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“Play a character,” she slurred.
“What was that, darling?” Zorro asked as he reached out and braced her up.
She giggled and swayed on her feet. “Play a character. If you’re not you, then you won’t faint.”
“Oh my God,” I shouted as I picked up Helen and swung her around. “Ingenious as usual!”
Dwayne nodded enthusiastically. “She’s right.”
Zorro was confused. “Not following.”
“Have you ever passed out while starring in a musical?” Dwayne asked.
“Of course not!” Zorro said, appalled.
“Why?” Dwayne pressed.
Again, Zorro screamed. This time I was positive that it was good thing. “Because I was playing a character! I would never let a character down,” he said, stripping off the purple leather and grabbing the caftan out of my hands. “I’ve got this! I shall be Miley Cyrus.”
“Fabulous,” I said, helping him into the caftan. “Should I play a Miley song when you go out?”
“Absolutely,” Zorro insisted. “It will help me with my method acting!”
“Which song?” Dwayne asked.
Zorro didn’t even have to think. “My favorite,” he told Dwayne.
“On it,” Dwayne shouted as he took off to have a chat with the sound crew.
I had no clue what song they were talking about. It didn’t matter. Zorro was saving the day.
I should have asked.
It was about to turn into a wreck… A Wrecking Ball, to be precise.
Chapter Two
Zorro was hyped. I was a little terrified of his unhinged enthusiasm. However, the show had started and there was no turning back now.
When each model finished, they stayed on the stage and struck a dramatic pose. It was very Madonna circa 1990. Helen had come up with the idea and I’d loved it. When the show ended, Helen and I would walk to the end of the runway and take a bow before freezing in a pose with the models—quite avant-garde.
Zorro was the last up and ready to go. “I’m going to strut that runway like my tampon is on fire,” Zorro announced, doing deep knee bends as he prepared to model my design.
I winced. “What exactly does that mean?” I inquired, watching the guys and gals work their stuff. The audience clapped politely. Polite wasn’t great, but it was better than boos.
“It’s just a saying,” my fainting-goat-shifter buddy assured me.
“Rather odd since you don’t have a vagina,” Dwayne pointed out, spraying Zorro with gold body glitter.
“True that,” Zorro agreed. “How about I’m gonna strut that runway like my thong is on fire and wedged up my ass?”
“Much better,” Dwayne told our pal.
I didn’t agree, but kept my lips zipped. Zorro was doing me a huge favor. Upsetting him wasn’t in the plan. He’d be terrific. I felt it in my bones.
Bones lied.
When Miley Cyrus’s voice blasted from the speakers, Zorro squealed and sprinted onto the stage. When the chorus of “Wrecking Ball” came through the sound system, he leapt onto the huge crystal chandelier, straddled it and went for the gold.
