My plans to leave for La Casa early came to an abrupt halt when I entered the outside bar to say goodbye to Ditmar, Mikey Riley, and all my other fans and saw HER. Built like a quarterback wearing a cheap blonde wig and a red mini dress with zippers everywhere, and a light amount of powder. She got up from the bar and walked around to a patio table, looking out at the passersby. I could not stop staring.
In certain situation--when I MUST meet someone or know something--my veneer of reticence and shyness melts away and I develop a set of huge balls. But all there yesterday were floored when I walked up to this vision's table and said, "My name is Alexis and I have to say that there are not enough women as interesting as you any more on South Beach" and plopped myself down on the opposite chair. "Monique" replied a gruff, if friendly, voice and I shook her extended hand while rising a bit from my chair. I was now in my element and completely forgot about everyone else. I was captivated by the ever-so-thin application of red lipstick; it reminded me of my sad attempts to look lovely.
Monique was from "Northern California", a real estate agent, and South Beach was the last part of a vacation that included New York and London. "I used to come to South Beach a lot, but Las Vegs has a better Trannie scene, now," she sadly said looking out over the beautiful beach with its majestic palms. I agreed that that scene has somehow moved on to places like Ft. Lauderdale and that Miami was a shell of its former Trannie self. We talked a lot about New York and not-surprisingly knew several of the characters on the outer limits of nightlife like Chi Chi Valenti, Johnny Dynell, and Joey Arias. Monique talked about clubs she and the "T-girls" liked in London prompting me to wax nostalgic about The Gardens. This over-the-top venue was on the roof of a building in Kensington, with a re-assembled Spanish church on a reflecting pool surrounded by gardens. I used to make a bee-line to it on every trip as there was nothing else like it in the world. It catered to the upper crust of Trannie society and the boys who loved them; I met fascinating women there (a some cute boys, looking like they were right out of Brideshead Revisited).
I bought Monique another drink, a Virgin Pina Colada, ("I don't drink anymore") and we entered into a lively discussion about South Beach real estate values and how they just keep going up and up. Ditmar popped over (he had just come from the dentist and was pained), paid her some compliments, and kissed her hand. "What amazing forces bring people together," Monique mused and I thought "indeed, indeed" and I called over our houseboy Geraldine and introduced them. "Gerladine performs here every Saturday," I said, inviting Monique to this weekend's show. "I would be honored," she said. "No, WE will," I replied standing up and bidding her goodbye. "See you at 6 on Saturday," Monique gushed and I returned to the bar.
"Lois Lane!" Mickey exclaimed, "That's what I'm going to call you from now on."
"When I need to get the story, I do what I have to do." And that's what I did.