by Mia Natasha
It’s flattering to be someone’s fashion muse, it really is, as long as we aren’t wearing the same dress on the same day, which is the sucky part about being a bridesmaid, although I’ve heard no complaints about the charcoal chiffon gowns we’d picked out for them for the wedding.
For the Manhattan express, I’d dressed in an embroidered apron style peasant top and my favorite jeans – they’re called Joe’s, and they fit like a second skin if you want to buy a pair. I think they have Spandex in them for stretch. The other girls all wore sundresses in colorful florals or Ikat patterns. Mykkie’s was black and white, which I thought odd. She almost always wears turquoise, my guess is because she likes to represent the color of the water off Mykonos, her namesake.
I guess they’d all assumed I’d wear a dress, I thought, and I was correct. They’d really planned everything. I was about to jump into the back seat when Annika Minos climbed out off the limo and said, “Not so fast, Danna.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked all confused-like.
“We want you to wear this.” Annika produced a ridiculous white T-shirt mini with Bride written on the front in rhinestones that glittered up my titty-titty-bang-bangs. Stephanie started taking pictures of it with her cell so she could keep Dean informed like a spy, which she had done throughout the day.
“You have to,” Gina said as she giggled away. “It’s tradition. And you know what you and Zeus say about committing to a bit.”
I shushed her, thinking she was revealing too much of the secret me, you know – the one you bloggers know. And this stuff is supposed to remain on the down-low.
“What does that mean?” Stephanie Nichols said as I climbed in. Since she’s Dean’s girlfriend, I’m sure she was trying to commit everything to memory for when it’s her turn to marry into our family.
“Fine,” I said, looking at Annika. The limo driver, Patrice, came around to shut the door and we were off. I wasn’t wearing a bra, but fuck it – even the driver was female and with the exception of her, I was among friends. I stripped off my comfortable top and replaced it with the costume befitting my role in this outing.
“Nice nipsey-russells,” Gina said.
“Shut up, Gina,” I said. I was really getting annoyed with the way she was using my material. I could envision Stephanie Nichols Googling nipsey-russells then stumbling over my blog, right?
“What’s a nipsey-russell?” Annika asked.
“He’s a comedian,” Caroline said. “Wasn’t he the Tin Man in The Wiz?”
“The Wiz?” Stephanie asked with a scrunched up nose.
“Oh my god,” I said, realizing the significance of it. “That’s….”
“An omen thingy!” Gina yelled. “To omens!” She poured a couple shots for the two of us - of Jägermeister, which looked and tasted like cough syrup, but I think it’s my new favorite thing.
“You’ve never seen the black version of The Wizard of Oz?” Janey asked. Janey’s black, and it never ceases to amaze her how little white people know about her culture, even though it’s American and all. Caucasians are always asking her if she is related to Michael Jackson. Since last month, she’s been answering, no, but I went to his funeral.
“You know,” Caroline added. “Ease on down, ease on down the road?”
Gina, Caroline and I stared singing it while Georgia popped the cork and Stephanie helped pour the first round of Champagne. This time it was from a magnum of Dom Perignon. The word Dom caught my eye and I wondered if it was another omen. I took time-outs from singing to sip from my plastic glass, which I did sparingly at first in order to pace myself.
It turns out that Annika had done an internship with a new designer out of SoHo – Ko Zee. Apparently, the dress had been couture-styled for me with measurements they’d gotten from Jasmine’s, in a ‘70s style that reminded me of those pictures of Mom and Dad at that Disco circa 1979. After our one pee break, Patrice grabbed a large box from the trunk, which she handed to Gina. Once back on the road, I pulled off my jeans to whistles and stripper music. Gina presented me with the boxes’ contents - white patent leather go-go boots in my size. I have to say, feeling bridey is so strange – the way strangers look at you, as if you are this freak in white (they made me add this corny veil to my get up, by the way) and yet they are so happy for you. It had a celebrity appeal.
We arrived in Manhattan at 3:00pm, exactly twenty-four hours before my wedding. The girls had a strict itinerary planned. Shopping a little at first, then a mini treasure hunt then dinner and dancing – with drinking throughout. Gina had been in charge since she is a Brooklyn native who knows the sights and knows Zeus and me so well. There were prizes for those who could find things that had significance to me or to my fiancé. They had to write everything down in a special app that they’d all linked to their cell phones. We only split up while searching the area around Rockefeller Center, although our watches had been synchronized and our cell phones fully charged, except mine of course, as you know, since you know I don’t own one.
I stayed back with Gina and stared at the tall building while Gina played with her iPhone. The last time I’d stood there, it had been Christmas. Zeus and I had argued during our first curb spending talk over dinner at The Sea Grill then spent all of five minutes figure skating around the rink because it had been too crowded. It all looked so different now without the big Christmas tree behind the golden statue or the ice skaters. We could see our party as they stopped for frappuccinos then wandered around the skating rink while slurping their drinks, wondering what they were searching for. Caroline hovered nearby observing the international flags. I thought she was hoping to overhear us reveal the answer. Apparently, the prizes had included dildos and other such sexy-sexies worth having.
When we were finally out of reach, I asked, “What are they supposed to be looking for?” Gina gave me the shush and pointed. I followed her to an empty bench putting us further away from Caroline’s alleged cheating ears. Gina pulled up Wikipedia with information about the site.
“It’s the statue,” she said. “See? It’s gold, like your wedding bands, and it depicts Promethesus. It’s staring them right in the face and they can’t even see it.”
I said, “I don’t get it.”
“Isn’t that your mother’s maiden name?”
“No,” I replied. “It’s Theseus.”
“Oh, well then, this might take a while,” she said laughing.
I said, “But it’s a Greek person. Why aren’t they getting that? Half of them are Greek themselves. Maybe it’s too easy.”
“Tina Fey is Greek, right?” she said. “She works here. What are the chances she might be out on the plaza somewhere?” Gina snorts when she laughs, which got me going with my guffaw giggle. She calmed down enough to change the subject. “Look, he wrote again,” she added. “He says he’s all in.” I read the tail end of the blog from Gina’s cell and scrolled down to the comments. Rob, NY, NY. There he was. My cuntella awakened with the stimuli of my original mission. “So what are you going to do? You’re going to meet him, right?”
Ambivalently, I said, “Let’s just have dinner first and then get to the hotel.” To tell you the truth, I was ashamed that I’d become excited by the idea of the last tryst. Before that moment, I’d had no intention of keeping the date, but Gina seemed so excited by the whole thing, kind of egging me on the way she was. She gave me the eyelash batting and I thought she was drunk enough to go for a lip-lock this time, which would have been weird. I didn’t want to disappoint her or Madonna, for that matter. “And then…dancing…and afterwards? I don’t know. Maybe.”
“That sounds like a yes,” she exclaimed. She clapped her hands in an Irv Goldrodblum-Ford Jitsu way then wrapped her hands around me in a warm embrace.
“Okay,” I said.
“Oh, look,” Gina said. “I think Georgia may have cracked the code, and she’s not even Greek!”
Gina signaled everyone with a whistle. We met up with Patrice, who joined us for dinner
at this amazing place in Little Italy where Gina knows the hostess. I filled up on pasta and sparkling wine. They had this gy-normous salad made with turkey meatballs that I could have eaten every day of my life. In a way, it had felt like it was my last meal. I found myself wondering if Madonna, being Italian, loves Italian food. I realized that it was another omen thingy.
I was a Madonna tryster walking. Every tabloid on every newsstand on every street corner we had walked or driven by had contained Rob’s picture. That movie he was making had been big news in the city for weeks. At dinner, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Why would an über-celebrity want a night alone with me? It seemed strange. We hadn’t run into the movie set during our scavenger hunt, but I’d half expected us to. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Gina had finagled that, since her husband is in the industry. Of course, they probably didn’t work weekends.
The ladies wanted to go dancing right away. It seemed the right thing to do to burn off the calories we’d just swallowed – and no sense in changing clothes, since their sundresses had that day-to-night fashion perfection. We ended up at a place called Polly & Esther’s in the Village, which I thought apropos – polyester is my wedding gown’s fabric, and it appeared to be a retro-seventies nightclub, which my parents would have loved. I was certainly dressed for it.
Our boogie style consisted of a lot of Greek folk dance moves, and Janey’s perfect samba steps that she’d derived from watching Dancing with the Stars religiously. Someone mistook Krissy for a Riverdancer, so she committed to the bit by keeping her arms at her sides when she hustled. Everyone was having such a great time except me, until a final shot of couch medicine-flavored liquor cemented my fate. I realized in a moment of Jagermeister-clouded clarity that I had to do it. I had to meet Rob and commit to the bit. I had to finish it off so I could be free to live my life. I announced my decision.
“What do you mean you want to go back to the hotel?” Annika whined. “It’s still early. It’s only eleven.”
“I’m tired,” I said. “Remember – I fainted yesterday.”
“That’s true,” Stephanie said.
“And I’m getting married tomorrow,” I added.
“I’ll go back with you,” Gina said, and to the rest of the girls, “I’ll take good care of her.” They said their goodnights to us and dashed back out on the dance floor. Evidently, disco Saturday at Polly & Esther’s is chock full of hetero male dance partners, if you want to go. Mykkie stayed behind a minute.
“Are you sure you won’t mind if we stay out a little longer?” Mykkie asked. I think she slurred it.
“Why would I mind?” I said. “Have fun. That’s why you’re here, right?”
“Tell everyone else that I’ll send the limo back for you,” Gina told Mykkie. My Greek cousin scurried off to meet up with Georgia, who had been dancing alone.
“You’re not going to be alone,” Gina assured me in the limo. “I’ll be right outside the hotel room door. If it’s not him, we’ll abort.”
“Okay.”
At 11:30pm, Gina and I went up to the front desk at the Marriott and asked for our cardkeys and the key for room 1022. I was a little surprised when the clerk just handed it over. Rob must have reserved it in my name. That was easy, I thought. We rode the elevator to the tenth floor. I was so wasted but, you know, the uninhibited way, not the puker-pukerson way. Gina was probably the same, confirmed when she said, “I’m so drunk right now.”
“Me too,” I said. “But I’m good. Do you think he’ll show up?”
“Of course, he’ll show up,” Gina said with confidence. “There were omens everywhere, remember?”
“And he’s a wizard,” I said.
“Huh?” Now it was Gina’s turn for the scrunched up nose.
“He was in Harry Potter,” I explained. “I’m off to see the wizard. It’s the biggest omen thingy of all, right?”
God, we started laughing, like we’d never laughed. Gina’s snort could wake the dead. It was pretty stupid. Gina sang, “You’re off to see the wizard,” completely off key. When the elevator doors opened, she tried to do a toe-ball-change Greek style, and she fell into the standing ashtray. She must have tripped over her suitcase. “What the hell is that doing there?” she said.
“I know,” I said. “Who even smokes anymore? I thought it was banned in buildings and the world.” We laughed again, Gina hobbling down the hall.
“I’m going to go sit down,” she said.
“No, wait,” I said. “Don’t leave me. You said you were going to stand at the door like…the doorman.” Gina made her way to room 1021 and opened the door with her card key. “What are you doing?”
“This is my room,” she said. “I’m 1021. You’re 1022. I’ll be right across the hall. I mean the yellow brick road,” she said and snorted again. “I swear, Dani. If it all goes awry, I’ll be right here. Just scream there’s no place like home and I’ll come running.”
****
I turned on the light and put my overnight bag on the luggage rack. Pulling out my toiletries bag, I decided to brush my teeth - didn’t want Rob to think of me as meatball breath for the rest of his life. There was a knock at the door.
“He’s not here yet,” I said, anticipating Gina but instead coming face-to-face with a young hotel employee.
He handed me a large manila envelope. “From the gentleman,” he said, and then “Have a nice evening,” before walking away.
I sat down on the bed and opened it. Inside I found one of those black satin sleep-mask blindfolds and a note.
Get naked and cover your eyes with this blindfold. I know you want this, so no peaking.
My hooey jumped to attention. Finally, I thought, I was going to get laid Madonna style, in its true sense. It was frixciting – frightening and exciting at the same time. This time I knew I’d get a cock in my puss-puss, because so far I’d only had mouth to hoo-ha, pricker to mouth, dildo to hooey, and man’s ass to dildo. What could go wrong? Gina was practically outside the door!
I took a quick shower without washing my hair. Then I followed the directions. I sat down at the end of the bed, nudey-toons, with the blindfold on, waiting as patiently as I could for some slam and bam. When the door creaked open, I jumped.
I said, “Hello? Rob?”
“Yes, Madannika,” he said. “It’s Rob.” I heard his British accent. He sounded a little like Austin Powers. “How are you?”
“Tingly,” I said.
“Now,” he said, “I’m going to do some things to you and you’re going to act like you like it, okay?”
“Uh-huh,” I managed, biting my lip to keep it from quivering.
“And keep the blindfold on. Otherwise the party’s over.”
I felt Rob caress my tit-tats and a full body shiver went through me. He placed a hand on my thigh then kneeled down onto the carpet in front of me. My heart skipped a beat as he shimmied in between my dangling legs, which he’d positioned over his shoulders. I gasped.
“Sh,” he whispered. His hands cupped my nipseys. Oh-la-la. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening! It felt amazing to finally have the makings of a sexual experience worthy of Madonna. Rob began to lick, lick, and lick like he was feasting on me, like he’d eat my boobsies up and I’d have to find a plastic surgeon to replace them with plastic ones. I moaned loudly and hoped Gina wouldn’t hear me from across the hall because I didn’t want this to stop. Blindly, I reached a hand out to touch his celebrity face. He pushed me down onto my back and held my thighs. I wrapped my ankles around his neck and squeezed slightly, which fully awakened my hooey.
“Let me see,” he said, as if he was contemplating his first move. “How should we begin? Oh, that’s right. I think I know. You went to see a record producer. That’s how it started. And I recall that he ate you out. You found yourself on the yellow brick road to orgasm. How did he do it Dani? Like this?”
Rob held my thighs apart and quietly proceeded to slash at my pinkie-pinkerson with his giant rough
tongue. It was exactly the way I like it, you know manly-man rough, and like Zeus, but with a bit of a girlish fleck like a lesbian’s touch. His chin was clean shaven against my mon-mons. It felt like that dream I have where when I wake up, I’m super wet and find that I’d been rubbing myself out. How did Rob learn to please a woman this way? I began wondering how many women he had pleased – how many did it take to be this good?
He tickled my belly button with one hand and rested the other along my flat tummy-tum-tum as he took me past the yellow brick road and straight to Oz.
I said, “Me-likey.”
“Oh? You like that, do you?” he asked. “How about this?”
He licked into my pink tunnel next, delving his long tongue into deepest recess territory, plunging his nose inside, as if it was a cowboy discovering new frontiers. Did he like the whiff-whiff in there? He sure seemed to. I heard lots of slurping. His tongue was like a vacuum cleaner, wiping my slate of debris, and by that, I mean cleaning me out for my future husband to claim once he moved in, you know? I reminded myself that I was doing this for Zeus and that was one of the reasons why. Slowly he moved toward my rosebud. I clenched in anticipation.
“Do you want me to go in there?” he whispered. My booty-boot had been unchartered territory until this moment. Zeus and I had talked about it many times and decided that anal love would be the final frontier. But now, I thought, why not charter a course and get used to it? I needed to be a better lover plus I was very relaxed and uninhibited. I might have said yes to anything.
I said, “Uh-huh,” between gasps and moans.
He pushed my legs into the air so that my booty-boot was now propped up, kind of like a baby getting her diaper changed. His hands cupped my ass tenderly, and he nuzzled his snoz into my back end. “Oh, Dani,” he said, “I could do this all night long.” The licks down there felt so supercalifragilistically tickly that I started to laugh. He didn’t seem to get mad or anything. He seemed fine with my reaction, which became a bit much, even for me. I started thinking about my earlier quip to Gina, about that wizard thing, and I ended up snorting the way she does.