Free Divas Do Tell by Virginia Brown Page A

and spit wads.”
    “Is that why you never married?” asked Rayna.
    “Marriage can be highly overrated,” replied Gaynelle. “When it’s good it’s wonderful. When it’s not good, it’s hell on earth. I’ve been quite happy without a husband.”
    “Well, I’ve been happy without my ex-husband,” I said. “I haven’t written off marriage altogether, but I intend to be a lot more cautious next time. I certainly have no intention of getting married because I like washboard abs. Youth can be such a foolish time.”
    Rayna said, “I’ve been lucky. Rob is wonderful. We have our disagreements, but it never gets too nasty. Not even when Divas get arrested.”
    “Rob never decided on hiring us as investigators, I noticed. I’m sure the thought of Bitty running around loose with an investigator’s license was involved in his decision.” I shook my head with a smile. “I can’t say I blame him at all. Truth be told, I wasn’t looking forward to getting involved in any of that. It can get too dangerous, and I’ve had enough of terror and bumps on the head.”
    “Isn’t that the truth,” Rayna and Gaynelle said in unison, and we all laughed.
    By the time I reached Carolann’s shop it was nearly ten o’clock, and my energy was lagging. I made a pot of coffee in the break room at the back of the store before going out on the floor to rearrange expensive silk underwear. Carolann also sells beautiful blouses and a few boudoir items, but it’s her partner Rose Allgood who sells the really sexy stuff. By that I mean sex toys. Dildos. French panties with no crotch. Other things I haven’t examined and don’t want to know exist are neatly in glass cases in the part of the shop that’s a step down and behind blue velvet curtains. I call it the Blue Room.
    Rose bought a former toy factory in town and has been outfitting it to make things like plastic forks as well as rubber “man parts” that I find both embarrassing and amazing. Just a peek into her side of the shop is a trip into a bizarre wonderland of different colored “man parts” of every size and consistency. It’s mind-boggling. What’s even more surprising is that Rose looks as if she’s stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine, with pale blonde hair, a flawless complexion, and a cool demeanor more suitable for a socialite than a female version of Larry Flynt, the porno magazine entrepreneur.
    “There are pastries in the fridge,” said Carolann as she stepped into the break room for a cup of coffee. “Fresh this morning.”
    “I’m watching my girlish figure,” I lied. “Don’t tempt me.”
    She grinned. She had her wiry red hair pulled up into a knot on top of her head and secured with a scrunchy hairband; huge wire hoops hung from her earlobes, and she had on green eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara thick enough to lube a car chassis. Her long tunic top and flowing accordion pleat skirt were tie-dyed in rainbow colors of scarlet, yellow, blue, and green. Plastic Mardi Gras beads hung around her neck. She gestured to the shop’s main floor.
    “I’m decorating the shop with a combination of Mardi Gras and Valentine’s Day items. Come tell me what you think.”
    Racks of expensive Vera Vera undergarments by Vera Wang were strategically situated to catch the shoppers’ eyes when they came in the front door. Carolann had hung a few Mardi Gras masks on one side of the shop and big red hearts and lace doily cut-outs on the other side. Somehow it worked.
    “I’m not a big name shop, but I did manage to get in a limited line of Wacoal Dia and Agent Provocateur corsets,” she said.
    I looked at them. They were lovely, fashioned from silk and lace, wispy undergarments that fairly shouted sex appeal. When I looked at the price tag I nearly fainted. The corsets started at $345, and the bras sold for no less than $150. Sex appeal should never shout that loud.
    “Good lord,” I said. “Are these going to be regular items?”
    “No, just