Spying in High Heels by Gemma Halliday

Author:Gemma Halliday [Gemma Halliday]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2010-10-23T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Beefcakes was located between La Brea and Highland in an old Hollywood speakeasy that had been turned into a Mecca for bachelorettes, divorcees and horny housewives. The interior was done in all black with pink velvety sofas lining the walls. Down the middle of the floor was a catwalk, surrounded by purple tables and chairs where hordes of screaming, middle-aged women with dollar bills in their hands acted like teenagers at a Hillary Duff concert. I spied Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt at one of the tables near the end of the runway. Beside them was a cowgirl in Calamity Jane attire screaming out boisterous wahoo’s as “Fireman Bob” took to the stage.

“Mads!” Mom yelled above the girlish squeals. All traces of her post-cliff trauma were gone. A cosmopolitan in one hand, she bobbed her head in time with the pulsating music. Mom was dressed in her party chick clothes tonight. A black spandex halter top, minus the much needed bra, a pair of polka dotted capris, and red Converse sneakers. In honor of the special occasion, her blue eye-shadow reached all the way to her eyebrows tonight. Mrs. Rosenblatt sat at a table beside her, dressed in a purple flowered mumu that perfectly matched the two chairs she took up.

“Having fun?” I asked as I gave Mom a quick hug.

“I’ll say. Oh, God, Mads, isn’t he a hunk?”

I looked up at Fireman Bob, dressed in boots, suspenders and little else. I was instantly reminded how long it had been since I’d had sex, as my eyes strayed to his little red G-string.

“Check out that package,” Mrs. Rosenblatt said, as if she could read my mind. “Reminds me of my fourth husband, Lenny. Lenny was royal putz, but the Universe blessed him with a package like you wouldn’t believe.”

“That’s nothing. You should see my Ralphie.” Mom held her two index fingers ten inches apart, wiggling her eyebrows up and down.

Ew! Mom and sex – two things I never wanted to think about in the same breath. I felt like putting my fingers in my ears and chanting, “I can’t hear you.”

“Maddie, you made it!” The exuberant cowgirl turned around. I did a mental forehead smack. Dana.

“Nice boots, cowgirl,” I said.

“I came straight from a shoot. Charmin commercial.”

“As in toilet paper?”

“Cowboy’s invoke the image of strength. No one wants weak toilet paper. So,” she asked, leaning in close, “how goes the great boyfriend search?”

I quickly filled her in on my mistress theory, punctuated by her occasional wahoo’s as Fireman Bob dropped his suspenders. I finished off by recounting my visit to Big Boy studios with Porn Star Barbie.

“Did you say Bunny Hoffenmeyer?” Mrs. Rosenblatt asked, coming up behind me with a fresh drink in hand.

“Yes. Why? Do you know her?”

“Actually, my Lenny used to work with her.”

I blinked at her. “What do you mean, ‘used to work with her?’ You were married to a porn star?” I could feel my nose scrunching into an icky face.

“No, no, no. Not that Lenny couldn’t have been, mind you.

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