I've got the perfect job. I'm an interior designer at C###### the nationwide premier designer builder of exclusive homes. I mean, if your dream home will cost less than two million, don't even bother calling. Right?
I mean, where else could a five foot tall, third generation Vietnamese Canadian, be allowed, even encourage to wear eye liner and nail polish to work? Right? I mean I just know when the matrons and trophy brides show off their new palaces to their girl friends they whisper and giggle about "the sweet little oriental faggot" who picked just THE perfect colours and furniture.
So, last night my auntie phoned up. She's my mother's oldest sister. Since Grandma died, she's the family matriarch.
Anyway, she phoned up out of the blue. "Jo, dear, I've been consulting the spirits about you." No 'hello'. Her usual style of phone conversation. "This weekend will be the start of something very special, if you let them lead you. Don't try to out think them, just do what your heart says. Right dear, gotta go, Uncle Yan want's his supper."
Sounds good to me. In fact, I'm pretty sure the spirits want me to go to the 'Satin Slipper Club', my favorite gay bar tonight.
Last week I dyed my hair a light brunette with just the hint of pink highlights, and got a new style. Bangs, straight around just covering my ears, then tapering down to a point just at the base of my neck. Right? I mean it was a time for a change. The gals at work loved it. The guys, of course, don't say a word. I mean, don't want to be too friendly with the token faggot. Right? Oh well.
Anyway.
Makeup, perfect. White nylons. My slinky red dress. The off the shoulder one with the ruffle around my bosom and it's hem three inches above my knees. Red three inch strappy stilettos. My gold earring bracelet and necklace set with the red Lucite hearts and diamonds. My soft red leather clutch purse.
I'm adorable.
It's getting chilly. Summer is definitely over, so my purple velvet bolero jacket with the cuddly raccoon collar, cuffs and hem.
I catch the streetcar to the 'gayborhood'. The 'Slipper' is slow for a Saturday night, but there's a big concert at Ontario Place.
Hanging my coat on the back of the tall chair at one of the little round chest high bar tables. I hop up and look around.
There's Toni, the club's owner and social matchmaker. We catch each other's eye and wave. Within the first half hour of discovering the 'Slipper' she was introducing me to all the regulars. I see she's got a big hairy blond man in tow. That big bushy beard must be itchy. Yuck.
Oh. Pamela is back. Haven't seen her for months. Heard she hooked up with a man and went straight. The lesbian side of me would just die to cuddle up to that voluptuous body. Mm. Right?
"Hi Jo."
"Hi Pam. Long time."
"Ya. Have you seen Mary?"
"No, but I just got here a minute ago." Mm, Pamela. Think Mary will take her back? Not fucking likely. Right?
"Pam, Jo, this is Mike. He just moved here from Edmonton." Big hairy gallute. We all say 'hi' and Toni leads him away to the next group.
Pam hops up on the other chair and sips her 'Export'. "Good to see you back."
"Huh, oh, ya." She's looking around. Maybe if I move my hand over to touch hers. Slide it on top of hers? Too late, she hops down and leaving her half full beer rushes towards the door. Mary's just come in. They hug and kiss. Really kiss, then turn and leave. Oh well. No help from the spirits there. Shouldn't mock. Bad Jo.
" Jo, right? Can I get you a drink. Um, I mean, your glass is almost empty. White wine?"
"Mike, yes please. Ask Ed, the bartender, I think it's a Riesling." What the hell, not my type, but he's new in town. Right?
"Cheers."
"Cheers."
Mike has a mixed drink.
"You moved here from Edmonton, eh. Work?"
"Yes, the company moves me around every few years. You?"
"I work in Oakville."
"That's west of the city."
"That's right."
We sip our drinks.
"Like to dance?"
What the heck. He did buy me a drink.
"Sure." Shit, he's a big one. Must be over six feet. Hope he knows how to dance.
The Slipper always has slow dance music and low lighting on the dance floor.
My! He's solid. So gentle and light on his feet. He knows how to hold a lady when he leads. Didn't expect that. I relax and put my cheek to his solid chest. Wish his hand would slip down to my tush, but he's a real gentleman.
A few drinks and dances.
"Look , Jo, I've got to get going. I work tomorrow, still catching up, you know. But, I was wondering, would you like to go out to dinner with me some time."
"Like on a date?"
"Sure, I mean if I'm not being too, you know."
"Give me your phone." I enter my number in his 'contacts'.
"I'll call you. Sixish OK?"
Before he leaves I figure I'd better be sure. I hear stories about 'ladies' whose dates went ballistic when they found out. Even though this is a gay bar.
"Look, sweetie, you do know what I am? Right? I'm a sissy boy faggot."
"Beautiful Jo. Of course I know. Don't ever put yourself down. You're an exotic beauty." He kissed my cheek. "I'll call." And away he went.
He did. "Wear a dress, we'll go someplace nice." We'll meet at the Slipper next Friday at six.