68 - With a Little Help From My Friends

“Is the dress in the bag?”  Gavin’s hands reached for the long, pink garment bag before Petey could say hello.  “I’m anxious to see what a girl like you thinks is the perfect ensemble for New Year’s Eve.”

He had graciously agreed to get Petey ‘slutted up’ for the evening.  “Because what woman doesn’t want to let out a little of her inner slut on New Year’s Eve?” he’d demanded.

Uh.  That would be Petey. 

But since she felt safe with her date, she decided to see what would happen when Gavin waved his magic wand.  She knew that whatever it was, Richie would be fine with it.

“Hello to you too,” she greeted dryly, dropping her messenger bag on the floor and kicking off her Chucks.  She threw her jacket over the back of his mocha microsuede chair and skirted around the glass table to join him in the kitchen doorway.  “The dress and boots are both in there.  I’m wearing spider web tights with it.”

He hooked the hanger over the door molding and pulled at the long zipper.  “Should I call you Black Widow?” he asked snarkily over his shoulder.

“Of course, because I’m such a man killer.”  She rolled her eyes and stood back with crossed arms, giving him some space. 

The boots hit the floor with a thump after no more than a quick ‘mm-hmm’, and then he was extracting her one-of-a-kind dress from the garment bag.  A low whistle was emitted as he fingered the suede and took in the daring spiderweb of leather that would leave much of her chest bare. He batted at the chiffon sleeves, and allowed them to flutter back into place.

“This is exceptional quality, honey.  Where did you get it?”  He looked down the neckline, trying to find a label that would reveal the manufacturer's identity.

“A friend had it made for me.”  She supposed that was right.  She could disassemble and reassemble anything that had a plug or motherboard, but she had no idea how clothing creation worked.  Did Richie draw something and somebody else brought it to life?  Or did he sew?  Now there was a mental picture for you…

“White Trash Beautiful.”  He looked down his nose at her with a ‘poor stupid girl’ expression on his face.  “A friend had it made?”  The hanger spun in his fingers as he examine the dress from every angle.  “Honey, one does not just get a WTB dress made.”

“Okay, I’ll bite.  Why?”

“Mostly because it’s a fairly new label and the pieces are still very exclusive.  They haven’t been able to meet the demand, and, right now, the celebrity echelon is receiving preferred treatment over the mere mortals.”  He narrowed his eyes accusingly.  “Who the hell is your friend?”

She bit her lip nervously.  Gavin had no idea that she was acquainted with reasonably well-known people.  Could she trust him to be discreet with the information?  She hadn't really known him all that long.

“Who is the designer for that label?” she evaded.

“A trampy looking little thing named Nikki Lund.  She’s got a sugar daddy bankrolling the thing – Richie Sambora.”  He screwed up his face, evidently trying to recall some obscure tidbit of information.  “I think I read he might have a little hand in some of the pieces.  Why?”

“Well,” she said on a deep exhale.  “I know he had a hand in that one.”

Gavin’s jaw fell open, and he slapped playfully at her shoulder.  “You little bitch!” he squealed.  “You know somebody who knows Richie Sambora?  Who?”  His lips curled with distaste.  “It’s not that God-awful woman he was dating a while back is it?”  He shuddered delicately, the tips of his spiked platinum hair quivering with the gesture.  “What a skank.”

“No.”  She turned away from him to extract the seemingly ever-ringing phone from her pocket.  Dammit.  It was Jon.  He hadn’t pushed the whole text message conversation yesterday and she was hoping he had taken the hint.

“Sweet Liza Minnelli!”  His sharp features contorted into disbelief, staring at the screen of her phone.  “You know Jon Bon Jovi?  HE had the dress made for you?”

“No!  God, no!” She flapped her hand irritably at him so that he would be quiet.  “Hello?”

“Hey, Sugar.”  She closed her eyes on Gavin mouthing ‘He has the best ass!’.

“Hi.”  Petey slunk into the nearest room and closed the door in his face.  That was twice she’d been busted talking to Jon.  She had to take his name out of her phone.  Maybe she would change it to J. Prick.  She laughed quietly, thinking it was better than tears.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”  She put the seat down on the bathroom's black porcelain toilet and sat, taking in the leopard print shower curtain and bathroom accessories.  The shower curtain hooks were fashioned to look like cat paws hanging over the curtain rod. 

I need more gay friends.  They have got to be the most interesting people ever.

“Did you need something, Jon?”  She curled her socked toes into the black shag rug, willing her mind to stay completely blank.

“Uh, yeah.”  Did he sound nervous?

Stop.  Just stop.

“They called about the jukebox.  There was apparently some bad weather wherever it was coming from, and it’s delayed shipment.  It won’t be here until sometime next week.”

Of course.  The jukebox.

“Okay.  Thanks for keeping me updated, but it really wasn’t necessary.  Just send me a text once it finally shows up, whenever that is.” 

Translation:  Stop calling me.  It's painful to hear your voice.

“Yeah, okay.  Sure.”

She bent forward and picked black fuzz from her socks, waiting for him to continue.  One sock was fuzz free and she had started on the second with no further word.

“Was there something else?”

“No.  Not really.”  Glass clinked in the background, and she wondered if he was starting his New Year’s celebration early.  It was only four o’clock.  “You’re going out tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yes.  I have a date.”  It was irrelevant who that date was with, but she suddenly had the intense desire to ask the same question, even if it wasn't any of her business.  “What about you?”

“Yeah, I’m having a little get together.”  Did he have a date?  Would he take her home and fuck her tonight?  A sudden pounding on the bathroom door kept her from going down that self-destructive path.

 “It’s the only powder room I have, honey, and I drank a lot of coffee today!”

I love you, Gavin. 

“Listen, a friend has agreed to help me get ready for tonight, so I should really go.”

“Of course.  I’ll – I’ll, uh, text you when they make the delivery.”

“Okay.”

“Happy New Year, Sugar.”

Petey’s eyes lifted to the ceiling and she quickly blinked to dispel the moisture that threatened.  “You, too,” she said softly, then hung up.

He’d sounded lonely. 

That’s not your problem.  You can’t take care of him.

“Petey?”  More pounding.  “Hel-loooo?  I can’t exactly tie a knot in it, honey!”

Her shoulders shook with laughter.  God love Gavin.  With him around, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, okay,” she said, throwing the door wide.  “Sorry, it’s all yours.”

“Thank God!”  The door slammed, but it didn’t stop him from carrying on a conversation.  “Go put the dress on so I can get a vision,” he called through the closed barrier.  “Then you are going to tell me how in the hell you know Jon Bon Jovi!”

Emerging from Gavin’s bedroom a few minutes later and wearing the dress, Petey did a small pirouette in hopes of distracting him from his nosiness.  There was no distracting Gavin though.

“Damn, girlfriend, you look hot.  It’s like that dress was made for you!  But you cannot wear a bra with that thing.  It shows through the spider web and looks completely trailer trash,” he decreed, with his nose turned up.

“I’m thirty-eight and wear a C cup.  I cannot go without a bra.”

“You are not going to ruin a WTB dress with a bra.  Hang on.”  He disappeared into his bedroom and returned waving what appeared to be two small pieces of paper.  “Adhesive lifts.”  He passed them into her hand.  "Peel off the back, lift your girl a little and stick this little jewel on her.  Voila!  Invisible bra.”

She eyed the flimsy pieces suspiciously and then lifted her eyebrow at him.  “Do I want to know why you have adhesive breast lifts just sitting around?”

“Oh, please.”  He flipped one very flexible wrist in the air.  “What gay man doesn’t have them sitting around?  Okay, I have my vision.  Did you bring a robe like I told you to?”  Upon receiving her nod, his next order was, “Then go trade the dress for it.  You do not want to get makeup and hairspray on suede.”

Moments later, she was seated in a kitchen chair, awaiting the beginning of the great transformation. 

“Okay, dish!” Gavin ordered, plugging in a curling iron.  “How do you know Jon Bon Jovi, and know him well enough so that he commissions a dress for you??”

She decided that the truth was probably easiest – or least a portion of it.  “He did not commission a dress for me!  I did some work for him as a favor to my boss – his brother.  I’m supposed to help him install a digital music jukebox that his kids got him for Christmas, and he was calling to tell me it wouldn’t be in until next week.   That’s it.”

Gavin’s lips pursed in disapproval as he wielded a wide-tooth comb through her waves.  “Mm-hmm.  That’s why you’ve got to take the call in the lavatory?”

A titter of laughter escaped her.  “You seriously expect me to have a business discussion with you going on about the man’s ass?  There was no way I could think about scheduling with you going off in my face.”

“Okay,” he conceded with a prissy huff.  “If that’s true, then where did the dress come from?”

Petey ruefully thought that Gavin was the closest thing she had to a girlfriend.  It would be nice to share her Cinderella story with someone.

“You have to swear you’ll keep this a secret.”  She latched onto his wrist and met his pale green eyes with her own obsidian contact lenses.  “I mean it.”

Insulted, he pulled his wrist away.  “First of all, those contacts are freaky as hell.  Do not wear them on any date, and in particular New Year’s Eve.  And of course I’ll keep it a secret!  Girlfriend, do you know how many people’s secrets I carry around?”  He clucked his tongue.  “Not that anybody gives a shit about most of them….”

“Richie designed the dress for me,” she interrupted his rambling.  “I’m going out with him tonight.”

His jaw dropped and she received a sharp smack in the shoulder, courtesy of the wide-tooth comb. “Shut.  Up!  How did you get stuck in the middle of the hottest bromance to come out of the Big Hair Era?”

So Petey relayed the story of her meeting Richie, the broken Christmas date, and – just to make him squeal – she even told him about her date with David.

“Tinkerhell!  Oh my God, that’s priceless, and it’s sooo you!”  He was starting to make her a little nervous swinging a hot curling iron around her face.  “Well, if you’re headed out into the city with rock royalty, your Fairy Gaymother will take extra special care of you, my little Tinkerella.  Just sit back and watch me work my magic…”