More conference adventure –
Friday night, Kelly and I met briefly with other Wild Rose Press authors and editors. Then we went to dinner – Carrie, Kelly, Cathleen, and I – and we met two friends of Carrie’s. We walked over a few blocks to the local mall and went to dinner at a Mexico City cuisine restaurant whose name escapes me at the moment. . . ZiZi’s or ZaZa’s. Something like that. All I remember is they had 23 varieties of tequila and a menu full of different margaritas. The food is exquisite. The conversation even better. After dinner, we decide not to go back to the hotel yet and its crush of 2000 other conference participants. The waitress recommended a local lounge/bar and we walk for 8-10 blocks through downtown San Francisco, window oogling and talking all the way to the Adagio – I think it was. Don’t remember the name of their lounge. I’d had one beer and wasn’t that bad off, so no grinning. I just can’t remember.
We bought margaritas and cosmos and settled in the corner lounge for more talk. Carrie and Kelly are a tad tipsy and do a great play act scenario for a romantic encounter with Juan the pool boy. I wish I had my video recorder going on my cell phone. It was hilarious and would have been great blackmail material. No ladies, what happens in San Francisco doesn’t stay in San Francisco. Ann calls several times, trying to convince us to come over to the Harlequin cocktail party. We invite her to join us instead. She arrives in a cab and we have another round of drinks. I come out of the bathroom, make my way back to my seat, and do a double take as the most gorgeous transvestite I’ve ever seen – and keep in mind television is my information source – struts past me and out onto the street.
I have to pause here and describe him. I freely admit I have an addiction to good clothes, great shoes, and someone with style. This is why my magazine stacks are full of In Style, Allure, Cosmo, etc. etc. etc. His style was a little tacky, but presentation gets five stars and cheek kisses. I have to start with his shoes. These are the kind of spiky heels that look fabulous on someone else, but when you get them home they look crappy on you. You know the kind? Leopard print, four inch spikes, and he’s prancing in them like he was born to them. Muscular shapely legs – still hairy – but so stunning in their form they made me take a second look and a third look. Tight leopard print skirt molded a top notch ass, tank top with the defined muscular arms any romance novel cover hero model would be jealous of, glossy black hair flowing down his back and a flawless made up face. He was stunning in a word. And I did my small town Idaho girl in the big city imitation. Mouth hung open.
I made it back to my seat, watching him out the windows. He worked it up and down the street, trying to hail a cab. I nudged Kelly and Cathleen so they could get a good gawk at him, then he got into a cab and disappeared. Shortly after, Carrie took pity on me as I was yawning and fading fast and we all walked back to the hotel. Again, I curl up in bed and fall asleep while the girls chat for a few more hours. I listened to the conversation in my sleep. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Stay tuned tomorrow for the rest of the story and my flight home.