Written for Secret_Garden. Extra special thanks to China_Shop for allowing me to play in her wonderful Gloria-verse and for performing beta-duty on this. Hopefully I've kept things true. :D If you haven't read Gloria, please go read that first! PG-13.
One: Ray Vecchio's wallet
Well, not at first—at first she used the little pink leather change purse she'd bought specifically for her drink-money. The wallet stayed in the glove box of the Riv, safe and sound in the parking garage up the street from the club. But then one night the show ended, the last round was called, Gloria had been put away, and Ray, clad again in his favorite charcoal gray custom-tailored suit, walked out the front door—to six squad cars and a paddy wagon blocking the street.
The teenybopper dance club on the next block was getting busted big, drug dogs and everything, which meant there were cops on the scene from Vice and Narcotics, and since Ray had done years in both departments, that was bad, real bad. Ducking his head, Ray turned around in the doorway and went back inside, pretending he'd forgotten something. He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face, examining it for traces of makeup. His skin was clean, which he knew, rationally. He knew that, he was just panicking a little, like anyone would.
He drew in a deep breath and tried to calm down. He could mix into the crowd and if any uniforms recognized him, he'd simply flash his—badge, which was in the damned car, clipped to his wallet.
He ended up going out the back—Deidre raised a painted eyebrow but didn't say anything—and sneaking up the alley to walk all the way around the block to the garage's side entrance. Then he drove home shaking and half-nauseated with adrenaline. He told himself he'd only been in the doorway for a moment and was too far away for any of the cameras on the police cruisers to have caught his face. But still. Too close a call.
Now Gloria still uses the pink change purse, but keeps the wallet within reach, while Ray's service revolver stays locked in the car, holstered under the driver's seat. It would suck to lose the wallet, but losing his police ID and the gun would be a thousand times worse. Besides, now he knows the girls. Or, rather, Gloria knows the girls. She's seen the way they respect each other's privacy concerning their real lives, their "straight" lives. Plus, only three people can get back in the cubby where Gloria's handbag is while she's onstage, and all three of them have even more to lose than she does. She knows—Ray ran the background checks himself.
Two: A 20% off card for Violet's on Manchester
Violet wants Gloria to give Sophia Loren a shot, but Gloria isn't sure. She's got the legs and the tush is just a matter of padding, but she doesn't have the cheekbones and wearing a Sophia dress would mean waxing her chest—which, considering what any given day being partnered with Fraser is like, somebody would notice. And with Ray's luck, it would be public, humiliating, and probably involve either Frannie, Welsh, or his mother.
Anyway, Gloria has her eyes on a pair of shiny three inch mary jane pumps. They cost the earth, but they'd be perfect. She could show off her legs without fretting over her huge duck-like feet distracting the crowd, and while black would be the most versatile, the blue would match the blue and green silk extravaganza she's commissioned from Deidre.
The best thing about Violet's is how he walks in and suddenly being tall and gangly with a big schnoz and thinning hair stop being things he's self-conscious about. When he crosses the threshold, all those things become Gloria's assets: she's slender, she's got great legs, her face has character, she wears a wig well. Going to Violet's is like magic.
Three: Condoms and lube
Her last birthday—not Ray's birthday, but the anniversary of Gloria's public debut—the girls gave her one of those silly square compacts for holding the condoms the safe sex coalition volunteers pass out every Saturday night. It's cute, but it's kind of small and wasn’t really meant to hold the single use packets of lube they toss out by the handful. Half a dozen of the things are rattling around loose in the bottom of her purse right now, and she has to remember not to put anything sharp in the bag or else she'll have one nasty mess to send to the dry cleaner.
Ray's done his share over the years—guys and girls—but Gloria hasn’t actually messed around that much. Some girls do, and there's no shortage of guys asking, but she doesn't want to be somebody's kink anymore. She tried that a few times at the beginning, when every sight and sensation was fresh and new, and her cock was a constant pinched ache under its disguising layer of elastic. Giving and getting, it was all a huge turn-on. And it was fun, she had a good time doing it. But after a while…maybe it's that the novelty wore off or maybe it's Ray's crush on Fraser talking, but these days Gloria saves it for guys who know how to treat a lady.
Four: Her little black book
As corny as it is, it really is a tiny black faux-leather address book, just like something out of Saturday Night Fever or Looking for Mr. Goodbar. She keeps it zipped in the side pocket of her purse and doesn't have any names in it that could tie her to Ray Vecchio (she's not dumb), but there are a lot of names in it. All her friends from this life are in it. Some people who seriously pissed her off are in it, too. Not that she's vindictive, but if something happens, it's never hurts to have a way to track them down without necessarily having to involve the badge.
Sometimes Ray and Fraser get stuck on stake-out for nights on end and Gloria doesn’t get to go out. Those mornings after, Ray gets the purse out of its hiding place, takes out the address book, and flips through the names of the people Gloria knows and loves and hates and may or may not have hooked up with.
Sometimes, reading through the little dog-eared pages, it feels like nothing more than a dream. Sometimes it feels like Ray's only connection to sanity. And sometimes it's his only reprieve from his feelings for Fraser.
Five: Her makeup bag
It's a narrow little zip pouch beaded in pink and white rhinestones, and Ray had almost, almost given it to Frannie for her birthday—until he stopped thinking how cute it was and how perfect it would be for Frannie, and started thinking how smart Frannie is underneath the ditz-act she puts on. Frannie would want to know why her brother was getting her girly stuff that actually suited her instead of just handing her a gift certificate for the Limited, and she would never in a million years let Ray live it down.
So instead Ray kept the makeup bag for Gloria, and every time she touches up her lipstick when she goes out, she thinks about Frannie and Maria and the beauty pageants they had in the living room twenty-five years ago when Ray was supposedly baby-sitting them, and how they fought over who got to be Cinderella and who had to be the ugly step-sisters.
Frannie and Maria both turned out beautiful, Gloria looks like a hairy Italian guy in drag (good drag, but still drag), and Pop did a number on all of them. But digging her lipstick out—every time her fingers slide over the beading, she thinks, Gloria. She's not giving it up anymore. Now that she has it, now that Pop can't be a prick about anything, Gloria's all hers. Right down to the old, old, secret dream of someday, against all odds, being the one who waltzes off into happily-ever-after with a prince who loves her just the way she is.