Free 4 Yip/Tuck by Sparkle Abbey Page B

trousers and a red lame’ shirt unbuttoned to his wide waistband. Kendall had his own style, but tonight he’d outdone even himself.
    A handful of gold chains slapped his hairless chest as he boogied closer. The second I was within reach, he grabbed my hand and twirled me in front of him.
    “Oooh, Mama, you look hot, hot, hot.”
    He swiveled toward Darby and tsked dramatically. “Girlfriend, where’s your spar-kle?”
    She held up her gold sequined clutch, apparently afraid to speak. I was under the same spell.
    “My sad little doggie has more sparkle than you,” he said with a head bob. “You need to loosen up with some alcohol. Follow me ladies.” And off he danced.
    The club was huge. To the left, a separate dance room, packed from mirrored-wall to mirrored-wall with gyrating bodies and throbbing bass.
    To the right, the bar. It had to be the largest bar I’d seen since college, stretching the full length of the wall. It was crammed with a handful of men and tons of women. All dressed to kill, willing to battle it out for a beer or martini.
    I have to admit, I was slightly disappointed. The Kitty Kat looked like every other club. Low lights, blaring music meant to prevent meaningful conversation, and a miniscule sitting area. Oh, and plenty of drunks.
    Kendall chatted up our fellow partiers, inching us closer to the front of the line. Finally, we ordered our drinks and were ready for the show.
    “Where’s the best place to sit?” I shouted at Kendall.
    “Right up front, honey.” He pointed toward the stage straight ahead.
    I’d totally missed it. In my mind, the stage should be larger. In reality, it was barely six feet wide, framed by blue velvet curtains. I tipped the bartender a few bucks, then we made our way toward the stage.
    Once again, we followed Kendall. There were a handful of empty tables left. We claimed the closest to the stage.
    “It doesn’t look any different than the bars in Nebraska.” Darby’s blonde curls bobbed as she looked around. “It’s really loud,” she shouted. Darby hadn’t drank an ounce of her rum and Diet Coke.
    “Did you bring your dollars?” Kendall sipped delicately on his champagne cocktail.
    “Sure did. Why do we need them?” I asked.
    “You’ll see.” Kendall’s lip-glossed smile spelled T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
    I drank my dirty martini as I watched a boisterous bachelorette party crank up the fun with Jell-O shots.
    At exactly eleven o’clock, the lights dimmed and the music climaxed. Spotlights flashed the audience. Black spots danced before my eyes.
    A faceless voice boomed from the speakers. “Are you ready to be swept away by the queens of the night?”
    The mob roared in response. If I looked half as terrified as Darby, we were in some serious trouble.
    “Give it up for . . . Miss . . . Bea . . . Haven.”
    The screaming crowd rushed the stage like a Longhorn steer stampede. Was there a fire? My heart pounded in time to the music.
    The curtains parted, and Jennifer Hudson’s doppelganger appeared. I swear on my family’s good name she looked right at me and smiled. Jennifer glided from one end of the stage to the other, lip-syncing perfectly to “Love You I Do,” from the movie Dreamgirls .
    Her silver and black beaded gown shimmered in the light, casting a spell on the audience. She stretched her arms toward the crowd, accepting (or encouraging, depending on your point of view) countless dollar bills thrust in her direction.
    “I thought these were men?” Darby looked confused.
    “They are,” Kendall patted her arm. He whipped out a five from his wallet, answering the siren call. “Isn’t she delicious?” He waved his money in the air as he shimmed toward the edge of stage.
    Each time Jennifer accepted money, she air-kissed her admirer’s face. The crowd ate it up, begging for more.
    “That is not a man,” Darby argued. She removed the straw from her glass and gulped her cocktail. Her eyes watered. “Mel, those are real