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.”
“Okay.”
I took a seat in the audience and watched: Cher, Cher, Judy Garland, Judy Garland, Diana Ross, Barbra Streisand, Gaga, Gaga, several Bette Midlers, and ten more Barbras. Finally, my Cher came on. “Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves” was a great choice because it had more soul than a lot of Cher’s other hits. And Charlie had everyone on their feet clapping and whistling by the time he was done. I gave him a thumbs-up from the audience and he blew me a kiss.
It was another Cher who took the prize that night lip-syncing “Believe,” which was perhaps more of a crowd-pleaser, but Charlie came away with a thousand-dollar prize for best new talent.