Cat In A Sapphire Slipper

“Girls just want to have fun,” a breathy blonde promises, stepping nearer the bound brothers.

Cocking their dark heads en masse, the Fontana brothers begin to see the light. They produce a chorus of persuasive pleas to release them so they can start having some of that “fun” the girls crave.

The women respond by sitting en masse on their laps.

I turn my head away. This scene is getting way too kinky for a street dude.

“It is just the prelude to a friendly lap-dance,” Satin tells me. “I would think that you would be relieved that your friends have been hijacked for hanky-panky rather than murder and mayhem.”

“Please, Satin! You do not mean to say you are familiar with such inappropriate intimacies?”

“I am a mother of five, however long removed from the domestic scene. This is nothing, Louie. My many mistresses do this several times a day.”

“I am busting you out of this sordid environment as soon as I free the Fontanas! You are riding in a stretch limo with me, back to the Circle Ritz.”

“Circle Ritz? Is that a rival brothel?”

“It is not! It is a quaint, classy residence off the Strip. My human roommate, the clever and tenacious Miss Temple Barr, and I share quarters there. Purely platonic, of course. She sometimes helps me with my cases. A human ally can come in handy for the foot and phone work.”

“There is a lot of foot and phone work at the Sapphire Slipper too.”

I watch in horror as the captors push their tootsies out of their black cowboy boot–style mules to rub their naked feet up the ankles of the helpless Fontana boys.

“Louie! They are merely teasing.”

In fact, the Fontanas are watching the revealed faces of their tormentors with sudden interest and smiles.

“What is going on, girls?” Aldo asks. He is the only brother not occupied by, and with, a latter-day Charlie’s Angel hussy. “This was supposed to be a stag party, and it certainly was not supposed to be held at a men’s entertainment emporium.”

“Like you mind,” one girl jeers, twining her fingertips in Ernesto’s . . . or Emilio’s or . . . who-knows-who’s shiny black hair. (I have to admit dudes like me are pretty irresistible to the feminine contingent.)

“I mind,” Aldo says simply. “I am the bridegroom-in-waiting. My bride would not appreciate this ambiance. She would kick major butt over it. Yours. Not mine.”

“He is just lonesome,” pouts another girl, running her forefinger down Rico’s or Eduardo’s or Ralph’s chest, no doubt in search of the thick black well-groomed chest hair the Fontana brothers and I share. Females of any species cannot resist that.

“I am not,” Aldo spits out. “This is supposed to be my party. You and my cappuccino-foam-headed brothers owe me an explanation for ruining it.”

“That is telling them, Aldo,” Macho Mario spits out even louder.

He also is unharassed, but, unlike Aldo, is looking none too happy about it.

Meanwhile, the ladies of the establishment pout along the walls in an unhappy clot, watching outsiders usurp their usual role.

Manx! Two whole sets of rival women for one large litter of dudes. For all the protestations of innocence, this could get ugly! And the Fontana boys are the territory that will be fought over.

Hey. I kind of like the role reversal. I usually have to fight all comers for the feline fatale of my choice. Might be nice to have the ladies tussle over me for a change . . .

“Forget it, Louie,” Satin says softly, sounding way too much like Midnight Louise. “This is a very odd situation. Nothing good can come of it.”

“You are serious?”

“I have changed my mind. I want the Sapphire Slipper back to the sleazy, raucous, venal, boozy place I know and love. This sexy stuff here is not the paid-for kind. It is really dangerous.”

What can I say? I am speechless, like the Fontana brothers. Of course even I know that the safe, state-regulated brothels are not a substitute for love and marriage. What can Satin be talking about? She has been corrupted by the sex trade. Imagine, finding her after all this time? A fallen feline!

“So,” Eduardo says slowly to his personal lap attachment. “What is the point? You wanted us off all to yourselves?”

“Right,” she says back. “In front of an altar like your gutsy older brother here.”

“Exactly,” another one tells her hog-tied man. “We are tired of always being bridesmaids and never brides.”

“Hey,” says Rico or maybe Ernesto. “We asked you to the wedding.”

He gets a (luckily) playful slap on the jaw.

“Yeah, you get to wear these color-coordinated fancy gauzy dresses. You girls like that,” Ralph says.

“We would like gauzy white dresses even better.”

“It is not like you, um, qualify.”

Another slap.

“You guys do not qualify for wearing tails like an English butler, either, but you will do so for Aldo’s wedding. Why not for your own?”

“Aldo is older. He . . . flipped over some visiting foreign female.”