“Well, let’s put it this way. If you went to a bar with impersonators on the outskirts of Charleston, you’d have one level of costume. You know, a nice gown but maybe the wig might be of a type that is natural hair, trying to pass for Ann-Margret when she was young.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Momma said.

“But when you go to Las Vegas, the ladies there have on extraordinary wigs, eyelashes so long and thick they’re like awnings, glitter in their makeup and on their bodies, gorgeous gowns like they wore in the old days of Hollywood, and so much jewelry it borders on garish. They’ve got huge attitude that’s regal but naughty and sassy at the same time. And most of them have hilariously funny personalities. I think quite a few of them started out doing stand-up and for one reason or another, they graduated to impersonators who also do stand-up.”

“Did you take pictures?” Momma said.

“Of course!” Leslie said.

“Let’s see,” Momma said.

Leslie clicked around on her phone and then slid it over to Momma. I got up and stood behind her so I could see them, too.

“You were not exaggerating,” I said.

“No, she did not stretch the truth,” Momma said.

From one to the next, the ladies were stunningly beautiful, and you could not tell they weren’t women. Then we came to the pictures of Charlie. He paled by comparison in terms of hair, wardrobe, and accessories. Momma sat back and considered his pictures for a moment or two, and then she scrolled back to the others.

“I used to sew, you know. In fact, you know I always wanted to be a pattern maker.”

I had forgotten that, but it was true. When Leslie and I were little, Momma had at least three Singer sewing machines, always trading up. But what was she saying? Was she offering to sew for Charlie?

Then she scrolled back to the other female impersonators.

“Looks like Charlie’s wearing a prom dress next to those other ladies,” she said. “I can’t stand by and let him look like that. He’ll never get anywhere if that’s what the competition looks like.”

“What do you mean?” Leslie said.

“I mean, I could probably make a few gowns for him every so often when he’s got a new show coming up. It might be fun, and he’ll certainly be no more worse off than he is in this getup. What do you think?”

“You mean you’d come to Las Vegas and stay with us and do this?” Leslie said.

I was just trying to keep my jaw off the floor.