“How do you feel?” I asked her.

Char said, “You know what? Strangely enough, I’m pretty calm.”

“Good!” Momma said. “You know what, Char?”

“What?”

“You’re going to be fabulous. I just know it. The costume alone should cinch it!”

She was only teasing. But can we have a word about her costumes? They were amazing. The gowns Momma made were in various stages of completion. For tonight, Char looked exactly like Cher had looked in her Sonny and Cher days. She wore vertical-striped low-rise bell-bottoms, a white shirt with billowing sleeves, a brown suede vest with long fringes, platform Kork-Ease shoes, and a headband worn Native American style over her long black wig, which was parted in the middle. She had hoop earrings, a long chain with a cross, and bangles on both arms. She wasn’t quite Cher; she was Char.

Momma had never been more supportive of Holly or of me at any moment in our lives than she was of Charlie in that one. But she knew what a chance Charlie was taking. Either Char had the talent or she didn’t. Even if there was no agent present in the audience, the club manager had been around long enough to recognize talent. He would make calls. Suzanne explained that in Las Vegas, just like in Hollywood, everybody’s in the racket for all they can get. So yes, club owners acted as managers and managers acted as agents.

Momma and I found a table and ordered iced tea. The tired waitress looked at us like we were crazy.

“Y’all never heard of iced tea?” Momma said and gave her some side eye.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

Finally, Suzanne returned and sat with us. The club began to fill up for the first set and we began to get excited.

“You know, when Charlie arrived in Las Vegas,” Suzanne said, “I thought he was a lost little lamb.”

“Not anymore,” I said.

“Not anymore is right,” Momma said.

Boy, had this family changed with the times, and Momma was all smiles, agreeing with everyone all over the place. Well, that was Suzanne’s fault.

“Your mother is a beautiful woman,” Suzanne whispered to me while the magician was pulling scarves out of audience members’ ears.

“Thanks. Suzanne? What’s your real name?”

“Buster,” she said. “Buster Henry. Retired military.”

“No shit,” I said.

Suzanne smiled like the Mona Lisa and said, “Yeah, no shit. I got sick of uniforms.”

“Okay,” I said. “I can understand that.”

“Costumes are more fun.”