2011 06 30: To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything! Julie Newmar

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Mission Name: To Wong Foo, thanks for everything! Julie Newmar
Date of Mission: June 30th, 2011
Locale: Club Diablo

A real blonde and a fake one! Can you tell the difference? Dalton can't.


Geoff Dalton

Triumph Dolomite, 1979.

There were only one thousand, two-hundred and forty of these made back in the day, competing with the likes of BMW in the compact performance luxury sector.

No doubt, this car would have turned heads along the distinguished street of Piccadilly during its heyday in London, a time when shiny black paint and sparkling hubcaps did the vehicle justice.

Now, the peeling, smoking piece of junk hardly seems to make its owner proud as it putters down the road and comes to an abrupt stop.

Right in front of a nightclub aptly named Diablo.

"Oh. MY. God," Dalton grouses into his cellphone, literally kicking the front door of the driver's seat open as he gets out. He appears to be more irritated by the person on the other line than his poor car. "You AGAIN? You're that jerk who cut me off last time when I called in for help! Why do YOU have to answer my call?!" There's a bit of respite for the dude on the other end as Dalt listens, a look of irritation twisting his features. "Well couldn't you put on someone else? I don't care if it's your nightly shift, I want to be able to talk to someone I can UNDERSTAND."

Oh boy. Someone whom Dalton can understand. This is going to take awhile.

"Like, couldn't you get me your manager or something? What? He's not in?! Crap!!!" The blonde impatiently gives his keys to the valet and power-walks his way towards Club Diablo. "Okay, fine. I'll call again in the MORNING!" So that he doesn't have to deal with this dickwad!

Dalton flashes his ID to the bouncer once he's at the door, and the man promptly lets him inside. Apparently there's a very long line forming behind him, but being one of Senator Taylor's kids gets you those special perks.

Geoff must have already slipped inside before the line got so ridiculous. Or else done his time in it. After all, he's hardly the rich or the famous, though he is looking pretty fine tonight, for the limited slice of the population that is 'into that sort of thing,' wearing a slick, short, sequined dress, white platform go-go boots, a long, straight blonde wig, and candy-pink lipgloss that exactly matches the dress. He towers pretty high on those ridiculous shoes, but is confident enough on them to pick his way over toward the bar.

Inside, Dalt snaps his Ericsson flip-phone shut and jams it inside his jacket pocket, making his way past the dancing crowd and over to the bar. His iPhone is nowhere to be seen; preppy probably forgot how to work it and decided to activate another one.

The young man stomps up to the counter, placing himself right beside the woman with the blonde hair and sequined dress.

Except it's not really a woman.

"I'd like a bottle of Moet and Chandon, and an extra large bowl of strawberries," the yuppie informs the bartender, sliding onto the cushioned seat of one of the bar stools. He taps his fingers impatiently against the counter, swinging around to look at the 'woman' standing next to him.

Should Dalton capture Geoff's attention, he'll offer him a nod as a way of saying hello. "Busy night, ma'am?"

Geoff lifts a well-defined brow at Dalton. "Busy?" he echoes in a voice that is just plausibly feminine, looking the tow-headed kid over. He smiles slowly and shrugs. "You're not gonna drink that whole bottle by /yourself/, are you?" His Carolina accent is only accentuated for this particular identity.

Sooner or later, a girl walks out with a bottle of champagne and a huge bowl of fresh strawberries. She sets a glass flute on the table.

"Another glass please, for the lady." Dalton jerks his head in Geoff's direction.

The server arches an eyebrow while she uncorks the dark champagne bottle. Even though there really is no cause for celebration on Dalton's part, it just seems fitting, given the craptastic day he's had so far.

Triple A is going to have a party with his credit card, after all. Not that Dalt really cares…

"I could probably chug the whole thing down, yeah, but it's really no fun drinking alone." For a pretty laid-back guy, preppy looks grumpy today. He pops a couple of strawberries into his mouth, chews, then swallows. "So help yourself to it."

Geoff smiles and bends his knees in a kind of grateful bob. "What's the matter, Abercrombie?" Geoff asks sympathetically. Or mock-sympathetically. It's hard to tell. "Can't be anything that loneliness would solve, right?"

Dalton snerks, watching the server finish uncorking the champagne bottle with a loud *POP*. He thanks her as she reaches under the counter and pulls out another flute, and grabs the one already set out before handing it to Geoff. 'Abercrombie' then takes the Moet and pours her — or him — a glass.

"Well it's my car. Frackin' stupid auto-shop guy doesn't know what he's doing," Dalt rambles, speaking as though Geoff can read his mind and knows just what the hell he's talking about.

"Aw," Geoff says. "That sounds like a lot. Cars ain't easy in the city to begin with." He pushes his lips out a little to show how sympathetic he really is. He has a sip of the champagne, smiling. "I bet you've got a real sweet old car, the kind you can get all attached to. But a couple of drinks, some dancing…you'll feel better."

He's right about the drinks. Dalton pours himself one too and downs the flute in one go. Except he's the kind of guy who can hold his liquor — definitely not one of them lightweights who go spinning through the room like a ditzy drunkard.

Nope. Dalt's a different kind of ditz.

After grabbing another handful of strawberries, he chows them down, and spills another. This time he takes a small sip.

But as for the car?

"Not really," blondie says. "When my aunt Mildy was seventeen, it was probably cool. Soon as they fix up my Jag, it's going back into the parking lot."

"Well, if you don't like the car, how come you're so down about it?" Geoff wonders, having another sip of the champagne. He leaves the strawberries alone for now, since eating fruit without ruining his lipstick is a more complicated matter than he wants to handle at the moment.

"Because it keeps breaking down on me?" Dalton's eyebrows quirk in puzzlement and he eyes Geoff as though he was just asked a trick question. Preppy then finishes his second glass in two gulps and pours himself a third. He offers the drag queen some more of his champagne, not paying any particular attention to just how far along "she" is with "her" drink.

Geoff smiles and lofts the glass a little in thanks, drinking down about half of it this time. "Well, it can't be that long before they fix the Jaguar, right?" he says, trying to keep it positive by all appearances. "Mm, thanks for this," he says about the champagne. "Anyway, you can probably get a car service until then…?" he suggests, lifting his eyebrows.

"Yes, there's always that, but I like having my own car." That last statement tends to linger on the petulant side. Dalt takes a couple more swigs before he's finished with his last glass. There's a faint clink as he sets his flute against the counter, and he leaves a few hundred dollar bills, including tip, before glancing at Geoff to speak to him. "Well ma'am, looks like I need to be on my way. Feel free to help yourself with the bottle," he gestures towards the Moet and Chandon, but not before swiping at a couple more strawberries inside the large glass bowl.

"One second," Geoff requests, producing a card from a tiny color-coordinated handbag. "Here," he says. "Take this. I work at a club called Barracuda? You can get a free drink, okay?" The club name and address is printed on one side of the card, the name 'Gigi' on the other.

"Thffnxmffaffm," Dalton starts, before catching himself from doing any further damage. He claps one hand over his mouth, trying his best to chew all of those strawberries without flinging spittle and juice all over the place. Crap. What if one of the paps saw him?

Preppy glances around covertly before swallowing, and he flashes 'Gigi' one of his trademark 'Dalton smiles.' Whatever the hell those Page Six leeches call them.

"I meant, thank you, ma'am." He takes the card from Geoff and reaches for his wallet. "I'll be sure to bring my brother too; he's into clubs and stuff."

There are worse things to be seen doing. Now that Dalton's on the way out, he risks a strawberry, though he pauses before biting it to gesture with it instead. "Of course. The more the merrier." Big smile. "And it's not ma'am. Just Gigi. See you there!" A quick wave and, work done, Geoff settles in to enjoy the windfall of quality booze and strawberries.


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