“His knuckles. They're a mess,” she said as Nicky spoke to Tyler in a low voice.
Bruno shook his head. “Paparazzi. He got too close, and Tyler swung.”
“The papers,” She said. She feared her husband’s capers would be front page news in the morning.
Nicky turned to them, anger burned in his eyes. “I’ve taken care of it. Don’t worry about the papers. They'll be quiet this time.”
For years she wondered who Nicky paid off to keep the incident hushed. She wondered if there were threats, and what happened to the guy who tried to get the incident on film.
Funny how perspective changes, she now thought. She’d gladly put up with Tyler’s antics if she could have him back.
Now she bluntly asked Nicky, “You were there when Tyler beat up the photographer. I remember that.”
“I was always there for your husband."
“Out of the blue, like a ghost.”
“Not quite a ghost.” He smiled slightly, and then his gaze flickered over customers, waiters and waitresses.
Diana’s eye throbbed as a ringing sensation ripped through her head. Earlier she’d taken pills her doctor had prescribed, and though the prescription bottle said two per day, she’d been popping them like crazy. She suddenly felt lightheaded, and her surroundings seemed more trancelike than they had just a second before.
She stumbled over a chair, and Nicky quickly grabbed her elbow; gently guiding her across the floor. "You were always the graceful one, Diana."
The hostess shot her an amused look, and said, "Your seat is a few feet away. Hold on, Sweetie."
Stevie Nicks’s erotic voice blared over the speakers. Lyrics about crystal visions stirred reminiscent feelings within her when the hostess stopped, pointed to a corner booth, and then allowed Nicky to usher Diana toward their seats.
He seemed to glow in the dark, through smoke and the cacophony of colorful characters. The edges of his hair lifted in soft billowing waves, as ceiling fans spun lazily above. His white shirt contrasted nicely with his tanned skin, and his diamond earring sparkled with a celestial glow. His leather boots clicked on the hardwood floor, and his dark eyes sparkled with black and seductive secrets. He looked young—too young. Diana smiled slightly, wondering to herself, who'd done the plastic surgery. He’d turned fifty-eight the previous July, but he blended perfectly with the youth and energy of The Hidden Cavern.
A group of young men, dressed in leather, tattooed, and adorned with various pierced body parts, were crowded around the bar, engaged in a heated discussion about a New England Patriots game, scheduled for later in the evening.
“They’ll knock them dead,” said a muscle-bound guy with a shaved head.
A thin and gaunt man, slammed a beer bottle on the bar. “No way, their winning streak can’t last forever.”
The men had nodded in unison when Nicky and Diana passed by, but kept their silence until the couple had been seated.
Two women sat across from Diana and Nicky. One wore a red spandex tank top. Her breasts jiggled as she moved. Her full, shapely hips seemed as though they’d been poured into a pair of tights, made of gold and silver leopard fabric. Her dyed black hair hung in shining waves down her back, and her eyes were heavily lined with black pencil, her lips were painted white. She sipped wine with one hand, and gently stroked her companion's hand with the other.
The second woman, blonde, pale and smaller than the other woman, looked as though she hadn't slept for days. She wore a black jumpsuit, made of a thin, see-through material. Sans bra, her full breasts could be seen through the flimsy material. She wore a collar, similar to those worn by the waitresses, and her long slender neck looked as though it would break if the collar were any tighter.
Both women greeted Nicky with soft purring "Hello's" when he looked their way.
"Shasa." He nodded at the dark-haired woman, then at the other. "Tania."
A breathtakingly beautiful woman danced on a dimly lit stage in the center of the club; a lioness tattoo on her right thigh, a serpent on her left arm. Naked, except for a G-string and a pair of red high-heels, she moved with raw, sensuous gyrations, blonde hair streaked with red and blue, and skin white and flawless. She blew Nicky a kiss, and he returned the gesture with a subtle smile.
Nicky watched the stripper with indifference, tapping his fingers in time with the music. After a moment, he chose a long slender cigarette from a crystal bowl. It seemed to change shape and color in the dim lighting, but Diana dismissed it as a trick of the light, or lack thereof.
“Smoking is banned at public places in the state, but certain establishments in Talbot’s Bay are exempt.”
“As always,” she whispered with a hint of sarcasm.
The match flame was brief, and went out quickly as Nicky lit his cigarette. He took a deep drag, and then exhaled a cloud of billowing white smoke. He watched Diana through the slow-moving tendrils, and his eyes turned a mystifying shade of black. "Never been here before? A number of the residents living on the bay are members. Actually, I’m surprised your husband never told you—"
"I haven’t been to Talbot’s Bay in years. You know that,” Diana said quickly.
Nicky snapped his fingers, and a waitress appeared at his side. He ordered wine for them both. He resumed his conversation with Diana when the waitress left them, though now when he spoke it was slower and softer than before. “Tyler and I came here before. He did love this place.”
The waitress returned quickly with a bottle and two ornate crystal goblets. She poured red wine into both, and then left without a word. Nicky sipped his wine. His dark eyes sparkled.
Diana drank deeply. It felt good. The wine hit her quickly, gave her a nice buzz. “And where else have you been? The Bayou? Did you ever go there with Tyler? He told me a few things,” she said, remembering recent dreams.
His face flushed. “Did he now? It was years ago. Time ago.”
“What?” His words confused Diana.
“The Bayou. That’s where all hell broke loose.” His face became dreamy, and his eyes faraway.
Diana’s eye throbbed once more.
"We shouldn't have gone. Flights were delayed coming and going. Our hotel sucked. We had to rent a motorboat, and find our way along a damn river in order to meet a connection."
"Was it worth it?"
Nicky shrugged. "We got Tyler a record deal. It took years to pan out, but I guess it was worth it in the end."
Diana's curiosity mounted. Once again the feeling that something was off—and out of sync with time—began to build inside her. "Did you meet the record company owner there?"
"Someone who put us in touch with the company," Nicky looked to the women sitting across from their table. They were engaged in a whispered conservation.
"Strange place for that person to live." She pictured a chubby executive, sucking on a cigar, living in a water-ruined shack.
"The music industry is teaming with eccentrics. You know that, Diana." He shrugged, and then said with laughter, “Forget all that. We’ll get drunk. We both need it after what’s happened.”
“Sure, sure. What the fuck, Daddy.”
He laughed. "My daughter swears like a truck driver."
"Hey, you taught me." She smiled wide, wondering how long it would be before they'd disagree on something.
They emptied a bottle of red wine, and then Nicky ordered a bottle of white. They drank without speaking. His eyes seemed sad, and she wondered if he was lonely. He’d never found love after Felicia, that she knew of. There'd been women—lots of them—but nothing meaningful.
No matter. She didn't want to delve into his personal life. Nor did she want him getting too close to her own.
The stage lights suddenly went out, and the dancer disappeared into darkness. An announcer's voice boomed, "Last number till 6. Velvet will be back then."
A longhaired, muscular young man, who’d been previously engaged in the football discussion, rose from his seat at the bar and made his w
ay to the jukebox. He placed both hands on the sides of it, clearly studying available titles. He slid several quarters into the machine, and then pressed a few buttons. An old song by Heart blared through the club. The man turned slowly, looked at Nicky and smiled a chilling, evil smile. For a split-second Diana thought she’d seen fangs protrude from his mouth.
“This wine must be pretty potent,” she said. “You’re going to have to carry me out of here. Damn room is spinning.”
Nicky seemed to ignore what she’d said, but Diana knew he’d heard her. His expression told her so.
She'd seen that look when he'd ushered Tyler out of crowded hotel lobbies, when he'd handed police wads of bills so no arrests would be made, and before dead bodies turned up. Her gut told her something unsettling would soon erupt. The room seemed to spin faster, grow foggier and Diana braced herself for what was about to happen.
18.
Nicky stubbed out his cigarette. It seemed to crumble when his fingers moved away. "I've got to quit. Bad for the lungs."
"You always say that." Diana leaned back in her chair.
He laughed. "So do you.”
"Hey, I haven't smoked much since I got back here." She bit her bottom lip. "I didn't spend much time with you when I was younger. I remember my mother leaving me with sitters, rushing off at night to meet you at the LaNeau."
"I wish things could have been different." His expression was sad, and his hand trembled a bit when he reached for his glass.
"Yeah, I wish things had been different, too." Diana grasped a cigarette, lit it, and then laid it on the ashtray near her glass. She didn’t want to leave; admitting to herself that she enjoyed spending time with her father in such an offbeat place, reveling in the effects of the wine—being totally stoned. It reminded her of times with Tyler. Yet something unsettling lingered in the air, and inside her. "Things haven't changed all that much on Talbot's Bay." Her voice sounded distant to her, the words slurred, and she wondered if it sounded the same to Nicky.
“Things have changed here over the past decade. People change.” He lit another cigarette.
"Thought you were quitting?" She laughed softly.
"In time. Everything in time." The match flame looked more like mist than fire. Nicky held the cigarette between his index and middle finger for a moment. The tip glowed orange; ashes fell from it, and then billowed away. “Life is full of irony isn’t it?”
“Weird,” Diana muttered, as she watched the smoke swirl, then disappear. She clasped her wineglass with both hands. "Look, this is fun, I’m as higher than I’ve been in a while, but you asked me to meet you because you wanted to tell me something. What is it?”
Nicky sipped wine, never taking his eyes from Diana. He put the glass down, sighed heavily. “I can’t change anything, neither can Tyler.” His voice was faraway.
“Tyler’s dead.”
“There are things, destinies, if you will, that can’t be altered.”
"Get to the point,” she said.
Rather than answer, Nicky tapped his foot to the music and sipped his wine.
How many bottles of wine had they downed? “What’s going on?” Her heart pattered and a chill ran down her spine.
Nicky sniffed the air, looked around. The lights dimmed. He seemed to have finally gathered his thoughts. He spoke slowly, softly. “How much do you remember, Diana?”
The smoke clouded Nicky’s face, his hands. Diana laughed slightly. “What else should I know—or remember? How Tyler hurt me? How you covered for his infidelities?”
“He sighed. Let's get down to business then. If you want to sell the house, I know a good agent.”
“Fine. I told you I'd put it in your hands." Her thoughts went back to Nicky's cryptic question. "Look, I remember everything. Sure, Tyler had secrets, but I haven't forgotten what went down between him and me, his habits and the trouble he got into. Maybe the answers are somewhere in that old house."
“You’ve been reading Tyler’s journals? You get into his papers?”
“No, not yet, but I plan to go through his effects soon.” She looked into her wineglass. Tyler’s face appeared for a moment, and then slowly faded. “Look, you've always been there for me, even though you were never an affectionate father…I felt your love. I need you to help me through this.”
“I will. I'd do anything for you." He looked to the bar
She sighed. "I'll make a list of what's to be sold. Give you a cut…if you take care of it.”
She took a long sip from her glass, and then spoke quickly. “Well, look, thanks for the wine, but maybe I should get going.”
“I'm not about to take money from my daughter. I've always had more than enough.” He didn't look at her when he spoke. His gaze flickered to her goblet.
“Well, it's settled then. Bye, Daddy. I’ll call you when I get everything in order. If you want to come by…you're more than welcome." She thought for a moment, and then said. "Hey, I need to know where Tyler stored the art he made when we in Germany.”
“I know where it is. Mostly in New York. In some small galleries, private collections. There are some pieces on the West Coast, too. Relax; I’ll take care of all that.” He frowned.
"You're a good man, despite all the rumors," she told him.
"And there are a lot" he said sympathetically, as he directed his gaze to the bar once more—as if he waited for someone.
As if on cue the atmosphere changed. The club suddenly grew darker, became silent, but for a clicking sound
The woman she’d seen Nicky speaking to at Tyler’s funeral maneuvered her wheelchair toward a table close to the bar. She wore a hooded black cloak, and it cascaded to her feet. Diana realized that the woman was lovely, despite her apparent handicap, with piercing green eyes, full pouty lips and flawless skin. She smiled at Nicky, and then she gave Diana a cold, hard stare.
“Do you remember?” Nicky’s voice was an echo.
“I’m splitting. I don’t like the vibes I’m getting from that chick.” Diana rose from her chair.
Nicky motioned for the waitress to bring the bill. He glanced at the woman, who had now removed her hood. Natural black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and shimmered underneath neon lights.
“Diana, just go. I have to stay behind. I’ll call Bruno for you. Wait for him.” Nicky touched her hand, and then he repeated, “I have to stay behind.”
“Yeah, I get the fucking hint.”
“It’s not like that, believe me.”
Then a server bought the dark-haired woman a bottle of whiskey. She grasped it with one hand, put it to her lips, and then drank heartily. Her nails were long and crimson, like bloody daggers. She turned, began whispering to men huddling around her, then she set her bottle down, reached beneath her cloak, and drew out a cigarette. She lit it, took several deep drags, and then reached inside the dark fabric once more, this time for a small ornate box, which she held tenderly in her hands—as though she cherished it. She opened it, and then flicked ashes inside. Strings of dark smoke escaped from the container.
Someone screamed, and the woman laughed.
Velvet walked out the backstage door. Nicky watched her approach, eyes smoldering.
She'd traded in her stage clothes for a gold spandex mini dress, and moved with a raw sexuality, hair still wild and tousled from her performance. Her eyes were catlike and exotic. She grabbed a chair, and noisily dragged it across the floor, sliding it close to Nicky, then she cupped his chin, so that he faced her, and then kissed him passionately.
Diana rolled her eyes, "Is this what you do in your spare time? My mother must be rolling over in her grave."
Nicky pulled away from the woman, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. " You don't understand—not yet."
A wave of dizziness passed over Diana; her right eye began to beat uncontrollably, and pain snaked through her head. She clutched the edges of the table, fearing that she’d fall into oblivion.
Had she heard soft growls just then? “I’m fu
cking stoned. I shouldn’t have had the wine.”
The men from the bar stood, seemed to glide toward her—all bearing fangs, arms outstretched in Diana’s direction—growling like wild cats.
Velvet rose from her seat, seemed to float upward. Nicky yelled something unintelligible. It sounded almost like a foreign language, perhaps Latin, but Diana wasn’t sure. Before it fully registered, Nicky leaped from the chair, and ran toward the bar. Shadows engulfed him; and he seemed to change form within thick cigarette smoke and darkness.
Impossibly, a black panther emerged in his place.
It leapt at the woman. Blinking strobes, and mist spiraling from hot lights, gave an illusion of two figures blending together, melting into a billowing cloud of smoke.
And extraordinarily, Sasha and Tonia were changing. A sizzling, cracking noise sounded as their bodies flickered, faded, disappeared and returned. With each new appearance a devastating alteration became evident. Feline creatures glared at her, smoke swirled and lights flickered.
“This can’t be real.” Diana’s head pounded. The room spun.
“Diana….” Nicky’s voice rose above the commotion.
She bolted from her seat, grabbed her bag, fought her way through the upheaval, then up the stairs, and into the approaching night. A woman, dressed in tight red spandex, stood by the door. She wore a sequined mask, and held a mirror. The girl sized Diana up, and then said with a creaky voice, "It's begun."
The woman stepped aside, as footsteps pounded on the stairs. Diana kept moving, running through rain, past street vendors, who were packing their wares. She trekked past shoppers and tourists, who ducked into cafés or restaurants for cover, and as thunder and lightning streaked and bellowed throughout the icy evening. Diana heard the roars, growls and hisses of wild cats behind her, and the sound of clawed feet striking the boardwalk.
She ran through the city, past the boardwalk, by deserted buildings on the pier. Her lungs felt as though they would explode and her legs ached, but she continued her hike until she reached the residential area and Tyler's old house. Droplets of freezing rain fell from her hair, and onto her skin. Smoke swirled from her lips. She looked up. Cat eyes stared down at her from trees. A large paw swooped, lunged, missing her face by inches. She peered beyond the trees, beyond eerie night mist, and saw that damn hotel, magnificent and enigmatic on the city’s highest hill. “I hate you, bitch…I hate this city.”
City at the Edge of the Earth Page 9
