Millie-Joyce Ming cut through the black water, sleek as a marlin, her pale arms flashing in the moonlight. Once she exhausted herself, she flipped onto her back and floated, a small white blot buoyed on the inky waves. She rested, allowing the powerful current to pull her away from shore.

Jane and Maura made their way down the wooden staircase to the beach, shivering under the damp sandy blanket wrapped around their shoulders. They picked up speed when they hit the sand, jogging toward the waterline where Ming had all but disappeared. Only the occasional glint of starlight twinkling off of the thick lenses of her glasses told her friends that she was still out there, bobbing on the choppy sea. Then she was gone.

"Oh, Jane, she's going to drown. We need to do something." Maura looked down the deserted beach. Cherry Grove had no lifeguards; signs were posted on every walkway that swimmers were on their own. The barrier island was home to some epically rough seas and the small community did not want to assume responsibility for failed rescue attempts.

Jane dropped the blanket and waded into the churning surf, her eyes scanning the dark sea.

Maura was at her side. "She may have fallen victim to a sea puss."

"Swallowed by a sea pussy? Knowing Ming, that's exactly how she'd want to go." Jane laughed nervously, fully aware her joke was not at all funny.

"Sea pusses are powerful funnel-like currents created by the tide sucking back through narrow gaps in a sand bar. They are very dangerous and Fire Island is famous for them; the feminist icon and journalist Margaret Fuller drowned here in 1850. Picture a giant vacuum with all of its energy concentrated in one small area."

Jane swallowed, imagining Ming, spiraling backwards through the sea tethered to an invisible current. "I'm going in, babe."

"No! If she's caught in a current, there's nothing you can do for her."

Jane wrenched her eyes from the ocean and allowed herself one long look at her love. Maura; her sea-damp hair blowing in the salty breeze, eyes wide with fear, white blouse molded to her curves, pale hand clutching Jane's arm, the diamond in her ring flashing in the moonlight.

The ring gave her pause; she had promised forever. She hesitated, meeting Maura's gaze, lost in the shifting palate of grey and green, copper and ochre.

"Maura." She sighed, unable to to pull away from those eyes and the tightening grip of the doctor's hand on her biceps.

"Jane, I'm fully prepared to render you unconscious if I need to."

"Wha…how?"

"I'm an expert in human anatomy with an IQ of 178 on the Weschler scale and 183 on the Stanford-Binet. I have my ways." Maura's face softened. "And I'm in love with you."

Jane's tense body sagged against Maura's smaller frame. Her muscles still twitched with unspent adrenalin, her nerves rapidly firing to prepare her body for an icy plunge and desperate race through treacherous waters although her heart had already given in to Maura's pleas.

"So we just let a woman drown?" She pulled away, but Maura wrapped strong arms around her waist and drew her close again.

"Hey! Who's drowning?" A familiar voice called.

Ming lay on the wet sand, her arms casually folded behind her head as waves broke over her lower limbs.

"Millie-Joyce!" Maura was instantly at her side, kneeling in the surf to examine the laughing woman, her nervous hands fluttering across the tennis legend's bare chest and then finding their way to her neck where she counted a strong, steady pulse.

"I think I have a little cramp in my groin, if you'd like to rub it…not too hard. Tight circles if you please."

Maura's hand moved automatically toward the requested area, only to be pulled away roughly by Jane.

"You're a dog, Ming."

"Jane and Maura, how good it is to see you both."

She leapt to her feet, powerful thigh muscles tightening and propelling her straight up. She wrapped both women in a crushing hug.

"We thought you had drowned. It's dangerous and just plain stupid to swim that far out, especially at night."

Millie-Joyce hugged them tighter still then released. "Dangerous and stupid…yes, so is hitting on veiled women in Dubai, but I do it all the time and have great success." She winked. "You never know what you're going to get, but it's all good."

Jane picked up their discarded beach blanket and offered it to the naked woman.

"No thanks, Jane. This is how nature meant me to be, sleek and nude, stiff nipples pointing in the breeze. If I could have hit the courts naked, I would have won a fortieth grand slam title."

She pinched her own hard nipples. "This is proof that women are superior to men. Our parts grow in the cold and theirs shrink down to nothing."

Maura frowned. "That's not entirely true. Erectile tissue in the areola, particularly the Montgomery glands draw together in the cold, projecting the nipple outward. But if you would examine your labia, you'd find that your clitoris has withdrawn into the clitoral hood much as the glans penis will withdraw…"

"Ugh. No penises, Maura, I'm on vacation." Ming took off her glasses and huffed on the lenses, wiping them on the proffered blanket.

"Where are you staying?"

Ming smiled and pointed at a large chalet overlooking the ocean, almost directly behind them. A pair of blond figures could be seen, entwined on a wooden balcony that ran the entire length of the home, backlit by bright lighting within.

Jane whistled. "Wow. Now that's a beach house."

"Yes, that's Swing Both Ways. It's owned by the Women's Tennis Federation. We use it to entertain donors during the summer months. Those of us who bring in the most money get to use it for a week as a bonus. This is Waffles's week. My week starts Saturday, but she doesn't mind. She's leaving a day early; her girl du jour wants to see some Broadway show."

"Hey Waffles!" Ming cupped her hands and her voice carried over the dunes, despite the crashing waves. "Get a room."

The pair on the balcony were still locked in an embrace, hands roving in what appeared to be an intense make-out session. They stopped, and the larger figure approached the railing, cupped her hands and shouted back. "Put some clothes on, Ming. You're scaring the fish."

Jane recognized the voice from countless hours dozing with ESPN playing on her television; high-pitched and nasal, slightly tinted with the accents of her Czech homeland.

"That's Martina Navratilova!"

"Yeah, that's Waffles." Ming nodded.

"Waffles as in, equivocating? Vacillating between two diametrically opposed ideas?" Maura asked.

"No. Waffles as in the breakfast pastries you buy frozen and pop in your toaster. Repulsively delicious story behind that name, but if I told you, I'd have to kill you or Waffles would strangle me with those Virginia ham forearms." Ming giggled. "Let's just say it involves breakfast at Wimbledon, a very aroused girlfriend and a lack of maple syrup in the cupboard."

"I don't understand." Maura drew her brows together.

"I think I do." Jane's nose wrinkled.

Maura shrugged. "Come back to our house for dinner. Faye and Kaye are here. We're going to have a barbecue."

"Faye and Kaye! Awesome. I'll catch up with you later. I have dinner plans."

"Are you going out with Waff…um, Martina?"

"Ha! I'm going to Cherry's to eat borscht and hit on those two sexy bartenders, Masha and Pasha or Jana and Lana…"

"Olga and Volga."

"Right. I'm going to make a Ming sandwich smeared between those two Slavic hotties. I've been trying to bed them for the past three summers. I feel lucky tonight. The one with the beauty mark winked at me when I got off of the ferry."

"That's Volga." Maura confided, resting her finger on her own nose.

"I heard she was a gymnast back in Russia." Ming's eyes grew dreamy behind her fogged lenses. "I bet she still has moves. I'd like to do some floor exercises with her, put her through a full set of rhythmic gymnastics, have her vault through the air and land on my crotch, tumble me on the mat, flip around those uneven bars and stick a landing on my face, swing from my titties like Nadia Comaneci on the still rings. She can mount me and ride me like a pommel horse."

"Pommel horses are exclusively used in men's gymnastics." Maura corrected, but Ming wasn't listening. Her eyes were closed and she gnawed at her lower lip in anticipation.

"I need a cold shower or another cold swim." Ming danced backwards in the sand. "Come to Cherry's after dinner; it's swinging '70s karaoke night. Wear something sexy." She grinned and dove back into the sea.


"What are you wearing, Jane?" Maura stepped away from the mirror, dabbing at her seashell pink lipstick with a tissue.

"Um, it's '70s night…so I thought I could borrow something from Faye or Kaye. They're in their '70s."

The doctor was not amused. "Traveling with you is very taxing. I have to rearrange my entire wardrobe to accommodate you. Coming up with one historically viable outfit was difficult enough, but two…"

"Babe, you brought enough clothes to dress every drag queen in the Belvedere. Just pull out something and I'll wear it. I won't even complain if it itches or gives me a wedgie."

Maura pursed her lips and opened the large wardrobe filled with clothing on black velvet hangers, each spaced exactly a centimeter apart.

"Maura…" Jane crossed the room and wrapped her arms around the frowning woman who was raking through her wardrobe, examining and rejecting item after item.

"I love you. You're beautiful and…and coordinated and you make me a better woman…and a better dresser."

Maura sighed, relaxing for a moment into her fiancée's arms, allowing the dark woman to nuzzle her neck. "What do you think of when you hear 1970s fashion?"

Jane shrugged. "My mother in bell-bottoms and an "Up with People" T-shirt. My Pop in a brown leisure suit. Nothing good."

"I think Halston and Von Furstenburg, neither of which I thought to pack."

"What a shame."

"I know. I do have this one wrap dress, but it's by Melinda Eng, and she didn't begin designing until the mid 1990s." Maura pulled a rather plain black cocktail dress from the closet.

"Perfect. I'll take it. It matches my flip-flops."

"It's not perfect. Even my outfit is wrong. This is Elie Tahari, who was around in the 1970s; he opened a small boutique in New York in 1974, but his designs have evolved drastically over the past forty years." She examined the outfit, tilting her head to the left and then the right. "Actually, the style of the palazzo pants paired with a color block blouse does have a vaguely disco era feel to it."

"Your outfit is lovely, Maur. It's classic. No one will know it isn't an original Hilton Von Hindenburg made in 1977." Jane nipped a bare earlobe and released the doctor's waist, taking the black cocktail dress from her hands.

"I'll know." Maura whispered. "And the drag queens will know."

"Please, you give them too much credit. They'll all be wearing dresses sewn in 2014 by Carmen Erecta over beige panties with rubber lady parts glued into them."

"Hubba hubba!" Kaye whistled as the pair descended the stairs to the small living room. "You two look gorgeous. Babe, they could be in one of those magazines you used to have in your office waiting room and get this, Jane is wearing a dress and Maura's in pants."

"Ah! Good for you, Maura. What are you wearing?"

Maura described their outfits in excruciating detail, down to the graphite beading and dyed faux mink straps of her Brunello Cucinelli sandals. She passed over Jane's black flip-flips, bought from the dollar store in Roxbury.

"Oh, fine Italian footwear. How I miss tottering about in a pair of platform sandals. I had quite the shoe collection in my day. When Kaye was courting me, I'd change in the locker room at the hospital and we'd go to the Copacabana on 47th Street. We would dance all night, smooch a bit in her car, and then she'd drop me back at Lenox Hill for my next shift."

"Those were the days." Kaye agreed. "Have fun. Give Ming a hug from us and a purple nurple."

"No way, she'd think that was foreplay. I'm not going anywhere near Ming's mammaries." Jane grinned. "Do you want me to carry the kid to bed before we go?"

Annaliese had passed out with her head on her Nana's lap, the very picture of innocence.

"Nah. I got it. She's light as a feather. We enjoy her most when she's like this."


The red Christmas lights strung along the covered walkway leading to Cherry's pulsed in time to the thrumming disco music inside. A dance version of Helen Reddy's I Am Woman was broadcast to a sad group of day trippers waiting on the pier for the ferry back to their bland lives. A drunk man in a kilt and bobby socks, Catholic school drag, teetered on the edge of the pier, wind-milled his arms and fell over, landing on his rear rather than in the bay.

"My Pop always said that God protects drunks and fools."

"That's a paraphrase of an old French proverb, 'Dieu aide à trois sortes de personnes: aux fous, aux enfants, et aux ivrogenes.'" Maura grasped her hand. "A teacher at my boarding school always said it when one of my classmates would climb out of the window and shimmy down the side of the building to meet boys in town. They would inevitably be caught sneaking back in, but that no one ever fell and broke a limb or worse is quite extraordinary."

"You never snuck out to meet boys?"

"Never."

"Good. The thought of some pimple-faced teenager groping at your bra straps makes me want to spit."

"Jane, that was almost thirty years ago. No one groped at my bra straps until college, and even then it was rare."

Jane laced their fingers together tighter. "Those bra straps are mine along with everything they hold up."

"Absolutely." Maura smiled, glancing at the large diamond on her left hand. "We can put that in our vows, Jane. I shall plight thee my troth along with all my worldly goods and exclusive access to my brassiere and its contents."

"I like it. You're developing a sense of humor living with me, doctor. You'll have them in stitches at our fiftieth anniversary party in the nursing home."

"I hope so." Maura cast a silent prayer into the universe that she and Jane would live a long life together.

Jane squeezed her hand. "You ready to boogie?"

"I don't know."

"To dance, Maura. Are you ready to enter the night club and move rhythmically across the dance floor?"

"Yes. That I can do."

They were met in the passageway by a tall man in a Wonder Woman costume. He barred their entry with crossed forearms bearing the superhero's star emblazoned gold cuffs.

"Halt!" He squealed. "Let me get my magic lasso and tie you up. I'm going to tickle you until you give me the name of your surgeon. I'm not transitioning, but I'd love to have a more feminine jaw line."

"I'm not a surgeon. I'm a forensic pathologist." Maura explained, reaching for her purse. "I didn't realize there was an entrance fee."

"Not you, sister. I know a real pair of tits when I see them."

"Me?" Jane lay an astonished hand on her sternum. "I'm a woman! And my tits are real; they may not be voluptuous, but they're mine."

"Oh, sorry." He stepped aside. "You're very tall. I thought you were the loveliest drag queen I've ever laid eyes on. Take it as a compliment."

"Okay…see Maura, that's why I should never wear dresses and make up. If I was wearing my jean shorts and a tee shirt, people would know I'm just a plain old dyke."

Maura sighed. "No one outside of Cherry Grove would ever mistake you for a drag queen. Your frame is much too delicate; you're clearly a woman. I like you in a dress; sometimes I want to be able to run my hands up your thigh and ogle your cleavage."

"Fair enough." Jane pulled aside the deep V of her neckline. "Ogle away."

"Who's ogling?" Millie-Joyce appeared behind them, sipping a pinkish cocktail through an enormous looping straw. "There's only one thing worth ogling and that's tatas. You can admire an ass, ponder a pussy, check out a calf, think on a thigh, honor a hand, but when it comes to ogling, it's breastices all the way. Ming is mad for mammaries; I marvel at them and moon over them. Love me some sweet titty meat, yes I do."

She passed Maura her drink and strutted in front of the bar, chanting, "The bigger, the better, the tighter the sweater. Oh yeah. Oh yeah."

Maura snorted, covering her unladylike laugh with a deep slurping sip of Ming's pink drink. "Oh, Millie-Joyce, this is delicious. What is it?"

"Sex on the beach, which is what I plan on doing later with that one." She pointed to the chubby Russian bartender who winked and grinned, showing off a glint of gold tooth far back in her mouth."

"That's Olga." Maura frowned. "I thought you wanted Volga to sit on your face."

"I want them both!" Ming's eyes were wild, greatly magnified behind her thick lenses, resembling the rounded blue orbs of robin's eggs. "I'm going to serve them and I don't mean on a tennis court. Advantage Ming."

Maura leaned closer to shout in her friend's ear over the latest song, a terrible rendition of Diana Ross's "Love Hangover."

"Olga is a pianist. I imagine she has very strong and skilled fingers."

Ming squealed with glee. "I'll let you know tomorrow after I roll her in the sand and she plays chopsticks on my whoo-ha." She took off her glasses and wiped them on the lapel of her jacket. "It's so good to see you both. Let me buy you a drink."

"I'll have a sex on the beach." Maura took another sip of Ming's drink and passed it back, licking at her lips. "Yummy."

"Beer, Jane?"

"Yup."

Millie-Joyce dropped a fifty on the bar and turned back to her friends. "You're looking very feminine, Jane. I might even hit on you if we were strangers in a night club. Maura, you look lovely as usual."

"Thank you, Millie-Joyce. You look very…" Maura struggled for the right word. "…rakish, debonair in a 1970s sort of way."

"This suit belonged to John Travolta. It's one of three that he wore while filming Saturday Night Fever. I had it tailored to fit me."

"Cool. I love that movie." Jane hesitated, then reached out and touched the white polyester fabric of Ming's lapel. "Did you buy it on Ebay?"

"I won it from John at a charity tennis tournament in Palm Springs. He's pretty good, but no match for Ming. If I lost, I had to let him fuck me in the ass."

Jane smirked. "Maybe he threw the game."

The tennis legend guffawed, slapping her white polyester clad thigh. "You're funny, Jane, but also no match for Ming."

It was Volga who lined their drinks up on the bar. "Hello doctor and hot dog girl! You are druzya with Millushka?"

"Da. Ochen khoroshiya druzya." Maura nodded, reaching for her drink.

Volga leered at the doctor and lifted her meaty fists into the air. She made a circle with her left thumb and forefinger and pierced it again and again with her right forefinger, the universal symbol for fucking. Thinking better of it, she turned her finger penis into a circular vagina and mashed the two circles together.

"No, no, Volga, not that close of friends."

"Vy not? She is very sexual voman." She blew a kiss at Millie-Joyce who caught it in mid-air and rubbed it into her crotch.

"More borscht, lapochka?"

"Only if I can drink it from your…" She turned to Maura. "How do you say 'ginormous breasts' in Russian?"

"Bolshaya grud."

"…from your bolshaya grud." Millie-Joyce finished, pointing at the fleshy white cleavage spilling over a black v-neck tee emblazoned with the Cherry's logo.

Volga looked over her shoulder; Olga was on the other side of the bar, serving up shots to three huge bearded men in Girl Scout uniforms; her back was turned. She nodded briskly to Millie-Joyce then dribbled a spoonful of borscht into her cleavage. Ming sprung up onto the bar and lapped it up.

"Can I have seconds?"

"Maybe later." She chucked the tennis legend under the chin and hustled off to wait on the pair of Diana Ross drag queens who had just finished ruining "Love Hangover."

Butthole-Fly took the stage. "Good evening, bitches. Welcome to the seventies. I see most of you are old enough to remember that sweet decade. In fact, some of you old queens can probably remember the 1870s; anyone in Scarlett O'Hara drag here?" He shielded his eyes and scanned the crowd.

"Oh, hello Jane. How's your tummy? Did you pass all those hot dogs?"

Jane waved and everyone cheered good-naturedly for her.

Butthole-Fly dabbed at his sweating forehead with a cocktail napkin and continued. "Accompanying Jane is our own town doctor. Doctor Isles will be examining assholes tomorrow. Now I know most of you personally and you're all assholes…" He paused a beat, waiting for applause, which was given grudgingly. "…any-hoo, stop by Belly Acres on Doctor's Walk tomorrow between seven and one to have your prostates checked. Nobody likes a limp dick and that's what you get with prostate cancer…E.D. Erectile Dysfunction," he trilled, his red lips forming a perfect O of despair against his white kabuki makeup.

"You're digging in guys' butts tomorrow?" Jane asked, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Maura sighed. "I guess so. D'Fwan has been suggesting it since my first day here. I never agreed, but he must have taken it upon himself to declare Saturday prostate screening day."

Jane finished her beer and let out a muted burp. "Boy am I glad I'm not a doctor. Another drink, babe?"

Maura glanced at her nearly empty glass. "Sure. Where's Millie-Joyce?"

Jane glanced about, but their friend was gone. Volga and Olga were still behind the bar, so she hadn't gotten lucky on that front, yet. A moment later she back flipped onto the stage from behind a set of speakers, landing in a split at Butthole-Fly's feet. The startled man jumped back, nearly losing his balance in his high wooden sandals. He recovered quickly, fanning himself with his ornately painted ogi.

"Hopping homosexuals!" He panted. "I was just about to sing It's Raining Men and a lesbian drops from the heavens. "

"Not just any lesbian, Millie-Joyce Ming, five-time Wimbledon singles champion." A woman's voice shouted from the back of the room.

Ming jumped to her feet. "I won Wimbledon six times, but who's counting."

"Sing something, Ming!" The same voice shouted.

"Sing Ming! Sing Ming! Sing Ming!" Soon the entire bar was howling in unison, begging the tennis legend to grace them with a song.

Ming whispered something in Butthole-Fly's ear and he nodded vigorously, punching in a code on his Karaoke machine. The music started and she hooked her thumbs into her white polyester belt loops and began to sing, "Macho, macho man. Ming's gotta be a macho man…"

Her voice was high-pitched and off key, but the crowd loved it. A group of women made their way to the front of the stage, pumping their fists in time to the music.

"Body, it's so hot, Ming's body, Body, love to pop Ming's body, Body, love to please Ming's Body, Body, don't you tease Ming's body, Body, you'll adore Ming's body, Body, come explore Ming's body… Ladies! Show me how macho you are. Take off your shirts and flex your titties!"

Everyone listened; a dozen blouses and t-shirts flew through the air followed by a dozen bras. Swept up by the fervor and two Sex on the Beaches poured by Volga's heavy hand, Maura shrugged out of her Tahari blouse and unclasped her yellow brassiere.

"Are you insane?" Jane grasped the fluttering lemon straps and quickly rehooked them. "Are you really going to jiggle my breasts in Ming's face? Really?"

Maura flushed. "Oh, Jane, I don't know what came over me." She quickly slipped back into her blouse.

The song ended and Ming skipped from the stage. Strutting down the line of sweaty women, she bent and kissed each bare breast, suckling a nipple of those who allowed it.

"That would have been you." Jane pointed at the display.

Maura groaned and covered her face.

Butthole-Fly reclaimed the microphone. "Well, Millie-Joyce, that certainly was the most interesting karaoke performance I've witnessed in my four hundred years on Cherry Grove."

Ming howled and thumped her chest, sprinting around the crowded room in a victory lap. "Volga! Olga! Shots for everyone on me." She screamed.

The bartenders scanned the room, chattering in rapid-fire Russian.

"They're calculating what crap they can mix together for the least money." Shirley Temple groused from Jane's left. "I bet they serve up borscht shots with an eyedropper full of Georgi in each."

"You wanting vodka, Millushka?" Volga asked, as the tennis legend completed her lap and came to a halt in front of the bar, bouncing up and down in place.

"I want…" Millie-Joyce thought for a moment. "Buttery nipples!"

"Buttery nipples Russian style!" Olga declared.

"Like I predicted, borscht and cheap vodka." Shirley Temple deadpanned.

"Excuse me, Olga, but what makes a buttery nipple especially Russian?" Maura asked.

"Russian nipple is squeezed between two shots of vodka; Stolichnaya, nipple, Stolichnaya."

"Stoli, nipple, Stoli! Stoli, nipple, Stoli!" The crowd started to chant.

"We having prizes!" Volga shouted above the cheers. "Kukla for who drinks shots most sexy way."

Jane finished her second beer and debated ordering a third. Beer, beer, Stoli, buttery nipple, Stoli was a surefire recipe for an upset stomach. The last time she did shots was in March when the team nailed a real shitbag who had killed his girlfriend on her birthday then tried to pin it on her Down's syndrome son. They made the arrest on St. Patrick's Day, so Sean had insisted they celebrate with Jamison's; one shot for each year of the dead woman's life; she'd been 36, dividing that between Korsak, Frost, Sean, and herself, it was still nine shots a piece. The bartender had to call Maura to drive them all home. Jane had vomited out the window of the Prius and spent the rest of the night lying on the cool tile floor of the bathroom with the doctor watching over her from her sentry post on the toilet seat. She would hate to barf up Maura's hundred dollar Frida la Pida steak; best to skip this contest.

"Are you entering the contest, Jane? You seem to have a penchant for gluttony."

Jane's reverie was interrupted by the arrival of her Fairy Godfathers, adorable in matching purple track suits. Miss Pussy was draped over Joan's shoulder in a lilac Gayby t-shirt.

"Nah, I think I'm going to skip this one. I'm still recovering from the hot dogs."

"Wise choice. Dennis always wins every contest any way. He's very limber."

"The fuck does that have to do with drinking shots?'

"You'll see." Barbara arched a grey eyebrow. "How can I put it delicately, Joan dear?"

"He grills his own hot dog? No, that's not very delicate, is it?"

Maura pointed across the room, where the infamous Dennis, their number one suspect in the case of the strawberry penis, was stripping down to his underpants.

"He seems to be undressing. Maybe I'll take this opportunity to examine his wounds."

"In the middle of a bar?"

Maura shrugged. "It will save him a trip to the office."

"Oh, Honey…" Joan smirked. "He'll be at your office tomorrow for a prostate exam. Knowing Dennis, he'll be first on line."

"Can I buy a drink for my fairy godfathers?" Jane asked.

"Sure. We'll have a pair of dirty martinis and a Dewar's, no ice, for Miss Pussy."

Olga and Volga were sweating with exertion; Olga lined up rows of three plastic shot glasses across one side of the bar while Volga, a bottle of Stolichnaya in each hand filled the two outer glasses, moving quickly down the line without spilling a drop. Ming had hopped over the bar and was mixing Bailey's Irish Cream with Butterscotch Schapps in an enormous aluminum shaker. She disappeared below the lip of the bar for a moment then popped back up, giggling.

"I added a special ingredient."

"I don't think I want to know what it is." Jane wrinkled her nose.

"I dipped my nannettes into the brew for good luck. Pussy power!" She offered her fist and Jane reluctantly bumped it.

"You sure you didn't dip your pussy into it?"

"I'm sure, but I can if you want me to."

"No, but you can make me two dirty martinis and a Dewar's."

"Gotcha."

The assembly line finished, Volga vaulted onto the bar with a grace that belied her 200-pound frame. "First ve drink, next ve compete!"

Butthole-Fly and the three bear Girl Scouts set about passing out shot glasses.

"Milluska, you toast?"

Millie-Joyce flipped herself onto the bar next to the object of her lust. She lifted the first shot, pure Russian vodka. "I defer to you, Volga."

Volga bowed her head and thought for a moment. "Чтобы столы ломались от изобилия, а кровати – от любви!"

Everyone drank though not a soul, save Maura, had any idea what they were drinking to.

"What did she say?" Jane whispered.

"May our tables break from abundance and our beds from love. Our bed may do just that if you don't tighten that frame soon."

Millie-Joyce lifted the buttery nipple shot. "I propose a toast to all gay men. May you continue to fuck each other and leave all the ladies to Ming!"

The bar erupted in shouts and whistles, catcalls and screams of "Miiiiiiing!"

Butthole-Fly, back on stage, picked up the microphone. "Millie-Joyce, I think I speak for every queen in Cherry Grove when I say you can have them all."

Ming bowed to more frenzied cheering. "I plan to do just that, my friend."

"Last shot, come on! I'm ready to compete." Dennis shouted when the applause died down. "I can't keep this erection indefinitely."

"He shouldn't be having an erection at all." Maura confided. "He isn't healed."

"Come on up here, Olga, give the last toast." Ming offered her hand and with great effort, and the help of Jane and Maura who stood behind her and pushed, managed to pull the heavy woman on top of the bar.

"Well I got what I wanted. I'm sandwiched between these two Slavic hotties." Ming grinned. "It could only be better if we were all naked…and covered in chocolate…in a dildo factory."

Volga laughed coquettishly and pinched Ming's ass. Olga, more direct, pinched her nipple.

"Friends…" Olga raised the last glass. "Volga and I came here with nothing; defectors, outcasts. Here we found a community, prosperity, happiness. Tonight I drink to America."

"To America!" Everyone echoed.

Butthole-Fly raised the microphone and sang an a cappella version of "God Bless America." He didn't substitute a single word; the tears smearing his kabuki make up attested to his sincerity.

When he was finished, the crowd stood in silence for a moment, everyone feeling connected and at peace. In front of the stage, a dozen topless lesbians swayed arm in arm with Carmen Erecta and the Diana Ross impersonators, the three bears lifted Olga and Volga down from the bar top, Honey Doo Doo hugged the tall man in Wonder Woman drag, Barbara and Joan wrapped their arms around Jane and Maura and Ming poured an extra glass of scotch for Miss Pussy and a double for herself.

"Does anyone still feel like competing or should we just sing 'Kumbaya' and go home?" Butthole-Fly asked.

"I want to compete!" Dennis shouted. "Ming, you and me!"

"No thanks, fella. I'm good where I am." Ming was still behind the bar, leisurely drinking her scotch while Volga and Olga took turns rubbing her shoulders and feeding her spoonfuls of borscht. "Jane, I defer to you."

"To her!" Dennis screeched. "I beat her in the Great Cock Gobble. She's no competition for me."

Maura squeezed Jane's hand. "Let it go, baby."

"I'm good, Maur. He can't provoke me, fuckin' tofu eating pool-fucker."

"What do you say, Detective Jane?" Butthole-Fly asked.

"Let him have the Ku Klux. I have the greatest prize any person could ask for." She wrapped an arm around Maura's waist and kissed the top of her head. "I'd just like someone to sing a nice slow song so I can dance with my fianceé."

"Awww…." The crowd cooed in unison.

"You all suck!" Dennis picked up his discarded clothing and marched out of the bar, his bruised erect penis pointing the way.

"Here, Dennis, take your Kukla." Olga offered a hand-painted wooden Matryoshka doll to the sour-faced man as he passed.

"Give it to Jane. She can put it on her shelf next to my other trophy."

"Jane?" Olga offered the doll. "Please take it. Volga and I make these ourselves, a hobby."

Jane took the kukla from the bartender's hands. "Thank you, it's lovely."

D'Fwan climbed onto the stage, elegant in a simple black cocktail dress. He conferred with Butthole-Fly and the two consulted a dog-eared notebook, flipping through the pages until they came to an accord.

Butthole-Fly cued the music and the naughty nurse approached the microphone. "Here's some Marvin Gaye for all my gay brothers and sisters. I dedicate this song to Dr. Isles and her partner, Jane, two of the finest people I've ever met who are so very much in love. Come on ladies, here's your slow song…."

He closed his eyes and his rich baritone filled the room, like the thickest honey poured through silk.

I've been really tryin', baby
Tryin' to hold back these feeling for so long
And if you feel, like I feel, baby
Then come on, oh come on

Let's get it on, oh babyLet's get it on.

Maura took Jane's hand and led her onto the dance floor. She rested her right hand on Jane's hip, pulling her close, and placed Jane's right hand on her heart, covering it with her left. They began to sway together.

"Shouldn't I lead, Maura? I'm taller and I'm…well…kinda the guy in this relationship."

Maura shook her head. "Neither of us is a guy, Jane. You're a woman and I'm a woman. Sometimes you lead and I follow, other times I lead. You may be taller, but I'm the better dancer, so follow me, love."

Jane nodded, resting her head on top of Maura's.

D'Fwan finished the song and began another, Barry White's "Walking in the Rain with the One I Love." Jane and Maura could have been alone in the crowded bar, molded together and moving to the sweet Motown music. They didn't notice when Butthole-Fly joined D'Fwan for a poignant duet of Diana Ross and Marvin Gaye's "You are Everything."

They separated only when the Wonder Woman impersonator tapped Jane on the shoulder. "I think your friend has had enough. Maybe you should take her home."

Ming was epically drunk; all of her fancy footwork had deserted her. She shambled, pigeon-toed, muttering, "boobies, boobies, boobies."

"Millie-Joyce, you need to go home." Jane picked up John Travolta's white polyester jacket from the floor and draped it over her arm. "C'mon Ming, we'll walk you back, make sure you're safely tucked in for the night."

"No! I have a double date with Vodka and Odka."

"Volga and Olga went home an hour ago. Look, there's one bartender left, the old guy with the bad toupee."

Ming squinted at the man. "No, that's Vodka. See her beauty mark." She attempted to tap her nose, but missed.

"That's not a beauty mark, Millie-Joyce, you have a brown smudge on your glasses." Maura reached up and wiped the lens with a cocktail napkin. "See, all gone. No melanocytic nevus."

"Oh, now I see. It's not Vodka."

"No."

"It's Odka."

"Ming, tomorrow's another day. Let's go."

Jane and Maura each took an arm and together they dragged her from the bar.

At the front door of Swings Both Ways Maura shrugged out from under Millie-Joyce's arm, leaving Jane to support the tennis legend's weight alone.

"Jesus, Ming, you have two good legs. Stand on them."

Millie-Joyce shifted, let out a powerful fart and giggled. "That was an ace."

"Eww. Gross. That smells like borscht."

Maura knocked firmly and stepped back. There was no sound of movement within. "Maybe we should bring her back to our house."

"No way. Do you want to wake up with Ming drooling on your boobs tomorrow morning?"

"No. That is a privilege that I reserve solely for you."

"Booooooobs." Ming muttered, wiggling her fingers in anticipation.

Maura knocked again, louder. A chain rattled within and the door swung open. The doctor found herself face to face with a very annoyed Martina Navratilova. The tennis champion stood glaring in her doorway wearing a white tank and panties, thin blonde hair rumpled and standing on end.

Maura smiled sweetly. "Dobrý večer. Jmenuji se Maura."

Martina was startled. She ran a hand through her hair and stood straighter. She was expecting a drunk Ming and was met instead by a beautiful woman speaking flawless Czech.

"Hello, Maura." Martina crossed her powerful arms over her chest, acutely aware of her stiffening nipples under the thin cotton of her undershirt.

"Potřebuji vaši pomoc." Maura explained.

"You need my help. Of course…but, I can tell by your accent that you're American. I do speak fluent English."

"Oh…I'm sorry. It's just that I so rarely get to practice my Czech. I sing along to Rusalka, but it's not the same. "

"You sing along to Dvořák?"

"Yes. In all fairness, Věc Makropulos is my favorite Czech language opera, but Janáček isn't as melodic. I have poor pitch, but I can muddle through if there is a strong melody."

"Aha. So, Maura…is this a singing telegram? Are you going to woo me with Rusalka's Hymn to the Moon?"

Maura bit her lip. "No, as I said, I…we need your help."

Jane stepped into the light, dragging a babbling Ming. "Booobs. Buh-buh-buh-boobs."

"This is my partner, Jane."

Martina sighed, equally disappointed by the sight of her intoxicated friend and the beautiful stranger's girlfriend.

"Do you want me to carry her inside?" Jane asked.

"No. I've got it." Martina flexed her massive biceps and easily lifted the older woman across her shoulders.

She paused in the doorway. "Děkuji, Maura. Dobrou noc."

Maura waved, linking her arm through Jane's. "Rádo se stalo. Dobrou noc, Martina."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, scooby dooby nachos, Waffles."

Martina closed the door, but they could hear her shouting as they strolled down the cedar planked walkway, "Waffles? I'm going to kill you, Millie-Joyce!"