses with her voice, “I’m sorry I left you, baby girl. I’m so sorry. But I had to. I had to get out of there and be who I was. Not who she wanted me to be. I tried to find you for several years, but you were gone.”

“Europe.”

“Well, you’re back now. We can start over. Without Mother in the way,” Lulu says.

“Good. I always wanted a sister,” Vivian teases.

Lulu asks with a hint of humor, “Do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“If I ever start turning into Mother, give me a good bitch- slap.”

They laugh.

“You got it,” Vivian responds.

I open my eyes to tiny slits and peek. They’re hugging.

Imagine Elvis in his prime. Now imagine him with green eyes and tits. That’s what Rachel looks like right down to the slicked-back pompadour. She even has a southern drawl that drips like honey, making even bad words sweet. She’s butch, too, but not in any affected way. She’s completely natural and a gentleman, and I like her the minute I walk in the kitchen and she says, “I sure hope I didn’t wake you, honey. That’s why I’m frying our eggs ’stead of scramblin’ ’em. Didn’t want to beat on any pans with everyone still sleepin’.”

“Fried’s great,” I say. “Can I help with anything?”

“Sure,” she says. “You can get us both a Dr. Pepper outta the icebox and fill me in on what all I missed. I found Lulu in bed this morning all cuddled up with a woman who, near as I can figure, looks to be her sister.”

I pop open a couple of Dr. Peppers, take a long swallow off mine and let the carbonation fizz wake up my brain. “Yep,” I tell her. “That’s her sister, Vivian. And I’m Vivian’s Lee. And you’re Lulu’s Rachel who I heard about?”

“One and the same,” she says, flipping the eggs over. “I’d ask you how you like your eggs cooked, but I’m not that good at it. You’ll have to make do with whatever I put in front of you.”

“I usually do,” I say with a smile, sitting down at the kitchen bar. “Lulu said you two have been together two years?”

“Well, that’s her story.”

“What’s your story?”

“More like five years. First time I ever saw her was at Pussy Galore. She was headlining, and I was bartending back then. I asked her out every day for three years before she said yes.”

“Three years?” I gulp.

“Three long years,” she draws out. “I proved I was worthy by not going out with another woman that whole time.”

“Wow. That’s some determination.”

“Honey, that li’l gal was harder to get into than Fort Knox.”

I laugh. “What made her finally say yes?”

“I think I just plumb wore her down. She ran outta excuses. Not a day goes by that I don’t know how lucky I am.” She hands me my plate and sits across the table from me with her own plate. “Of course not a day goes by that she doesn’t tell me how lucky I am.” She laughs, good-naturedly.

“She was doing a drag show back then?”

“Not just any drag show. The best damn drag show there was. She sang her own stuff, too, not lip-syncing. She was still a man when I fell in love with her. That was why she wouldn’t go out with me, she said. She wanted to be a complete woman before she’d date me. So, I waited through the whole thing, the operation and everything.”

“She still has her show, though, right?”

“But not as a drag queen. As a woman. As a damn good singer and performer.

“I’d like to see her show sometime,” I say. “Yours, too.” I take another hit off the pop can before saying, “If I were a man I’d wanna be Elvis.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” she laughs. “So what brought you all out here?”

I fill her in over the rest of breakfast. Making sure to tell her all the bad parts, too. About the Mafia chasing us and the FBI chasing us, and the Hell’s Belle’s, too. I even tell her about the Devil’s Diamond, even though I leave out the part about where it supposedly is.

By the time I finish with the story, Rachel is sopping up the egg yolk with the last square of toast. She pops it all in her mouth and chews and thinks, clearly taking her time to do both.

“The only part I find completely unbelievable about the whole thing…” she says and swallows.

“Is?” I urge.

“Is…that Lulu put on a flannel shirt to go get the winnings.”

I laugh. “Never underestimate what those two gals will do for money.”

She grins. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Speaking of clothes. Lulu gave me your leathers to wear. I’ll have them cleaned and sent back to you, don’t worry.”

Rachel waves a hand at me, dismissing my words. “Keep ’em. I know where they sell more.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking our plates to the sink. “I’ll wash up, you cooked.”

She spins on the chair and watches me stack dishes in the dishwasher for a moment, then says, “So, you and Vivian got both the Mafia and the FBI hound-dogging you?”

“Yep.”

“And you want to get a hold of this cursed diamond and get down to Mexico to fence it?”

“Yep.”

“What’ll happen then?” she asks.

I smile. “Live happily ever after, I guess.”

She winks. “I’m a romantic, too.”

“Is that what I am?”

“Yep,” she says, rising and slapping my back. “I hate to break it to you, honey, but you’re a true-blue hopeful romantic.”

“I thought it was
hopeless
romantic.”

“Love is always hopeful,” she says like it’s a law written down
somewhere. “Can you dance?”

“Not really.”

“Can you do this?” she asks, gyrating her hips and knocking her knees around.

“You mean like Elvis?”

“Give it a try, follow along with me,” she orders, swinging her hips and belting out the first couple of lines of
Heartbreak Hotel.

Her act is so infectious, I don’t think twice about joining in. And that’s how Vivian and Lulu find us: singing at the top of our lungs, our pelvi a-quaking, and knees a-shaking. I can’t help but think that the big man up above is holding his belly and having a good laugh. And by “big man,” I’m talking about Elvis, not God.