“Have another sip of champagne. It’s good for you. I always tell my brides to enjoy themselves. What’s the point if you can’t drink?” My makeup artist had mastered the art of dexterously applying individual fake eyelashes and chatting nonstop. Gabbers always put me at ease. She was a perfect vendor choice.
My hair was in an updo. My makeup was complete. The wedding attire was waiting for me. As I started the getting-ready process at the Ace suite, I realized the spool of black ribbon I had to tie around my waist was not enough. Where was the ribbon I had used at the church wedding? I was certain I’d brought it to Palm Springs. The ribbon I had in hand barely went around my waist. I called Dean–who was back at the Viceroy–frantic. “Can you please check my luggage for the black ribbon. The one I wore to the church wedding. I don’t know where it is!”
His search turned up empty-handed. My friend Tara, who was helping me get ready, thought quickly. Where’s the nearest fabric store? Where’s the nearest Jo Ann’s? Our makeup artist said it was 20 minutes away. Tara was on it. She called Jo Ann’s, located the spool of ribbon, and left immediately. I already love Tara, but I will never forget her willingness to do anything for me. I almost started tearing up. What an amazing friend.
Without Tara as my dresser, I solicited one of the gays. “Keith, Keith. Let’s go, buddy.” I waded into a pool of ivory organza. My head and chest bobbed to the surface. “You’re going to have to corset me up.”
I backed into him. He admitted his unease, “Oh goodness. Oh wow. Geez, I’m not that gay. You know what I mean. I don’t…”
“Keith, for God’s sake. Let’s go.” He laced me up carefully, then started to get the hang of it. I encouraged him, “That feels great. Tight, exactly the way I want it. Great job.”
“Then do you want me to make a bow with the ends on the top?”
Marc was done getting ready and shoved Keith aside. “I’ll do it, you fag.”