Naughty Little Secrets. Mary Wilbon

or being born gay?” asked Slick.

      “Black!” they shouted in unison.

      “Why?” asked Slick.

      “Because you don’t have to come out to your parents,” they all said.

      Laura and Slick watched as their friends headed toward another part of the mansion.

      When they were sure no one else was watching, Slick and Sam looked back at each other, conspiratorially, and Slick gave him a “thumbs up” sign.

      That meant she’d call him soon to see what cases he was working on. She wanted to get back to doing some kind of law enforcement work, and she wanted to see what was happening.

      Slick’s job at Laura’s company, Clam-de-Monium, paid her well, but it wasn’t very challenging.

      She didn’t like keeping things from Laura and was going to tell her as soon as possible, but not tonight. Tonight was the eve of their tenth Christmas together and not the time for such serious matters.

      It could wait.

      Slick and Laura finished their martinis and set the glasses down.

      “Who did you get to be the house band this year? Did you get that kid? What’s her name? Broccoli Spears?” asked Slick facetiously.

      Slick really didn’t care who was playing. She was looking forward to dancing to a few slow tunes when Laura would close her eyes, put her head on Slick’s shoulder, and they would melt into one another.

      “No,” said Laura, laughing. “Bruce called and said he was going to be spending the holidays at his home here in New Jersey. He said he and the guys would love to play tonight. Plus, Melissa and kd are here, somewhere. They both told me they’d gladly do a few numbers when Bruce wanted to take a break. kd and Melissa are thinking of getting together and doing a remake of that Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson song, ‘To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before.’ They may sing it here tonight.”

      Slick and Laura walked to the Grand Assembly Hall and looked inside.

      The entire hall was decorated from floor to ceiling with lights, garlands, and wreaths. Swags of rich red and green velvet were draped about. Overhead, the candelabra was entwined with holly, berries, and ivy, making it the mother of all mistletoe.

      A colossal twenty-foot Christmas tree loomed above the guests. Decorated with hundreds of candy canes, presents, strings of popcorn, tinsel, and bows, it was the centerpiece of the room.

      The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, happy conversation, and great music.

      Bruce was wailing, and the place was rocking.

      “Santa Claus is comin’ to town…

      Santa Claus is comin’ to town…

      Santa Claus is com-min’ to-o town!”

      Through it all was the sound of corks popping and ice tinkling in the cut-crystal glasses.

      Jugglers and magicians strolled throughout the room, performing and entertaining. Above, acrobats did stunts in midair.

      The serving staff, dressed up as Santa’s helper elves and pixies, moved deftly and unobtrusively through the crowd with trays of canapés and cocktails.

      A wildly diverse mix of people had been invited into their home to celebrate Christmas Eve. Most of those invited gladly accepted.

      Here in the subdued lighting, behind the camouflage of their masks and costumes, politicians and CEOs danced and chatted with ex-hustlers and pimps.

      Kings of industry sang Christmas carols with queens of drag.

      Republicans toasted Democrats.

      Reporters and celebrities peacefully suspended their usual hunter-versus-the-hunted maneuvering.

      There were even a few members of some royal families on hand.

      That had been the only requirement to get on the guest list of a Laura Charles and Cassandra Slick party; they had insisted that guests in their home treat each other with respect and courtesy.

      With that came discretion.

      Whatever happened at parties here remained known only to the partygoers.

      Even those with nothing to lose, those who may have been tempted with large, fast, easy money into talking to the press, remained silent.

      Slick still had powerful contacts and considerable influence at a lot of PDs. Everyone understood the greater value of keeping her as a friend, so they kept their mouths shut.

      Slick and Laura gained the reputation of providing an atmosphere of fun and privacy.

      Over the years the famous and infamous, the privileged and the less-than-privileged had socialized together in their home, confident that they wouldn’t read about their adventures in the tabloids. Consequently, their guest list grew longer after every party.

      Slick and Laura lingered at the entryway for a moment to see if they could recognize some of the masqueraders.

      “Is that who I think it is?” asked Laura, looking in the direction of a handsome young man in a Zorro costume.

      Slick looked. “I think it is. Yes, it’s definitely him.”

      “Who’s that cute cowboy he’s playing kissy-face with?”

      “That’s Tony ‘Ten Inches’ Gillardo, former male prostitute.”

      They were about to continue with their name game, when they were spotted.

      “Merry Christmas, Laura. Great Party. Slick, I need to talk to you. Now.” Slick turned to the man in the jester costume who was grabbing her arm and pulling her aside.

      Laura stumbled momentarily when Slick let go of her arm, but soon felt someone else holding her up.

      “This is wonderful, Laura. A lovely party. I love your mermaid costume. Your home is just beautiful. Thanks for inviting me.”

      Laura immediately recognized the voice behind the Abe Lincoln makeup.

      She thought the Honest Abe costume was a brilliant idea.

      “Senator, I’m so glad you could be here. Abe Lincoln looks good on you. There are some things I’d like to…”

      “Excuse me, Miss Laura,” interrupted Evelyn. Judson had assigned Evelyn to answer the door for the evening.

      “There’s a gentleman at the door who insists on speaking with Miss Slick.”

      Laura could see that the jester was still bending Slick’s ear.

      “I’ll see to it, Evelyn. Thank you.”

      “Senator,” she said, turning back to “Abe.” “Please excuse me for one moment.”

      “Certainly.” The senator walked away and struck up a conversation with “Lucky Numbers” Nussbaum.

      As Laura took little baby steps out of the room, she saw Henry, who worked in the kitchen, pushing an empty food cart.

      “Henry,” she said. “How about a lift?”

      “Of course, Miss,” Henry obliged.

      He helped Laura onto the food cart and wheeled her down the long hallway toward the front door.

      Evelyn followed them, quietly amused at the sight. She couldn’t help being reminded of a mermaid float she had once seen in a parade. She imagined Laura on the float, doing the queenly hand wave and nodding regally to the crowd.

      “Thank you, Henry,” said Laura when they reached the entryway. “Please continue to do whatever you were doing before I cart-jacked you.”

      “Yes, Miss.”

      Laura hopped off the cart and looked around. There was no one there.

      “A