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“He’s gorgeous!” said another.
“Moira, I didn’t ask for this. I’m not doing this.”
“What else do you suggest? You won’t dye your hair. You can’t walk around in your clothes or they’ll find you. This will fool any face recognition software. It really works. They’ve told me it does.”
“But I can’t spend my whole time looking like this.”
“Well, it would be rather different for me, but I’m willing to try if you will.”
“God dammit! I mean it.” After the laughter died down again, he added in a whisper, hoping the audience didn’t hear, “What would my guys say?”
She thought about it for a bit, but she took her own sweet time doing so.
“We could do all of you then. Then you guys could go as a group, together!”
“You’re not listening. I won’t do it.”
Doreen came over and stood so close to him he could feel her body heat. “Sweetie,” she said as she stroked his cheek. “Honey, we don’t poach on another girl’s guy. We have a strict code of conduct here. But if you want to be disguised so no one in the world would ever figure out who you really are, which is what we specialize in, then, honey, let us give you a clean shave, do your hair and makeup tastefully, and get you some pretty clothes to decorate and hide that gorgeous body of yours. It would be my honor. And, who knows, you might like it.” She followed it up with a smile.
Dimitri fisted and unfisted his right hand. Doreen noticed.
“You have trust issues. I can see that.”
“I didn’t know I was signing on to this.”
“Honey, just lean back and enjoy it. Pretend you’re getting a massage. No one is going to touch that nice package you’ve got. That’s all Moira’s territory. But it would be a shame if some CivilGuard or mob boss did anything to mess up that hard body. And trust me, no one back home needs to know. That’s what Capri is all about!”
Much against his own judgment, he submitted to the ladies’ hands. They did an expert job of giving his face and chest a close shave without pain, without blood. Dimitri was oiled. His hair was tinted with red highlights, one streak of green, and a line of yellow, just to get the rainbow beginning there, Doreen told him. She whispered she would send him home with dark brown hair dye so he could convert back when he was ready.
He was told he needed to wear an earring, and he agreed, thinking it was something that clipped on, but before he knew it, someone had pierced his lobe with a needle and placed a stud there.
“Ow!” he screamed.
Moira brought him a glass of champagne for the pain. He sipped then lay back again while the face he knew he was going to hate was painted on him. Eyeliner, mascara, foundation, rouge, and light blue eyeshadow. She put lipstick on him, but it wasn’t creamy like hers, felt more like a stain of some kind.
They exchanged his pants for a pair of stretchy capris, built for someone with a package. His tank top showed off his shaved chest, making the tats around the base of his neck stand out like the day they were created. He was hair sprayed, given a kimono-style drape that tied with a sash at the side, and handed a pair of red slip-on pointed toe flats he was sure he was going to fall in.
At least he wasn’t wearing a dress or a skirt. He couldn’t run in a skirt.
He was shown the floor length mirror and he felt his stomach begin to churn, not sure what his reaction would be.
The flock of feathered folk spread out and let Moira look at their handiwork.
“Oh my, Dimitri. You look hot as Hell!” she said, breathlessly.
He was going with the moment, which was always what he had to do around her. He reminded himself he was doing this so he could spend the rest of his life loving her lovely body and living life at the edges of reality in some place called forever and forever. His ridiculous reflection was something he’d never forget. He’d told himself he’d do whatever it took to have her back by his side, to keep her safe.
If he had to dress up as a drag queen to do it, then he’d embrace the suck. And this was as bad as BUD/S. That kind of suck.
But she was worth it.
“Thank you,” he said in a squeaky little voice like his aunt Miriam.
He brought down the roof. He heard lots of rapid-fire Italian. One whispered in perfect English, “Oh, honey! He can join our cabaret any time!”
Chapter Thirteen
All the wayback to the apartment, Dimitri objected to the feel of the stretchy pants and how they snuck up his butt crack. He got little toots on the car horns occasionally, which annoyed him.
