Bringing sexy back, yo.
If you just tuned in, see below post to catch up on this breath-catching adventure.
This, folks is a photo of the actual red shirt. I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. We hazard to guess that it was once a cover-up for a camisole set or some such. It’s see through and has shiny satin pockets and trim. It’s ridiculous.
So, I continue.
Jane took the red shirt back to Los Angeles with her inside the pant leg of her jeans. She told me later that she discovered it days later in the laundry. Again, she never told me that she’d found it, but I knew. In 1997 I flew to Los Angeles to visit my dear friends and hit the Gay Pride Festival with other pals. We ended our long weekend with a fantastic party at my friend Ben’s house and in the wee hours of the night we crashed in the guest room. I double checked my bags early that morning as I prepared for my early morning flight. Jane and Schell had already left so I was relieved to discover that I did not have the shirt afterall. Jane had failed!
I boarded the plane and we took off as scheduled. I smiled a smug smile. Success!
The pilot turned off the seat belt signs and I settled into my magazine for the long flight. Suddenly, over the loudspeaker, I heard my name being called. The voice asked me to push my call button over my head to alert them to my whereabouts. I raised my hand slowly. What the hell? My stomach lurched. The flight attendant sauntered down the aisle towards my seat. I stared in disbelief and horror as she raised her arm up above her head. She was holding the red shirt on a hanger. She loudly said “you left this in Los Angeles, honey…don’t you want it back”?!? She was laughing and tossing it around the cabin so that everyone got a very good look. I grabbed the damn thing and sunk back into my seat in humble defeat. I couldn’t believe it.
Well played, Jane. In this post 9/11 climate there is no way she could have pulled that off, but God love her, it turns out she and Schell were at the airport around 5am that morning watching me board. They rushed the desk after I boarded and convinced/bribed a flight attendant to do their evil bidding. I realized yet again that I was dealing with an Evil Master.
Again, this was not spoken of and I had the damn shirt. Again.
Years pass. Jane comes to visit me for our favorite holiday, Halloween. I had hidden the red shirt in my apartment and was going wait until her final morning and try to cleverly hide it somewhere in her suitcase. Perhaps inside of an expensive shampoo bottle I was going to give her as a “gift”. I don’t remember. Not very original, mind you, but it had been years and I was almost sure she’d forgotten about our little game.
The morning arrived and while she was in the shower, I went to get the shirt in my hiding place. It was gone. I looked in all my dressers and closets thinking I’d moved it in a paranoid chardonnay -induced haze during her visit. I couldn’t believe I’d misplaced the shirt. Crap. I looked and looked, but it was nowhere to be found. I took Jane to the airport and came home to clean up the house and get some laundry done. I went to my guest room to strip the bed and pulled back the covers. I gasped when I saw it. There was the red shirt tucked under the covers with a post-it note that read ” AS IF!”.
Folks, this was a very small apartment and I take very quick showers. Jane had to have been like a ninja jumping from room to room to discover the shirt and then hide it from me. Again. I never asked her how long it took her to find it, of course. That’s part of this sick twisted game we started. All I knew was I STILL HAD IT.
Here we go…again.