Have you ever had a girlfriend who took you for granted? Maybe she spent the money you gave her for your dry cleaning on drinking, or was late for dinner because she was at the mall with her friends, or gave that special lunch you made her to the UPS guy. And she only came to when you were ready to pull the plug on the whole pointless mess? Well, meet Charlene.
After weeks of messing around, sunning, clubbing and flat-ironing, she’s now pleading with her boss, Linda, to let her try one more time and make Truck Stop: Miami a reality. And what better place to have the conversation that could save your job than squatting in the middle of the sidewalk?
Linda relents because A) she’s already invested a lot of time, money and faith on Charlene and B) it’s a win-win situation for her: either the event happens and she makes money, or Charlene flames out in spectacular fashion and that, my friends, is good television.
Charlene meets with Omar (remember him?) and finally admits she has no idea on God’s green earth what she’s doing. Omar tells her what he told her six weeks ago: Get the other promoters on board. Charlene proceeds to meet with a parade of boy bar promoters, all of whom are impressed with her passion for lesbian events. Plus, they feel sorry for her because she’s crying in front of them.
Charlene’s biggest hurdle isn’t getting some anti-depressants, or having the gay boys to do a kick line for Truck Stop, it’s winning over Alison, the promoter she pissed off a few weeks ago. They all meet at a South Beach restaurant to talk it out. Tonight’s special? Crow.
Alison’s eyes narrow as she studies Charlene. After consulting with her posse, Alison announces that she’ll help. High five?
Now the real work begins. Davonee hands out fliers to hot chicks on the beach, the dancers learn their moves, and Charlene goes down the line, giving them the kind of once-over that only she can give: “Boobs look good, boobs look good.” After that fun inspection, she moseys over to the venue that will hold the event.
Out of nowhere, Linda and Michelle walk in to check up on things. They survey the space and instantly know Charlene has miles to go before she can sleep.
The event starts in two hours and the stage isn’t up, the lighting is nowhere and the tables and chairs are a mishegoss. Linda announces she needs some champagne, stat.
Charlene and Davonee finally wandered over to the venue, and get one last “What the eff have you been doing?” speech from their bosses. Something clicks in Charlene’s noggin’ and she finally gets it. Oh, you mean this crap doesn’t set itself up? Charlene starts bossing the staff around, telling them to fix the stage, move the tables and almost nonchalantly, she throws out, “I need a siren.”
It’s party time. A decent crowd has gathered on the sidewalk. They press toward the entrance and overwhelming the door person, Hilary.
Why did they put the youngest and smallest person they know in charge of the door? Apparently, Elle Fanning wasn’t available.
Hey, look everyone, it’s Angel.
More people pour in – local lesbians, the gay boys, the other promoters, people wandering in off the beach looking for a bathroom. The peroxide-challenged drama queen, Jazmin, shows up and guess what? Hilary can’t find her name on the VIP list. For the first time in six weeks, I laughed out loud.
Things are falling into place for Charlene. Erin, her showmance, shows up one last time for some congratulatory smooches. But it’s not until Charlene grabs the mic that she’s really in her element. The siren she ordered wails loud and long and she bellows her signature lesbian mating call, “Laaaaaddieeeees!”
The crowd goes nuts, and rightly so. In case you don’t have big lesbian club events where you live, here’s what Truck Stop looks like.
It’s good to be gay.
You know your night is a success when you’ve lost our voice, your hair is soaking wet, and Linda Fusco gives you a “solid B,” and isn’t even grading you on a curve.
The show really should end right here. But no. I don’t have that kind of luck, because the next day, the girls are taking a goddamn boat out to a secluded island for some hardly needed R & R. Here’s Maisi disembarking.
The boat backs up and takes off. Charlene asks why he’s leaving. Maisi drops the bomb: it’s an intervention. She has decided that no one leaves the Isle of Misfit Lesbians until their issues are resolved. Hope everyone forwarded their mail.
What does this have to do with Charlene or Davonee? Nothing. This is about Hilary not liking her friend Gaby’s girlfriend, Jazmin. It’s not Angel’s problem either, but unlike us, she’s miles away, doing something normal. Angel is like Visa — she’s everywhere you want to be.
Hilary and Charlene start arguing over feelings and who holds them in, and who’s not liking whom, and everyone’s talking over each other and getting madder by the second. Davonee doesn’t say a word because she knows good lesbian drama when she sees it.
“You don’t know anything! Stop telling me you know things when you don’t know them!” Hilary yells at Maisi. “Why are you forcing it! You don’t have that right!”
Actually, she does. It is every lesbian’s God-given right to get all up in their friends’ business. It’s in the handbook. Look it up.
Davonee watches impassively and admires her abs. Maisi becomes befuddled why no one appreciates her efforts, her peace-loving cleavage glistening in the Florida sunshine. Gaby and Jazmin retreat to a nearby patch of sand to huddle and weep, while Hilary goes even farther down the beach and puts herself in time-out. This is one strange-ass show.
No one says a word. The tide is coming in. I aged about a year waiting for this nightmare to end.
Finally, Hilary and Jazmin sit down to talk. Jazmin admits she said “evil things” about Hilary. Hilary says she’s OK with Jazmin now. Oh goodie, everyone can go home now. Too bad their boat is nowhere in sight. The girls join together either for a group hug or to discuss how to build a lean-to out of two beach towels and some twigs.
Somewhere, Angel is laughing her ass off.