All the fixins' for vixens

When we found out that the big theme was "Vixens, Villains and Vampires," and Gene found some denim on sale. . . .

Well, four lace-trimmed bustiers later, there we were: One very pouty drag queen, one I-Dream-of-Jeannie genie, one campy Carmen Miranda and one fairly jovial Denim Dominatrix. Click on the pictures for the large versions if you have the nerve.

Gene supplied his own off-the-rack skirt; Jerry had some gold lamé balloon pants whipped up; I took the bottom and sleeves from a Carmen costume -- and had Christopher make the fruit-basket headdress, of course; and Robert had a mini made out of the same denim. Our friend Gregory, on his first walk into the wild side, rounded out our table in a sequined flapper dress with lots of rhinestone accessories.

Gene wanted honest-to-God drag treatment, so Inga turned him into a work of art, down to the glitter on those pouty lips -- the sort of thing, Inga cautioned, that meant he had to drink out of a straw all night.

The rest of us were made fabulous by Robert's bridge friend Neil -- a Revlon trainer who ran to the rescue when the ditz we'd arranged to do makeup was a no-show. Neil is a saint, the ditz much less so. Jerry got a terrific boost from some fantastic stick-on eye thingies from a Duval Street booth.

The result brought us an entire parade of photo-ops on the short walk to our parade viewing position on the porch at 915. But beauty is not easy. Robert had a little pain from the surgical tape we used to create his cleavage, and the weight of the hat was boring two spots into the top of my head.

So, after a wobbly but showy hour or so, I retreated home and re-emerged in a much more comfortable wig -- the one that came with the yellow bicycle. But along the way, I was stopped for pictures with a teary-eyed Brazilian woman, touched beyond belief that someone would pay tribute to her beloved national icon.