Sleeping Beauty Awakens

Rachel woke up to a sound of pounding and Belle's voice reeding its way through the splinters of her bedroom door to sneak into her ear and poke at her eardrum.

“Rachel! Are you dead in there? Should I call the paramedics? Do you want eggplant parmesan?”

She was sprawled across her bed, still fully dressed. Her homecoming had included a long flight swinging between storm clouds across the eastern United States while the sweaty businessman next to her had tried to pick her up, two hours waiting for her luggage before someone told her it had flown to Hawaii, and then thirty minutes outside waiting in the taxi line with the rain blowing sideways and soaking her head to toe.

Forty-five minutes later, after being treated to a cab driver yelling non-stop in an unknown tongue into his cell phone while weaving through the heavy traffic, looking at Rachel only once to demand, “Where you going? Miss? Miss?” as they crossed the Triboro Bridge, she'd dragged her suitcase upstairs to find Belle shouting at Wheel of Fortune, the cats glaring as if they’d never met her and would rather keep it that way, and Testy nowhere to be found. The tousled bed and oblivion had looked like the best offer she'd had in a long time.

But: "Rachel? Rachel!"

She shook her head to clear it, which she’d always thought was something people only did in movies. Even when she was fully conscious, a conversation with Belle could make her feel more than slightly surreal, so she wanted to be prepared. She got up and opened the door.

“I’m okay, Belle. I’m not hungry. What’s up?”

“Thank god—I thought the cats were going to have to perform CPR,” the aged Rockette told her. Rachel always marveled at the sight of Belle standing up. Not just because she so rarely did it, but also because she was only about four and a half feet tall. Either she’d shrunk or Rockettes had been a lot shorter in the old days, Rachel concluded. “La Testina’s in demand,” she continued, turning to shuffle back toward the living room. “Mrs. Carter called. Something about rhinestones, and an opera emergency. Ha! I know her type!” she announced, one hand on the living room doorway frame. “La Testina called a little while ago, while you were sleeping. Said to tell you she was going — wait, let me think of it… ‘into the land of mystery, the virgin wonderland’, if you wanted to join her. Said you’re invited. I don’t know what that means, miss,” Belle announced, raising an eyebrow and clearly prepping for her exit line, “But if that girl knows from ‘virgin’, I’m a Ziegfeld dancer without a costume. Which I guess I am. Ha!” She disappeared into the living room, but her voice carried back in her wake. “I’m ordering Italian, what’ll you have? Or else Mexican, on second thought. That new place on 103rd has great gazpacho!” A couple cats hurried past Rachel, apparently eager for cold soup to chill their tails this winter.

“No… thanks.”

Rachel had to think to remember what the virgin wonderland might be. And if she remembered correctly, it was hardly a place anyone, even Testy, would want to go in the middle of the night. She went back into the bedroom looking for one of the entertainment guides that littered the city like porn ads did Vegas. Had some club called Virgin Wonderland opened? Or was Testy really, truly trying to lure her into an unpeopled wilderness?

The drag queen was going to get an earful, in any case, if Rachel managed to find her tonight.

NEXT POST: WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE GOATS? (Monday 1/11)