But then he died.
Even more drastic than Frank’s actual death was the way he died. It made our entire life together a lie—messy, complicated and nasty.
How could he want a man pretending to be a woman, when he had me, real breasts and all?
Thank God for Cat and Bitsey. Those two saved me, and I mean that literally. I don’t know what I would do without them, my Grits sisters. And now here we were, cruising through the desert with Cindy Lauper blaring from a Phoenix radio station.
Funny as it seems, my enthusiasm for this trip slipped a bit when we first started off this morning. I was leaving California for good. I knew it and I wasn’t really sorry. But I didn’t know where I was supposed to go, or what I was supposed to do.
Then we were pulled over for speeding, and for some reason that changed everything. It sounds ridiculous, but when that cute lesbian cop gave me the once-over, it gave me just the boost I needed. Not that I’m interested in women sexually; men are definitely my first choice. But I realized then that no matter the stumbling blocks thrown at me, I can find a way through—at least as long as Cat and Bitsey are on my side. I promised not to speed anymore, the cop let us go, and we were on our way. Best of all, I was back to feeling great.
The sky had begun to turn coral, aqua and rose in the rearview mirror when we exited I-10.
“My butt is numb,” Cat muttered, shifting in her seat. “Just find the nearest hotel and let me out of here.”
I had visions of a Motel Six. “There must be a Sheraton or Doubletree here. They usually have great spas.”
“How about a Marriott?” Bitsey asked, pointing to a billboard. We followed the signs to the Marriott and within a half hour we were checked in, with Cat and Bitsey fighting for first dibs on the shower.
“But what about our workout?” I asked Bitsey.
“Not today, M.J. Please? I’m just too worn-out for any workout more strenuous than searching for a restaurant. But I promise to be a good girl about it tomorrow.”
“Yeah, M.J. You’re on vacation,” Cat said, taking advantage of Bitsey’s preoccupation with me to slip past her and into the bathroom. “What do you say we play first—and play later?”
“Fine.” I shouldn’t have been annoyed, but the idea of helping Bitsey get in shape had become a real challenge to me. A mission. And now she wasn’t cooperating. “While you two freshen up here, I’ll get in a couple of miles on the bike. You’ll be sorry,” I added to Bitsey, “When I can have a drink—”
I broke off when she raised her eyebrows sternly at me. “Okay. Okay, Mother,” I amended. “You’ll be sorry when I can have dessert and you can’t.” I flounced out, but by the time I reached the elevator I was already reconsidering my behavior. Not the exercising, but the flouncing. How old was I anyway?
An hour and a half later we were dressed and out the door, looking pretty good, if I do say so, and ready to take on Tempe.
“Where does Margaret live?” Cat asked Bitsey.
“I have the address in my wallet. But she’s probably not there.”
“So where’s this bar she works at?”
The waitress at the restaurant gave us directions to it, and we decided to go.
Tavernous was nothing like what we expected. The neighborhood was seedy, the building listed drunkenly to the left as if it were about to collapse, and the windows were papered over with posters for bands and music shows. The bouncer, a hairy-chested behemoth with one gold tooth and a shaved head, carded me.
Bitsey scowled at him. She was already upset by the look of the place, and this didn’t help. “Young man, you should be more respectful.”
Cat laughed. “Uh-oh, the jig is up, M.J.” To the grinning goofball she said, “She’s only seventeen, you know, trying to pass for forty-two.”
I elbowed her. “Shut up.” She didn’t have to announce my age to the whole world. Anyway, I was used to guys carding me. It was their awkward way of starting a conversation, of flirting with me. Of staring down my blouse while I was searching for my driver’s license.
“Okay, Mary Jo,” he said, handing me my license and flashing his gold cap. “You have a nice time, you and your friends.” He held open the door for us, letting a wall of noise crash over us. “And just call for Donnie if anybody gives you any shit.”
Cat led the way, but I had to practically push Bitsey inside the place. I could feel the poor thing trembling. “What’s wrong, hon?” It was so noisy I could hardly hear myself, but she heard.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong!” She stared around, appalled. “I didn’t raise any of my girls to work in an awful place like this!”
“You have to look at it in a positive light,” I yelled over the thunder of drums and the squeal of guitars. The three skinny guys on the stage made more noise than the Rolling Stones, the Beatles and the Who together could do. “Working at a lousy job for lousy pay is the best incentive she’ll ever get for going back to school.”
“Over here!” Cat called, dragging Bitsey by the arm. She’d found two stools against the wall. Bitsey wiped off her stool with a tissue before sitting down. Cat perched eagerly on hers, craning her neck, probably looking for Margaret. As for me, I wanted a drink and I wanted to dance. That’s what my talent had always been in the pageants. Dancing. Sometimes ballet, sometimes tap, later on, modern dance. I loved to dance and I was better at dancing than singing.
I tapped the arm of a waitress going by. “Is Margaret here?” She looked at me askance. I smiled sweetly at her. “Margaret, one of the cocktail waitresses.”
“I don’t know any Margaret. Wait, d’you mean Meg?”
“Meg. Of course. Could you send her over to us?”
“I could. But this is my zone. You gotta order from me.”
I gave her a twenty. “Just send her over, okay?”
She went off smiling, I started dancing in front of the two stools, and in less than a minute Cat’s face lit up. “There she is. Look, Bits.”
Neither Bitsey nor Margaret was smiling when they spied one another. Bitsey’s reaction I understood. Margaret’s thick blond hair was now short and black with a Day-Glo red streak over her left brow. She had on a T-shirt made for an eight-year-old, too tight and too short. Sort of like my Pilates outfit, but in a bar it invited all kinds of trouble. Her eyes were ringed with kohl, her lips were maroon red, and her nose was pierced. So much for the sunny California girl she used to be.
But it was the frown she directed at her mother that most bothered me. “Mom? What are you doing here?” Her horror obviously included me and Cat, too.
“We’re on our way to New Orleans,” Cat said when Bitsey didn’t answer. “And we decided to stop and see you.”
“Yeah? Well, you should’ve called first. You should’ve let me know you were coming.”
“Why?” Bitsey finally spoke. “Aren’t you happy
