Last Diner Standing, page 3
“It’s takes a lot of muscle to work a pole.”
Before I could question her further, a man with a faux hawk stepped out of nowhere. “Hey, I’m Freddy Libra.” He wiped a finger under his nose. “You here to audition?” He wore a long-sleeved shiny shirt, the kind I thought they stopped making in the eighties.
“I’m looking for Destiny.”
He placed his hand on my shoulder. I stared at it until he removed it. “Why you looking for Des?”
“I’m her cousin. Our aunt’s in the hospital. Thought she’d like to know.”
He motioned for us to follow him to a tiny office. He closed the door, which muted the music, but the pounding bass still reverberated through me.
“I didn’t know Des had family.” He pointed to two cheap folding chairs and took a seat behind a metal desk. Roxy and I remained standing.
“We’re distant cousins,” I said.
Freddy wasn’t unattractive with his dark hair and eyes, but he was sleazy. His gaze kept straying from our faces to our boobs.
“You’d do well here, Blue. Get some little nurse’s outfit or something. You could pull down some serious cash.”
Roxy smacked her gum. “Not interested.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He turned his eyes on me. “What about you, Princess? You got little ones, but we could dress you like a school girl. Get you a plaid skirt and some knee socks.”
“I need to talk to Destiny.”
“If you’re her cousin, why are you calling her Destiny instead of Crystal?”
Roxy raised a brow. “Professional courtesy?”
Was Crystal her real name? Seemed like another alias to me. Chicken Licker, Destiny, Crystal. In real life, she was probably something boring like Jane Smith.
“What do you really want with Crystal?” Freddy asked.
Two things I’d learned from Sullivan: stay cool and keep quiet. Whatever you do, don’t get defensive and don’t start blurting out crap. Of course when I was with Sullivan, that worked more in theory than in practice.
“I told you, our aunt’s in the hospital,” I said.
“Crystal’s not here,” he said. “I’d try her at home.”
“We’ll do that,” I said. “By the way, where’s the restroom?”
Freddy stood. “Down the hall and to the right. I’ll tell Crys you were looking for her. What was your name again?”
“Jane Smith.”
I shot Roxy a look as we left the office and walked farther down the hall and into the bathroom. I wanted a chance to talk things over with her. We needed to question the strippers, but I didn’t want to have to pay for the privilege.
The woman who’d been on stage stepped out of a stall. She wore a short flowery robe and eight-inch heels. Her long brown hair benefitted from hair extensions and her melon-sized breasts were so firm and round, they couldn’t possibly be a gift from Mother Nature.
“You two new?” She walked to the sink and washed her hands.
Roxy leaned against the wall. “Not really.”
“Didn’t think so. Especially you,” she tipped her head in my direction. “You’re a civvy all the way.”
“Thanks?” Didn’t know what she was talking about, wasn’t going to ask. “We’re looking for Crystal.”
Her eyes met mine in the mirror. She would have been pretty if she hadn’t worn so much stage makeup. Long fake lashes outlined her deep brown eyes, blue eye shadow highlighted them. “Which Crystal?”
“Destiny.”
She grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and leaned on the counter. “What do you want with that bitch?”
I held out my hand. “My name’s Jane, that’s Elizabeth.” Roxy waved.
The woman shook my hand and left it a little damp. “I’m Jess. Well, my working name is Satin Lace.”
“Nice to meet you. Destiny dated a guy named Sheik.” Really, these names were all too much. But then my sister and I were named after first ladies, so I had no room to talk.
Jess pinched her lips together. “Yeah, I know him. He’s an asshole. He’s dated a few girls here, not just Crystal. But then she isn’t all lily either, if you know what I mean.”
“Are you saying Crystal cheated on Sheik?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Look, I’m a stripper, but I’m not a whore. Crystal is a whore. She doesn’t mind providing extras. And she’s stolen more than one dancer’s man.”
“Extras being…” I asked.
“Billy Joels, Harry James.” She waved her hand.
I glanced at Roxy for translation.
“Blow jobs and handies,” she said.
I turned my attention back to Jess. “Is that allowed here?”
She smiled, and in that moment she appeared older, harsher, then the smile disappeared and she was back to a pretty young woman with too much makeup. “It’s not allowed if you get caught. And sometimes she’d meet up with patrons outside the club. A big no-no, but some girls do it.”
“Back to Sheik—”
“We call him Asshat,” Roxy said.
“That sounds about right.” Jess crossed her arms. “He always wants more than a standard lap dance. Likes to grab.”
“He’s in a coma, got bashed on the head. His ex-wife didn’t do it, so I thought I’d question Crystal.”
Little lines appeared on her forehead between her eyes. “He and Crystal did have a huge fight a couple days ago. He comes rolling in here, throwing money around, getting dances from a bunch of the girls. Real generous with the tips, too. Crystal went ape shit. She’s yelling at him about owing her money and why is he getting dances from the other girls instead of her. Big production. Freddy threatened to fire her and sent her home for the night. Haven’t seen her since.”
“So where did Asshat get this money?”
“Don’t know.”
“Did he come into the club alone or with friends?” Roxy asked.
Jess took a deep breath, tapped her cheek with one manicured, red-tipped finger. “That night by himself, but sometimes he’d come in with a group of guys.”
“Do you know their names?”
“I don’t remember names. Unless it’s a regular. I just call everyone baby.” She shrugged and spun toward the mirror. Rubbing her lips together, she smoothed a hand down her long brown hair.
“You don’t happen to have Crystal’s phone number, do you?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t call that bitch if she was on fire.”
I narrowed my eyes and tried to work that one out. Nope, didn’t get it. “So is Crystal her real name?”
Jess laughed and pushed away from the counter. “Yeah, it is. Crystal Waters.”
Chapter 4
I gave Jess my cell number, then Roxy and I made our way to the main room. More men had shown up in our absence, filling the tables near the back. Several of them watched us walk to the door, eyeballing us like a chained Rottweiler stares at his neighbor’s cat.
“Why did you call me Elizabeth?” Roxy asked.
“I couldn’t sleep the other night so I read Pride and Prejudice,” I said.
“I saw that movie. So, Crystal Waters? That can’t be her real real name.”
“It does seem contrived. And it sounds like she was pissed off enough to hit Asshat. Now we just have to find out what she was doing last night. Because according to Jess, she wasn’t here.”
We stepped outside to thick, gray clouds rolling across the sky. The brisk wind carried a scent of cigarette smoke and Roxy stopped in her tracks.
She clasped my arm. “Can you smell that?” She lifted her nose in the air and wandered around the corner of the building, like a hound dog on a trail.
I hustled to catch up.
She stood beside the DJ I’d seen inside earlier. Clad in a black and white racing jacket, he leaned against the building and puffed. Roxy looked at him longingly.
“Hello,” I said.
He took a drag and blew the smoke away from us. “You the new girls?”
“Nope. Looking for Destiny,” I said.
In his early thirties, he had pale skin, a healthy five o’clock shadow, and a unibrow. “Haven’t seen her in a few days. She got mad at her old man and Freddy kicked her out.”
“Do you know where Ass—Sheik—got the money he was throwing around?” Roxy asked.
“Nope, but he was making it rain like a thunderstorm. Must have won the lottery or something, because he didn’t have any limits that night.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He took six strippers to the VIP room. Was in there for over two hours before Crystal showed up. That kind of entertainment ain’t cheap.”
Roxy moved closer to him and took a deep breath. “That smoke smells so good.”
He smiled. “You want one?”
“She’s quitting.”
Roxy glared at me, then sighed. “Right.”
I leaned my shoulder against the wall and faced him. “So, Destiny—Crystal, had a fight with Sheik. She was mad about the money?”
He laughed and dropped the cigarette on the ground. “Among other things. He was cheating on her. Again. But then she was always getting some on the side, too. Dancers like to bitch and gossip and the word going around was that Crystal’s sugar daddy dumped her. So when Sheik shows up, paying attention to other chicks, she went nuts. Threw a mini bottle of champagne at his head. Bouncer hauled her into Freddy’s office and she stormed out ten minutes later.”
“Who was her sugar daddy?” I asked.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked toward the road. “Who did you say you were?”
“I’m Elizabeth,” Roxy said. “But you can call me Beth.” She was getting into this.
“And I’m Jane. I’m trying to find Crystal. Sheik’s in a coma and I have a few questions for her.”
“You two detectives or something?”
“Nope,” I said. “So who was she seeing and who was Sheik cheating with?”
He laughed. “Crystal was very…generous to her customers. That’s why she’s the most popular dancer here. Made her quota and then some. But with Sheik, the question isn’t who he was cheating with.” He leaned toward me and I got the full effect of his cigarette breath. “But who wasn’t he cheating with?”
He moved around me and sauntered off.
I hated it when people gave murky answers to very simple questions.
“He could have been more helpful,” I said.
“He probably wanted you to tip him. They expect money from the girls to get a good slot, you know.”
“How do you know so much about strippers?” I asked.
“I’ve known a few.”
I dropped Roxy off at Ma’s and when I got home, I phoned Janelle’s cousin, Sondra. Since she wasn’t home, I left a message. Not only did I want to quiz her about Asshat, I wanted to check on Janelle’s kids. They must be scared to death—their mom in jail, their dad in the hospital. I needed to find some suspects other than Janelle. Maybe then the cops would drop the charges and she could get back home to her kids.
*
I arrived at my parents’ house for pre-party drinks at six. I took one last look at myself in the rearview mirror to make sure I didn’t have a hair out of place. Show time.
I walked the paved stone path to the house where my mother answered the door clad in an expensive, beaded black dress. Barbara Strickland is very thin, very flat-chested, very champagne blonde. I inherited my itty bitty titties from her. But my witty personality was all my own.
“Rosalyn, so glad you’re on time for a change.” She cast a critical eye over my vintage gray dress. Vintage because I bought it at a rummage sale two weeks ago. She sighed. “Is that the best you could come up with?”
Handing my coat off to one of the wait staff, I smiled and stood a little straighter in my secondhand dress. “Sorry. My Dolce is at the cleaners.”
White floral arrangements in tall vases were spread throughout the room. The ten foot Christmas tree in the corner filled the space with fragrant, astringent pine. It was trimmed in white lights and ivory ornaments. Gold-wrapped packages strategically dotted the Irish lace tree skirt. I knew from experience those packages were just for show.
“The house looks beautiful, Mom.”
“It should. The decorators have been here for the last three days.”
My father walked into the foyer and dropped a kiss on my cheek. “You look very pretty.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
My mother pursed her lips. “Let’s have a drink before the guests arrive.” She snapped at a waiter. “No, the nuts don’t go there. In the living room, please.” She pointed toward the formal room across the hall, then made a swath through the wait staff as they darted around the house, lighting tapers and setting out napkins.
My father and I trailed behind, his hand on my shoulder. “Your mother started planning this party in July,” he said. “She needs everything to be perfect.”
“I know she does.”
In the family room, my sister, Jacks, stood next to a smaller Christmas tree trimmed in gold, blown-glass baubles. I moved to stand beside her.
“What does she have against color?” I asked out of the side of my mouth.
She turned to me and smiled, pulling me into a hug. My sister was thirty, six years older than me, but we looked the same age. Her blonde hair was shorter than mine, and expertly cut. Her eyes were a little bluer, mine a little greener. But as she pulled back, hers were filled with concern. “I’ve been worried about you. How are you doing? Really?
I rubbed the side of my neck. “I’m great.”
“If you need to talk—”
“Here you go, ladies.” Jacks’ husband, Allen, strode over, two glasses of champagne in his hands. With sandy hair and blue eyes, my dad and Allen could be mistaken for father and son. And they were both doctors. Did I think Jacks had issues? I had so many of my own I didn’t have time to dwell on hers.
Allen’s mouth turned down at the corners. “How are you, Rose? You know we’re here for you. Anything you need.”
I slapped a smile on my face. “I’m just going to powder my nose. Would you please excuse me?”
I calmly walked out of the room, past my mother who was giving a bartender the business about watered down drinks, and into the beige powder room. Leaning against the closed door, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I knew they were worried about me, but I wished they would stop talking about it. I was fine, damn it. Just fine.
Guests started arriving around seven. Doctors, lawyers, golf buddies, Junior League members. I smiled and shook hands, always on the move. I usually get three questions from my parents’ friends: Am I dating anyone? Am I still in school? Have I found a real job? So I had a strategy this year, I would bob and weave my way through this thing, never landing in one place long enough to answer awkward questions. Make the greetings and move on.
So far, I’d been pretty successful. Then my mother suddenly appeared at my side, her hand wrapped around the bicep of an average-looking man in his thirties.
“James Benchley, I’d like you to meet my youngest daughter, Rosalyn.”
“Hello, Rosalyn, it’s nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.
Oh crap, a set up. I smiled. “You, too, James.”
“Your mother tells me you’re a student.”
“She did?” Usually, she liked to hide the fact I’d been in school for the past six years and still didn’t have my Bachelor’s. “Yes,” I said, “I am a student.”
“I’m a big believer in continuing your education. Going for your doctorate, that’s impressive.”
I raised a brow at my mother. “Thank you.”
Her smile hardened. “I told James how important your studies are to you, dear. James is a financial planner.”
“You don’t say?”
When a roaming waiter presented us with a tray of salmon and dill covered cucumber slices, James’ attention was diverted. My mother leaned closer.
“He’s divorced, no kids, and has a decent job. Be nice,” she hissed in my ear. “Enjoy the party, James,” she said in a loud voice.
With a mouthful of cuke, James smiled and raised his glass to her.
I then spent the next fifteen listening to his complaints about his bitch of an ex-wife and her new boyfriend, Sven, a tennis pro she’d met at the club. They now lived in the house James bought.
When he finally took a breath, I said, “She actually ran over your golf clubs, huh?”
“Yeah, then she backed up and ran over them again. Including my new Titleist irons with steel shafts.” He started tearing up. “I loved those clubs.”
“James, I am on pins and needles to hear more, but would you excuse me for just a second? I’ll be right back.”
I squeezed past him and made my way through the crowd to the other side of the room where Jacks nibbled on a cashew.
“Mom told some bitter divorced guy I was working toward my doctorate.” I set my glass on a side table and snagged a mint. I was starving.
“Make small talk. Nod and smile and pretend you’re listening.” She grabbed another glass of wine from a passing waiter. “She used to do the same thing with me. Except she told people I graduated summa cum laude and I was only magna.”
Oh brother. “You know you’re lucky I love you, right?”
A heavily pregnant woman waddled up to us and began asking Jacks about third trimesters. I moved on.
I tried to remain unobtrusive. And out of my mother’s line of sight. I thought I was safe, hiding in a corner with an older couple who told me all about their holiday plans in Costa Rica, when she found me again. Did she have me tagged with a homing beacon?
“Hello, Marie, Donald. I hope you’re enjoying the party.” She chitchatted with the older couple, then took my hand. “Do you mind if I steal Rosalyn away for a moment. There’s someone I want her to meet.”
Marie finger waved, Donald raised his glass, and my mother pulled me to her side. “How did things go with James?”
I tried to pull my hand from her grasp, but she tightened her hold. “He spent fifteen minutes telling me about his horrible ex and how angry he is about the divorce.”
