by Anthology
I text a quick love you and glance up at the pilot. He gives me the thumbs up to open the door.
I haven’t even pushed it wide when I hear a familiar, “Jo Jo JO! Take me into the sky, baby girl!”
The pilot turns and stares. I blink and look out on the tarmac. It’s Zero, of course, and unlike the old days at the cafe, he’s given up dressing like a boy entirely. He’s fully decked as Miss Zerobia, his drag persona.
He steps forward, sparkling in the mid afternoon Vegas sun. His short jacket is covered in royal blue sequins. Beneath is a gold dress that hugs his body.
He’s got more boobs than me today.
And more grace.
“Can we take a raincheck on flying?” I ask him. “I just landed!”
Zero saunters up and sticks his head in to look around.
“Totally posh! Just let me press my fanny into that cushy seat.” He sees the pilot gawking at him and flutters his false eyelashes. “You can find me at Ronnie’s Cantina, eight p.m. every Saturday,” he says. “Don’t miss my big show.” He tugs a small flier from his bag and hands it to the pilot.
The man stares at the pink sheet at a loss for words.
Zero plops into the seat across from the one I just left. “Beam me up, Scotty!” he says. “I’m in another world!”
He spots the ring on my finger and gasps. “Finally I get a good look at the sparkly! Come to mama.” He lifts my hand to his face for closer inspection. “I could buy me a New York apartment with this little gem!”
But when he looks into my face, he lets go. “Jo? What’s wrong? Where’s your magic?”
I ignore the concern. “We can fly a little later if you want,” I tell him. I don’t want to burden Zero with my problems. He’s so excited about the wedding.
I turn back to the pilot. “Will you be at the Bellagio Hotel?” I ask.
He nods. “Just have to do my post-flight check. If you want to take her up tonight, give me some notice so I can submit a flight plan.”
Zero perks right back up, smoothing back his dark red wig. “Can we see the lights of the Strip from above?” he asks. He’s back to normal Zero voice now.
“Anything you like,” the pilot says.
“Divine!” Now he’s Miss Zerobia again. “Shall we call it a date?” He flips his hair across his shoulder. “I’ll meet you at sunset.”
The pilot laughs nervously. “I do what Miss Jo tells me.”
“Pretty please, Jo?” Zero asks.
“If you help me find a wedding dress today, you’re on,” I say. “Bonus points if we don’t get spotted by the media.”
Zero claps his hands together. “I could kiss you!” he says, and the pilot shifts back into the cockpit. “Not you!” he says, laughing. “Jo!”
I scoot toward the door.
Zero jumps up from the seat and follows me, pausing only to turn and call out, “See you later, you hunky pilot, you!”
I already feel my mood lightening up. Zero could make a dead man smile. He knows the stereotypes and plays them to the hilt. It’s all part of the stage play that he calls his life.
A golf cart arrives to shuttle us to the one of the cars Colt keeps here now that he has to go to Vegas so often. He’ll hopefully be here himself later tonight to attend the UFC matches. No one’s been approved to challenge his title in a while, so his training is low key.
Maybe we can get some quiet time.
“Josefina Jones, where is your hurricane?” Zero grabs both of my cheeks as we bump along the tarmac. “You look positively blue, and I’ve told you that is simply not your color!”
I shrug his hands away. “Just trying to plan this wedding. It’s stressful.”
“Well, let me take over!” Zero holds his hand up to the sky as if he’s having a vision. “I see a white canopy, a release of doves, a red carpet a mile long, and ME, maid of honor, in something devastatingly beautiful, like Glinda in The Wizard of Oz.”
I’ve been meaning to talk to Zero about this. Colt’s dad, The Cure, had a fit about Zero being in the bridal party, insisting he wear a tux and side with Colt.
I’d never ask Zero to do anything other than what he wants, so I’ve just ignored the problem. But Zero should know what he’s up against when he heads up the aisle in something decadent.
“Have you picked out your dress?” I ask Zero. “There are four styles.”
“Darling, I’ve told you those colors don’t work! I must have a new palette!” The cart stops by a sleek black Mercedes and Zero steps off the cart. “Please stay away from pinks and reds. You know how it clashes with my complexion.”
I shake my head and lead us over to the car. The driver opens the back door and lets us in. “No bags?” he asks.
“Not this time,” I say and point to my string bag. “Traveling light.”
“Good,” Zero says. “Let’s shop then. A whole new wardrobe.”
He scoots next to me in the back seat and sighs. “I do love being your personal assistant. I’d make it permanent but I just can’t give up my show.”
“I’m so glad you’re finally living your dream,” I say.
“Drag is my calling, my reason for life,” he says.
It’s been an adjustment getting used to Zero as one hundred percent Zerobia.
We met years ago when I worked in a bagel shop in LA. I studiously avoided men then, but he was dressed so convincingly in a sundress with a floppy hat that I didn’t realize he wasn’t a girl. When I finally caught on, we started spending more time together. At the time, he only dressed as a girl on Sundays.
For several years, he was pretty much my only friend.
“How much longer will your run go?” I ask. Zero frequently travels, but I make a point of seeing him when he’s in Vegas.
“Three more weeks here. Then I have to go to Reno.” He plucks a loose thread on his jacket. “I miss you, Jo Baby.”
I reach over and squeeze his hand. “How are you doing since your breakup with Angel?”
Zero lets out a very masculine snort. He drops the Zerobia voice and talks more normally. “That hellfire diva is a burden I should have lost a long time ago.”
“You sure about that?” Zero and Angel’s battle to be a couple was legendary when I was first seeing Colt.
Zero stares out the window. “Let’s not talk about old stuff.” He turns back to me. “Can we try on wedding gowns?”
I nod. “I have to find something.”
“I know you’d rather get married in your hoodie and jeans.” He lets go of my hand and pulls at my Buster’s Gym T-shirt. “But this is your big day!”
“I’m going to do it,” I assure him. “I just have to find the right dress.”
“We’ll get it done.” Zero leans forward in the seat. “Mr. Hunky Driver Man, take us to Vino’s Bridal. It’s on Durango.”
“You know this place?” I ask.
“Of course. It’s divine.” Zero pats my arm. “We’re going to fix you right up.”
I watch the bright colors of Vegas flash by. Neon. Tourists. So many people. I don’t know how to fix everything. But a dress is a start.
Two: Cue the Xena: Warrior Princess Army
“Selfie!” Zero says as we get out in front of a very posh bridal shop.
He whips me around and holds his cell phone out in front, angling to make sure the fancy sign is in the shot.
“Don’t tag me in anything,” I tell him. “The press will show up.”
“This is just for my drag friends,” Zero says. “They will be pea green with envy over where I’m getting to shop. Nobody can afford to open the door to this place.”
I can. Now, at least. It’s been strange going from barely paying the rent to buying a wedding dress in the fanciest boutique in Vegas. I flash what is certainly an unconvincing smile as Zero takes the shot and uploads it God knows where. If the gossip rag photographers show up here, I’m going to kill him.
“All done.” Zero turns and flings the double doors wide with flouris
h. “Serve us, peasants, we need a dress fit for a Queen!”
Now this makes me laugh. “Drag queen, perhaps? They’re going to think it’s for you!”
Zero face shifts to shock. “You’re so LITERAL!” He winds his arm around mine.
Inside, the shop is like a palace. Marble everywhere. Round columns. Graceful chairs and heavy drapes on the windows.
A stern-looking older woman with her hair in a tight bun heads dubiously our way. “May I help you?” she asks.
“This is the bride of MMA champion Colt ‘Gunner’ McClure,” Zero says. “One thousand guests at the wedding. All the press you can stand. Make her beautiful.” He plops down on a cushioned bench and drags me down with him. “Show us your best, most exclusive dresses.”
The woman looks me up and down. “Did you have a price range?”
“Price is no object,” Zero says. “Didn’t you hear me? Super star. MMA player. GUNNER! Haven’t you heard of the Gunner? Her father-in-law is The Cure McClure.”
I know when the woman figures it out, because she relaxes a little. Probably lots of random people try to show up and put on her pricey dresses just for fun.
“I’ll put together some things,” she says. “May I fetch you a beverage?”
“Champagne,” Zero says. “Something delish.”
The woman nods.
When she’s gone, I push on Zero’s sequined shoulder. “Be nice!” I say.
“What’s the point of being a big celebrity if you can’t go diva?” he asks. He spots something behind me and his eyes go very large.
“What is it?” I ask, turning. Behind us is a rack of gowns in every color. For bridesmaids, I’d guess. Mine were custom designed by some friend of The Cure to maximize publicity for Colt. Even though Zero doesn’t like the color, it hasn’t been up to me. When they tried to get me to look at sketches for the wedding gown, I backed away. Colt’s mother stepped in and said a bride should get to choose her own dress.
Score one for mother-in-law.
There’s some terrible photo shoot scheduled prior to the wedding. I’m hoping I die of the plague before I have to do it. I’m not supposed to invite Zero to it, but that’s the one place where I plan to defy Colt’s father.
Zero stands, mesmerized. “I could never afford one of these in a million years,” he whispers. “But I can try them on for free.” He walks along the rack, taking a green sparkly number, then a midnight blue, and finally, something white with feathers.
“I think that one is for brides,” I say.
“I don’t care,” he says. “I have to try it.”
He glances around and spots the line of dressing rooms. “I’ll be super quick.”
“Are those even your size?” I ask, but he’s already inside one of the doors.
The woman returns with two glasses of champagne on a silver tray. “My girls are putting together some gowns for you to try.” She glances around, slightly alarmed. “Where’s your little friend?”
I’m not sure if Zero is allowed to try on the dresses without the staff knowing. “She had to powder her nose,” I say. “She’s a Vegas showgirl,” I add quickly. “You know how they are.”
“Ahhh,” the woman says. “That explains it.” She sets the tray down. “I’m Hildebrand. I’ll be helping you today. Luckily we had a cancellation so we were able to fit you in.”
My face burns with horror. Of course a place like this takes appointments. “Thank you,” I mumble.
“You’re very petite and muscular,” she says. “Is here anything you’d like to emphasize or downplay with your gown?”
I want to say, “All of me.” But I just answer, “Whatever you think is best.”
Her eyes graze me again, and I feel hot with embarrassment. I really don’t like this.
“There isn’t anything you can’t wear,” she says. “Maybe we’ll emphasize your slenderness and not so much your brawn.” She says “brawn” like it’s a disease.
I glance at my arms. You can tell I work out with fighters every day, but it’s not like I’m in the running for Body Builder Magazine. Probably they are used to waif-like girls who live on sparkling water and spinach leaves.
Behind her, Zero comes out in the white feather dress, sees Hildebrand, and dives back behind the door.
I never drink, but I snatch up a glass of champagne and down half of it. “Really good,” I say, trying not to choke. “Thank you.”
“I’ll just go check on the girls’ selections,” she says and heads the other direction. “I’ll return shortly.”
The minute she’s gone, I jump up and dash to the dressing room. “Zero!” I whisper coarsely. “You have to come out here!”
Zero emerges in the white gown. “You simply MUST take my picture in this,” he says. “Isn’t it the bee’s knees?”
I snatch the phone from him, take a quick shot, and shove him back inside. “Get back in your own clothes!” I say.
“All right, all right,” he says, but the minute the door closes, I can see his phone camera light flashing with more shots.
“ZERO!”
He’s going to get us kicked out. I rush back to my seat, pick up the glass, and finish it. It really does go down smooth.
Thankfully, Zero appears in his gold dress and primly sits next to me again just as two girls and Hildebrand arrive. They push a rolling rack of white gowns.
Here goes nothing. I feel myself relaxing from the champagne as the smiling girls turn the rack. One of them pulls the first dress down and holds it out for me to inspect.
It’s narrow with a puff of sparkly fabric at the bottom and covered in glittering beads.
“Trashy,” Zero says. “Don’t insult me with that Vera Wang knockoff.”
“It’s Edgardo Bonilla!” Hildebrand gasps.
“Zero!” I chastise.
But he won’t budge. “Next,” he insists.
God, maybe I shouldn’t have brought him.
“I have two Vera Wangs,” one of the girls says helpfully.
Hildebrand nods and the offending dress is taken away, and a new one brought forward.
It looks about the same to me, mermaid style with a bunch of fabric at the bottom.
But this time Zero nods appreciatively. “Yes, that’s better.”
The girl walks it over to the dressing rooms to hang on a wall rack nearby.
We go through the process with six more gowns. They all look identical except for one. It has a gigantic bell-shaped skirt, like the one Giselle wore in Enchanted. I picture getting stuck in a doorway.
“Please no,” I whisper to Zero. He waves it away.
The last dress is shorter, just below the knee. It makes me think of Audrey Hepburn in how it is fitted at the top and bursts out from a wide waistband like a 1950s dress. It’s almost casual except for the fancy sheer fabric worked into the skirt and the beading on the neckline.
I remember watching Roman Holiday with my father when I was young, before he died. I realize I feel just like that girl in the movie, wanting to escape everything just for a day. That’s why I’m in Vegas to start with.
“That dress is not appropriate for a wedding of this magnitude,” Hildebrand snaps at the assistant.
She ducks her head and steps back to take the dress away.
“No!” I say. “I mean, wait. Please. Let me look at it.”
Zero nods, his eyes soft. “It might be a little casual for such a big wedding,” he says gently. “But the way it lights up your eyes, I say let’s try it on.”
I stand up and head toward the dressing rooms. “Anna will assist,” Hildebrand says.
I’m about to protest, but Zero steps in, my savior, as always. “I’ll handle this,” he says.
“I must insist,” Hildebrand says. “These are ten thousand dollar gowns.”
“Don’t be coarse,” Zero shoots back. “I’ve handled dresses more intricate than these. Do you want a sale commission or not?”
Hildebrand takes a step away.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I know my Jo doesn’t like to be up close and personal with strangers,” he says, tugging the gown from hanger. He gazes at it longingly for a moment.
“All right, Jo. These are too tight to put on the usual way. The trick is to dive in like you’re jumping in a pool.”
I quickly shuck my shoes, jeans and T-shirt. Zero averts his eyes and holds the bottom of the dress open.
I dive in like he says, the light changing to a haze as I move through the heavy beaded fabric. I come out the top, my hands over my head.
“Perfect,” he says and shifts it around. “You’re such a tiny thing.” He zips up the back and snaps something I can’t see.
“Shall we go look?” He tugs on the latch of the door.
“There’s a mirror in here,” I say.
“We can’t get the full effect so close,” he insists.
He leads me out to the main room. Hildebrand and her minions wait by the bench. One of the girls clasps her hands together. “It’s beautiful!” she says.
I’m led to a little podium in front of a set of mirrors set in a half circle. I want to run away, but I step up and turn to look at the dress.
Oh, God. I look like a lacy white sausage with its sparkly guts exploding out the bottom.
“NO!” I say with more force than I expect and dash back to the dressing room as fast as the mermaid dress will let me. Zero hurries after me.
“You all right?” he asks, closing the door behind us.
“I can’t do this. I don’t want a dress like this. I don’t want one thousand guests and a camo screen blocking us from helicopter paparazzi.” I start gulping in air. I can’t even bend in this getup.
“Oh baby Jo, have you told Colt? Maybe you two can elope.” Zero unzips the dress so I can breathe again.
“How can I? I hardly see him between jetting between LA and Vegas and wherever his father tells him to go.”
Zero peels the dress down and lets it fall in a ten-thousand dollar clump. “Sounds like you need a sit-down. Is he coming to Vegas?”
“Maybe. He said he would try.”
Zero kicks the gown out of the way. I’m about to reach for my jeans when I see the Audrey Hepburn dress drop over the top of the door. That can’t be Hildebrand’s idea. At least one of her minions has a heart.