Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12) - Dorothea Benton Frank Page 0,84

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.

“Holy Michelangelo, Batman! We’re not in Gotham anymore!” Momma said.

We stopped dead in our tracks and looked at her.

“Momma? Did you just make a Batman joke?” I said.

“It’s a good one,” Suzanne said.

“Thank you,” the QB said.

Charlene and I exchanged looks of surprise. It seemed that Momma’s younger personality, the light and carefree one, might have been resurrected.

We found the restaurant and were taken to our seats immediately. Suzanne ordered sake for all of us.

“Don’t let this stuff fool you,” she said. “It’s potent.”

The menu at Sushi Samba had just about everything in the world on it. A lot of it could have been written in Greek, unless you ate Japanese food frequently and knew the terminology.

Suzanne said, “Why don’t I just order for the table and everyone can help themselves to some of everything?”

We all said that sounded fine to us, as Suzanne had been coming here for ages. So she quickly began to rattle off our order to our server. She ordered edamame and Berkshire pork belly ramen to begin. Next, she ordered toro, hamachi, unagi, udama, and uni. Those were all various creatures coming to us straight from the sea. Then she ordered some traditional rolls

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