“You know,” he said, “I have a few things for the stage but not a lot for dinner. So, I’m thinking this black shirt and pants with ballerina flats, lots of bangles, and this scarf tied like this.” He stopped and looked in the mirror. “Dear Lord! I look like that old dame Anita Bryant in the orange juice commercials from a thousand years ago!” He quickly untied the scarf and tossed it on a chair. “I need a little black dress.”

“What is your problem?” Momma said. “You’re beautiful!”

He looked in the mirror again.

“Wasn’t it Coco Chanel who said to ditch one accessory before you walk out of the door?” He said. “Or was it Wallis Simpson?”

Would a straight man know this? I asked myself this, knowing the answer was, who’s to say?

Suzanne rang the doorbell promptly at eight.

“Hello, lovelies! Our gondola awaits! Don’t you look chic, Miss Katherine?” she said to Momma.

“You may address me as Queen Bee, or Miss QB!” the QB said with the most mirth I’d ever seen her show in my entire adult life. “Are we ready, ladies?”

“We are,” Charlene/Charlie said.

We stepped outside. Suzanne drove a 1960 convertible Cadillac. It was jet black and as long as a city block. The rear end featured shark fins, and its interior was white leather with red piping. It was a treasure.

“Wow!” I said. “What a fabulous car!”

“Thanks, honey. She’s my fave. I got her from Jay Leno.” Suzanne touched her fender with tenderness. “Okay! Our first stop is the Venetian! I have a reservation for us at Sushi Samba. You’ll love it. It’s absolutely divine.”

“Sushi?” Momma said.

She wouldn’t eat raw fish on a bet. Suzanne sensed Momma’s concern.

“There’s also Bouchon or Morels if you would prefer,” she said.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Momma said. “I’m sure there’s something on the menu for me.”

And off we went into the night.

We gave the car to the valet service and entered yet another world. The lobby of the Venetian was unlike anything I’d ever seen, even in the movies. Opulent would not begin to cover it. The Uffizi Gallery in Florence was a total snore next to this. The ceilings were indescribably high, vaulted, painted with murals, trimmed in gold; there were mirrors everywhere, fountains, and, of course, the Grand Canal, complete with gondoliers. Whew! Momma and I were simply dumbfounded.

“Holy Michelangelo, Batman! We’re not in Gotham anymore!” Momma said.

We stopped dead in our tracks and looked at her.

“Momma? Did you just make a Batman joke?” I said.

“It’s a good one,” Suzanne said.

“Thank you,” the QB said.

Charlene and I exchanged looks of surprise. It seemed that Momma’s younger personality, the light and carefree one, might have been resurrected.