I still could not believe that Katherine Jensen and Suzanne Velour, aka Buster Henry, USMC, Ret., were a number. Do you think the ladies of the Stella Maris Altar Society would understand? Approve? It was just such a long jump from lying in her bed, picking at Holly over every little thing, and satisfying her longings with catsuits. And by catsuits, I don’t mean the kind Lola Falana made famous representing Tigress perfume a thousand years ago. I mean the fleece variety with kittens all over them.

And now she was designing and making spectacular costumes for Char. Talk about a 180: she was simply not the same woman. I couldn’t see her ever living on Sullivan’s Island full-time again. Not after this. Side note? She was also the happiest I’d ever seen her. Maybe Suzanne was just so outrageous, which she was, that Momma couldn’t resist. Who knows? Anyway, I wasn’t about to suggest a return date to the Lowcountry for either one of us.

Momma seemed more tired than usual. She had purple circles under her eyes. Her spirits were high, but her energy seemed a little tapped out. But then, we were out every night, doing one crazy thing or another. We went to see a show called Le Rêve, which is this underwater tango that’s about true love versus dark passion—a hard choice if ever there was one. We’d been to the Burlesque Hall of Fame, we’d played miniature golf at a Kiss-inspired course and shot our golf balls through Gene Simmons’s head, and we’d had a tour of the Neon Boneyard. Pretty exciting stuff for a couple of home girls from the Lowcountry.

There had been a scout in the audience the night of Char’s showcase. And don’t you know, Char had been quickly picked up by the William Morris Endeavor agency. Now she had professional representation. Naturally, they had a huge legal team to go over contracts and a bookkeeping department to keep the clubs and casinos honest. Well, at least the clubs and casinos would be honest with Char. Suzanne predicted that soon Char would have a big-time manager and a choreographer who would help her shape a more professional and polished act, maybe give her a live backup band. As soon as the word hit the streets that there was a new talent in town, all these folks would be coming out of the woodwork. They would offer so much more than Suzanne could provide, more by a ridiculously wide margin. And Suzanne would conclude that she was just happy to have been a part of the launch.

“You know,” Char said yesterday, “having my own orchestra would be my dream come true.”

“With a horn section?”

“I was thinking xylophone and maybe strings?”

“A retro act, like Duke Ellington and Lionel Hampton?”

“Exactly!”

“Hmmm,” I said. “That’s something to work toward.”