by Misti Murphy
“With any luck my brother won’t show and Nicole will be too immersed in wondering why her favorite child ditched dinner with us again to give me more than passing interest.” I’m everything she never wanted in a daughter. Sometimes I think her favorite pastime is reminding me of that. Well, that and comparing me to my brother.
“You know what she’s going to want to talk about.” Adira squeezes my shoulder. “It’s always business with your mom. Even when it shouldn’t be business, it’s business.”
“It’s only for a couple of hours.” I groan. And we have an agreement. She can summon me twice a month and I will play dutiful daughter. Outside of those times my life is completely my own. It’s just each time I see her it’s hard to ignore how much of an effect she has on my psyche. “Maybe it won’t be so bad this time.”
“And perhaps hell will freeze over,” Adira scoffs.
“If I’m lucky.”
Chapter Five
Rogue
“Don’t you usually have a date to bring to this kind of thing?” Ethan Stone asks as I hand the keys to my brother’s silver-blue corvette to the valet. “Not that I’m complaining. I’ve actually seen this show before.”
Of course he has. He’s the one who suggested I reach out to Adira. Told me he was the person to see when you want the impossible. And that is what I want.
“I’m off my game,” I admit as the runner jumps into the driver’s seat and drives Curvy the corvette away from the entrance to the Mojito Bar, the trendy little cocktail and cabaret club where Adira Hunt told me to meet him.
Ethan studies me like I’m yesterday’s crossword puzzle and he’s never filled in the blank spaces before. “Getting shot change your perspective on life?”
“No.” I wrinkle my nose in disgust at the idea that a simple bullet wound or two would make me reconsider my entire stance on life. Especially when I have success, wealth, and plenty of company. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” He raises a brow like he thinks what he’s saying is logical and it’s my response that isn’t. But really, I was perfectly content with status quo prior to having a gun pointed at me and a .22 caliber slug lodged in my ass cheek. And I will be again, once I find Uma Cookie.
My hands are clammy and sweat beads my hairline. Why the hell am I so nervous? I wasn’t even this uneasy when the cops had stopped by my hospital bed to ask if I wanted to press charges, which I’d decided against considering I didn’t want anyone knowing the particular details.
Searching for the girl who put the whammy on me with her big blue eyes feels a lot more important. “Adira slammed the door in my face.”
“Really?” He smiles at a woman in a tight white mini dress as she passes.
She tosses her hair and glances over her shoulder at him. I don’t even get an eyebrow raise.
“This is what I mean,” I say.
“What?” His brow furrows over his caramel eyes. The kind of puppy dog eyes that melt hearts and vaginas. Luckily, I don’t have either so his impact is minimal. I prefer our friendly rivalry over women and movie roles.
“I’m off my game. First with Adira, who I suspect couldn’t wait to get rid of me, so I’m not sure how much help he’s actually going to be. And just now. But there have been other occurrences. Yesterday, I struck out with the server at Five Guys. Can you imagine?”
Ethan laughs obnoxiously as we enter the club.
The interior is a mixture of 1940s cabaret and modern drag queen influences. The bar is as curvaceous as a woman’s body in high-gloss obsidian. Behind it, guys with many muscles and little else beyond bow ties jiggle silver cocktail shakers. Crystal goblets with gold accents are carried on trays overhead by girls in tiny cigarette style uniforms from an era both glamorous and bygone.
White linen covers circular tables that are dotted around the room and surrounded by chairs that look like the high heel collection in Summer’s wardrobe, only way more Gucci. Ostrich plumes and peacock feathers adorn giant gold rimmed vases. Fuchsia pom-poms and gold chandeliers hang from overhead. “Holy shit, dude, this is so…”
“Fabulous?” the drag queen collecting tickets asks. He towers over us in patent leather pink knee boots and sky-high Marie Antoinette hair in electric lime.
“Yes.” I hand over the embossed gold foil tickets that Adira gave me. When I’d opened the envelope I’d thought maybe the gold leaf was a tad over the top, but now it doesn’t actually seem like enough. It’s like Cirque du Soleil and a unicorn got high and tripped rainbows all up in here.
“Hand, please,” the drag queen says. He stamps Ethan’s hand and then mine with an inked Q like the one on the queen in a pack of cards before he ushers us through the main room and into a roped off section with a big pink-heart sign that reads “VIQ.”
“What’s VIQ?” I pull out a fluffy pink chiffon slipper and take a seat.
“Very Important Queen, of course.” He winks at me while Ethan sits on a metal-studded-black-platform-bootie-shaped-seat. “For our extra-special guests. Drink service will be around soon.”
“Thanks,” I say, and Ethan echoes the sentiment.
The queen blows a bubble with pink gum and wiggles his fingers at us. “Have fun, you two.”
I glance around in search of Adira.
Several more drag queens float about the room, talking and flirting with the patrons. Really ramping up the crowd before the show even begins.
“It’s electric in here.” I shake my head. “I’ve seen drag shows before, but this is…”
Ethan claps me on the back. “Adira is fantastic, isn’t he?”
“Can you see him?” I ask as I crane my neck to take in the whole room. The last time I saw Adira he was in a somewhat sedate state of dress. Tonight I suspect he’ll be much more flamboyant.
“He’ll be here somewhere.” Ethan pushes up the sleeves on his white dress shirt and picks up the drinks list. “They have jugs. Shall we get shit-faced?”
“Better not,” I say. “Let’s start with two.”
Ethan laughs and then studies me. “Can I ask why I’m here instead of your brothers?”
“Riot’s back on the road.” I shrug. L.A. Riot had postponed a couple of gigs so that he could be home when they didn’t know anything more than I was in surgery. But they’d still had a dozen more shows on the docket along with organizing new dates for those cancelled events. “And Rebel and Summer are inseparable. You know that.”
“Sure. Okay.”
“It’s not his scene,” I say.
“Now, that’s bullshit.” He slings an arm over the back of his bootie chair and gestures for the drinks attendant to approach us. “I’ve seen your brother tottering down the strip in nothing but fishnets, a mini, and hooker heels. With a purple wig on his head and a telescopic cigarette holder dangling out of his mouth. Also, who do you think came with me when Adira summoned me?”
“I haven’t been summoned.” I glance around for the queen of the hour once more, but there’s still no sign of him.
“He gave you tickets and told you to come to his show. You’re here, aren’t you? Doing as you were bid?” He smirks at me like he knows something I don’t before turning his attention to the pretty thing in a tiny black cocktail dress, suspenders, and magenta stockings. “Hey there, Betty Boop.”
I raise an eyebrow at him until I see that her name tag does indeed read Betty Boop.
“What’ll you have, fellas?” she asks.
“Two jugs,” Ethan says. “One Tits-Up Creamsicle and one Diva In The Dark.”
I snatch up the drinks card because there is no way there are drinks called either of those things, but sure enough they’re both on the menu and they actually sound delicious.
“Good choices.” She jots the order down on her notepad, all the while not taking her gaze off Ethan. She subtly thrusts her chest and flutters her lashes. “Is there anything else you’d like?”
This is what I mean by whammy.
Normally, this girl would be just
my type. Pretty, leggy, and flirty. She’d flirt with Ethan, but she’d also flirt with me because this kind of girl can’t decide. And I would flirt back. I’d even go so far as to give the dude some competition. A few saucy words and the right combination of wink and smile and I could steal her out from under his nose and have her panties around her ears in the employee bathroom in five minutes. Or share her. That’s happened a time or two.
Tonight I find myself not giving a shit. And she hasn’t even looked at me. I have got to get out of this alternate universe.
“I’ll be right back.” She winks at Ethan over her shoulder as she sashays away from the table.
“You really are off your game,” he says, holding up a scrap of paper with a phone number on it. “That wasn’t even a contest.”
“You think that’s bad.” I snort. “Have you met Adira’s assistant? I know her from somewhere. I just cannot, for the life of me, place her.”
“Adira has an assistant?” Ethan frowns. “I didn’t know that.”
“You’re lucky,” I say. “The girl looked like she wanted to die or throw up on me and all I did was joke about Batman in an attempt to break the ice.” Girls don’t usually look like they’d rather talk to a corpse than me. What was with that chick? Why did she seem so startled by me? And why can’t I shake the feeling that she was familiar?
“That bad, huh?” Ethan’s attention trails off as a drag queen in a cotton candy wig and a black leather catsuit takes the stage to warm up the audience. He tells a couple of lewd jokes that has the crowd laughing.
I’m not in a laughing mood though. Weird as hell, but true. I sigh. I haven’t been my normal, charismatic self this week. And I can’t really blame Uma Cookie. More likely, it has something to do with my inability to charm my way out of being almost mortally wounded.
Still, I can’t sleep without finding myself standing in front of a Honda Civic held together with duct tape, Uma in the driver’s seat, her frost-blue gaze glued to me. I can’t concentrate on anything but her lips as she told me her name. Uma. Uma. Uma Cookie.
She’s in my head like a really bad earworm. Like a terrible ’90s song. Like that one by the Spice Girls or Jellyhead by Crush. Actually if I had to pick I’d go with Crush for the winner of bad British pop.
Oh, or like a subliminal message, forcing me to crave cookies. Yeah, that hasn’t been fucking helpful at all. I have eaten so many this week it’d be easy to assume I’m doing a Mrs. Fields commercial. I’m going to need to pull double time in the gym once my doctor clears me to work out.
Or… and I hate to sound superstitious… like a freaking whammy that is going to completely ruin my social life.
I might be single and I might go on a lot of, ahem, dates, but I’m happy that way. I have a job that takes me all over the world for months on end. The press junkets are hectic. The parties are freaking wild. When I’m home I have friends and family commitments. I don’t have time to get involved with anyone, and even if I did, I’ve never met anyone who has made me want to change my wicked…ly delicious ways.
A beautiful life is one that isn’t wasted. It’s experienced in all its facets. Explored. Devoured like the juiciest pineapple with a side of champagne. And this whammy is like taking a bunch of lemons to a cocktail party and forgetting the tequila. Un-fucking-forgivable.
That’s why I had to come tonight. Adira Hunt might be the only one who can help me find the girl so I can thank her for saving my ass that day. Or find out I was actually hallucinating from blood loss and I’ve made her up completely like Rebel seems to think is the case.
That’s the real reason he isn’t here tonight. It’s also the reason why Summer won’t let me anywhere near my social media anymore. Because if Uma Cookie didn’t stick around then she either isn’t real or she doesn’t want to be in the spotlight. I’m betting it’s the second option, but either way I need to know. So I can deal with it and move the hell on.
I’m starting filming soon. A new movie about a college professor who falls in love with his psycho student and then spends the rest of the movie running from her. And having a whammy on me could really mess with the chemistry between me and Gia Moon, my costar.
“Here you go.” The girl with the drinks slides a platter onto the table and unloads two gold rimmed glass pitchers and matching goblets. The drinks themselves are as bright as the wigs in this room. She smiles at me, but her attention diverts quickly to Ethan who is obsessed with the drag queen on stage doing an impersonation of Mariah Carey. “Would you like me to pour?”
“No, we can handle it,” I say, reaching for the jug with the bright blue drink. “Is this the Tits-Up Creamsicle?”
“Diva in The Dark,” she says, tucking the tray under her arm and scuttling to the next table.
Hmm. “Looks more like Diva Under A Summertime Sky, but whatever.”
“What’s that?” Ethan asks, as I pour us both a drink. “Shit, I missed Betty Boop?”
I nod. “Looks like you’ll just have to call her like a regular man who wants to spend time with a beautiful woman.”
“Don’t think your pity party will stop me from going to the bar and chatting her up between customers.”
“It’s not a pity party.” I cross my arms and pout as I slouch in my chair.
His attention darts over my shoulder and he jumps up as someone comes up behind me. “Adira, you are killing that look.”
I climb to my feet and turn around.
Adira smiles and wiggles his fingers at Ethan. “You too, hot stuff.”
Adira looks amazing in a laced up, blue crop top and a tiny black skirt with fishnet stockings. The look is topped off with cherry red hair and a matching belt. “It’s nice to see you again, Adira.”
“Are you always such a stick in the mud?” Adira asks.
“I…”
“Look at you blush.” He laughs and rests his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t be so formal. We’re friends now. You’re doing a show with me.”
“What?” There’s no way I heard correctly. He thinks I’m going to participate?
“You need to get dressed, doll.” He grins at me, and dare I say it, it’s a little conniving and evil. “We’re supposed to go on any minute now and you’re not at all ready.”
“Wait. No. I’m here to watch you perform.”
“Of course that’s not why you’re here.” He steps back and flips his hair over his shoulder. “Whoever told you that?”
“You…” I point a finger at him. “You did.”
Ethan’s face is eaten up by the kind of grin that wants to be punched. Smug bastard.
“You knew?” I glare at him.
“Here.” He hands me my drink. “You might want to take this with you.”
“Yes, we need to hurry.” Adira wraps his hands around my arm and hurries me toward the side of the stage to a door that leads to the prep area.
“I’m still in the hospital, aren’t I?” I ask as he shoves me along a corridor. “Did I fall into a coma after I was shot?”
“What? You’re not making any sense.”
“This is a dream, right? It’s too Alice in Wonderland to be real. I got shot but it was worse than I thought and I’m still in the hospital in a coma. I’m not really here. There’s no Uma Cookie. She’s definitely not here tonight, right?”
“Oh, hon.” Adira pushes me into a chair and bops me on the nose with a long crimson fingernail as two other queens approach from both sides. He spins the chair around to look toward the mirror and brings his face down next to mine. “This is definitely real. And I think I have a lead on your girl.”
“You do?” My chest fills with an energy consistent with static.
Adira smiles. “But first we have a show to put on, and I need you at your Oscar winning best. Got it?”
“Got it,” I say as the two queens start coating my face in makeup and Adira moves to one of the long racks holding dresses and playsuits and feather boas. It’s not like I don’t act for a living. Perfor
ming with Adira will be a cakewalk. And if that’s what it takes to put the girl with the blue eyes in front of me so I can put her behind me then I am so down.
“So, what am I wearing?”
Chapter Six
Ivy
I am so freaking late.
The birthday party I was working ran overtime and then my car wouldn’t start. It took me a few minutes of playing around with her leads before the engine sputtered to life. One day soon she’s going to have something wrong with her that I won’t be able to search on YouTube and then I’ll be so screwed.
I dart between tables laden with bone colored linen and shining silverware toward my mother’s favorite spot. We’ve been coming to Albert’s for as long as I can remember and her choice of seating arrangement has never wavered. Center of the room with a view of the entire dining area, and where everyone can see her.
It’s bustling tonight.
I cringe as I circle a waiter heading away from our table while my mother smiles at her phone. Her face pinches when she catches sight of me. Her lips turn down in the corners as she takes in my state of dress. Or rather costume since I’m still dressed as Rapunzel after spending the afternoon with a bunch of three year old girls.
“I’m so sorry I’m late.” I lean in to kiss her cheek when she tips it in my direction, her honey blonde locks falling gracefully over one shoulder.
“What are you wearing?” The disdain is clear in her voice as I take a seat. “You need to make an effort.”
“Sorry. I didn’t have a chance to change. I was working a birthday party. The time got away from me.”
“Of course it did.” She smiles even as she tsks. Picking up her goblet, she sips at her white wine. “Thankfully, your brother couldn’t make it, so no one is looking at us too closely tonight. Sometimes I swear you do this just to make things more difficult.”
“Nobody looks at me anyway, Mom.” I sigh. I’m practically invisible. I’d even go so far as to call it my superpower. She doesn’t understand that, though. She was a model and actress when she met my father, used to the spotlight and cameras. Even now she’s regularly part of the news cycle for her charity work and connections with powerful people.
