Dress 2 Impress: A Jennifer Cloud Novel (Jennifer Cloud Series)

by Janet Leigh

  “What do ya think?”

  The thing was tiny, black leather, and had little pointed spikes all over it.

  “I think you would look like Zelda, the Amazon warrior.”

  Gertie frowned. “You gotta dress to impress. How are we gonna get backstage if we look like we shopped at Kmart?”

  “Uhm, we have backstage passes that Pickles left us this morning.”

  “True, but we still want to stand out. Did you see the drummer in the Beasts?” She licked her lips. “I’d rather watch him than eat fried chicken.”

  “Whoa, that sounds serious,” Marco said.

  “Gertie, he’s in a boy band. He’s probably a lot younger than you.”

  “Actually, he’s about ten years older than me when we get home. That should be about perfect.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. I wonder if he’s on Sweetie Swipe.”

  “He’s probably fat, bald, and has three kids,” I said. “The Beasts didn’t last long, remember?”

  Gertie huffed, put down the bustier, and purchased a black lace bodice, black tutu, fishnet stockings, and a cute gray minijacket with leopard trim instead. Marco bought an Ozzy Osbourne T-shirt to wear with the jeans he was transported in. I went for a red sparkly off-the-shoulder shirt and black parachute pants. I felt like all those zippers could hold a lot of secrets. I was debating the purchase of a jean jacket. It was cute with rhinestones on the collar, but it was a little pricey. The store clerk told me I would need that because of the winter winds. She explained they were called Santa Ana winds, and they happened in the late fall and winter.

  As we left the store, the sky was overcast, and the temperature was brisk, but a warm wind kicked up and almost blew me sideways. I was glad I purchased the jean jacket. We were set for tonight. All we needed now was a plan. Marco went to find a cab because we had bags to take back to the hotel. Gertie and I bought an ice cream from a corner vendor and waited for Marco. People around us were dressed like the cast of Growing Pains with big-necked sweaters and skinny ties. A few men wore dark sunglasses like Tom Cruise in Risky Business. As we waited for a cab, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck raise up. I turned to see a man staring at me. He had long black stringy hair, and he wore faded blue jeans and a gray Members Only jacket zipped up over his gut. He looked vaguely familiar. My mind raced. Who would I have known in Hollywood in 1985? Marco returned, wearing a pair of the Tom Cruise glasses, and pulled me in close.

  “I think you have an admirer,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the man. His warmth didn’t faze the chill down my spine.

  “I know. He reminds me of someone,” I said.

  “Do you think he’s a brigand?” Marco asked.

  “No, I don’t think so.” As I was racking my brain, trying to place the guy, our cab came screeching to halt in front of us. We climbed in, and I looked back to see Mr. Creepy staring us down as we sped away.

  Georgish was behind the desk when we entered the hotel, and he nodded in our direction. We scoped the lobby for Mitchell and discovered it was all clear. I stopped by the desk and asked Georgish if the Beasts were still here. He eyed me curiously and told me they had gone to the concert hall for rehearsal. I returned to the room with Marco and Gertie.

  “We need a plan,” I said as I flopped down on the couch.

  “I say we go and enjoy the concert, and then we go backstage and convince Campy he needs to go home,” Gertie said as she pulled the cold cuts out of the fridge to make sandwiches.

  “How are we going to convince him?” I asked.

  Marco was lifting up the cushions on the couch and looking under the chair.

  “What on earth are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m looking for the remote. I can’t turn on the TV,” he said, sticking his hand under the sofa cushion.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Gertie as she marched over to the big console TV and pulled a knob. “Am I the only one here who watched reruns of Family Ties and I Love Lucy?”

  Gertie returned to the kitchen while Marco messed with the dial on the TV. He stopped at a news program, and a newscaster with hair shaped like a helmet reported the most recent news on the Bus Stop Killer. Apparently, the murderer had killed several women between the ages of eighteen and thirty, up and down the California coast. He would pick up an unsuspecting woman at a bus stop, strangle her, and leave her body at the bus stop with the word slut carved across her dead forehead. His last kill was in November, and they were issuing a warning for all women to be careful while waiting for a bus.

  “That’s awful,” Gertie said, handing us a plate with a sandwich and potato chips. She sat down next to me on the sofa. “I read about this guy at school. They never caught him, and every year for the last thirty years they find one girl.”

  “He has been killing women for thirty years and they still haven’t caught him?” Marco asked.

  “Yes, it’s amazing someone can commit crimes for that long and not get caught.” Gertie took a bite out of her sandwich. “He started out killing one girl a month, and then he almost got caught. He was finishing up his artwork on the victim’s forehead, and the bus pulled up. The police almost nabbed him. Now he just kills one a year. I think he’s trying to make his way through all fifty states.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said.

  “No, what’s terrible is he hasn’t made it to Texas yet.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yep, his last kill before he started his yearly killing spree was right here in LA.” Gertie rolled her eyes upward as if she was checking her data log. “He hasn’t killed anyone in Texas, Louisiana, or Alabama. Then of course, the noncontinental states Hawaii and Alaska.” Gertie stopped chewing for a second. “No, I take that back. They did find one in Hawaii last year.”

  “Gertie, are you sure?” I asked. “How do you remember all that?”

  She shrugged. “I remembered it because it was the same day as Rocksanna’s terrible car crash, which is…tonight.”

  The three of us were silent for a few minutes. I asked myself, if we knew where a murder was going to happen, should we report it? We finished our lunch in silence, watching the TV.

  “Gertie, do you know which bus stop?” Marco broke the silence.

  “It was somewhere on Vine, like in the song ‘Love Potion Number Nine.’”

  Marco raised an unbelievable eyebrow at Gertie.

  “It’s how I remember things.” Gertie gave him a palms-up. “I know she was wearing a red raincoat because the lead story in the paper was ‘Red Riding Hood Gets the Ax by the Bus Stop Killer.’”

  “That’s morbid,” I said.

  “I’m going to call Pickles and ask him what he thinks we should do,” Marco said.

  The news had changed from the Bus Stop Killer to the traffic report. A shot of the bumper-to-bumper traffic flashed across the screen, and I was amazed at the number of station wagons on the road. I hadn’t seen one in a long time.

  “It’s hard to believe those will be replaced by SUVs,” Marco said.

  “Thank God. Jennifer, do you remember riding backward in Uncle Durr’s old wagon?” Gertie asked.

  I did remember. We were young and visiting Mama Bea in Dallas. Uncle Durr needed to go to the store to buy his Copenhagen, and Mama Bea sent Gertie, Eli, and me along for the ride. The station wagon had a third row of seats that faced the back of the car. Uncle Durr would roll down the window so we could hang our feet out. Eli spent the entire ride squatted down in the floorboard only poking his head up to shoot spit wads at the car behind us. Eventually we pulled into the store parking lot, and so did the car behind us. Tiny wads of paper covered the windshield. The offended driver was from Minnesota and talked as if his lips could only make the O sound. They just wouldn’t open far enough to get out the entire word. Uncle Durr got an earful about his bad-mannered nieces as Eli hid in the car. Chickenshit.
The only thing Uncle Durr had to say to Eli was, “Nice shootin’, Tex.” Jeez.

  The concert was at the Hollywood Bowl. It was adjacent to the Rock City Hotel, an old hotel that had been converted into the dressing rooms, preperformance lounging areas, and prop storage for the performers and staff members. The stage was under a grouping of arches that formed a dome. The arena was across the back of the hotel with seating nestled into the side of the Hollywood Hills. We took a cab to the entrance and made our way to the backstage area. A large man was checking backstage passes. We presented him with the passes Pickles had left us at the hotel. We were granted permission to enter and proceeded down a long hall into a large open room with a bar and lounging area. Rocksanna was in the corner snuggled up to Caiyan, who looked miserable. She still sported his key around her lovely neck, and I had a vision of the chokehold maneuver that Jake taught me. My inner voice looked at me in disgrace. The woman was about to be involved in a deadly car crash. I took a deep breath and gave Caiyan a finger wave. He removed her arm from around his neck and stalked over to where I was standing with Marco and Gertie.

  “Ferrari.” Caiyan gave Marco a head nod.

  “McGregor,” Marco replied and excused himself to get drinks.

  “Now what are ye three stooges up ta?” Caiyan asked.

  “Oh, just convincing Campy to come home, helping you get your key back, and hoping Mitchell will lose his.”

  “Aye, the boys just left to get ready. Mitchell hasn’t spotted ye, then?”

  “No, he’s so preoccupied with Campy’s key, he’s not paying attention,” I said. “Why, isn’t he giving you any trouble?”

  “Oh, he’s giving me plenty. Ye see, it was he who told Rocksanna my key was an old Irish good luck charm.”

  I snickered. “So that’s why she wanted it.”

  “Aye, Irish—can ye believe it? He’s aff his heid.”

  “Can’t you just take it off her?” Gertie asked.

  “That’s jest it, ye see. I tried, but the damn thing won’t budge. It means she has some of the bloodline.”

  “Is she a transporter?” I swallowed hard at the thought this woman may mean more to Caiyan than even he realized.

  “Pickles told me she doesn’t know. Sometimes that happens. People without family to guide them get lost. I asked her if she had ever seen anything like my key before, and she said no.”

  “It could have saved her from her car accident,” I said. “Caiyan, if she doesn’t give you the key back tonight, she might live through the accident.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and looked away.

  “You care about her,” I said. He avoided eye contact with me.

  I nudged Gertie for help.

  “If she doesn’t perish in that wreck, a ton of things could change in the music industry,” Gertie said.

  Marco returned and handed Gertie and me a blue concoction.

  “Is that so bad?” Caiyan asked.

  “Her death inspired a whole culture of music,” Gertie added.

  “Maybe her life would be as inspiring.”

  “You’re off your game, man,” Marco said. Caiyan’s head snapped up at his words.

  “And what’s yer game, aye?” He looked at the two of us.

  “Whoa, I’m just trying to get back home. I need you to get that key and get that kid so I can have my life back.”

  Just as the tension was mounting, Rocksanna strolled over to our group.

  “We meet again,” she purred. “It’s time for me to get ready, sugar. Let’s go to my dressing room.”

  Caiyan followed obediently. He had never been so submissive in the short amount of time I had known him.

  “What’s his problem?” Gertie asked. “He’s usually so bossy.”

  Pickles entered the room and gave us a nod. After he spoke with a few of the other security people, he made his way over to us.

  “Caiyan told us about the situation with his key,” I said.

  “I’m surprised he stayed, considering de amount of pain it caused ’im. Three days in de hospital. We told de doctors it was food poisoning. I guess he must really love her. He almost didn’t return de last time he was here.”

  “The last time?” I questioned.

  “Yeah, he was here last May,” Pickles said. “He tried to convince her not to go on tour.”

  “How long have they known each other?” Marco asked.

  “Oh, I tink dey met a few years ago. He was sent back to catch a brigand that was after Ronald Reagan right before his second term, I believe. Dey met at de White House. Now dat was a good party.”

  The room suddenly started spinning, and I felt like I was in a tunnel. I heard Gertie’s voice. “Jen, are you OK?”

  When I came to, I was reclined on one of the lounge chairs with a cold rag pressed to my forehead.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “You found out your Scottish Romeo has been having a time-traveling affair for the last two years and hit the floor,” Marco said.

  “That’s not possible. He knows it can’t go anywhere, right?”

  Gertie nodded her head.

  “He’s not even born yet, for crying out loud,” I stammered.

  “I vote we get the kid and get out of here.” Marco stood and offered me a hand. “Caiyan got himself into this mess; he can get himself out.”

  “I’m OK,” I said, removing the rag and standing on wobbly legs.

  “Let’s roll,” Marco said as he led the way into the heartbreak hotel.

  Chapter 18

  We arrived at our fourth-row seats as the Beasts took the stage. The three front boys did all the harmonizing along with a synchronized dance routine, while Campy and the drummer played the music. Occasionally one of the band members would go over and peck out a few notes on a keyboard. The teenage girls who surrounded us screamed, and one on the front row fainted. The crowd passed her body over them as if we were in a mosh pit. I guess if you need emergency medical attention, that’s the fastest way to get it. Gertie was hooting and hollering for the drummer, and I swear he winked at her. Fans were dancing in the aisles, and it was difficult to keep from joining them. I turned to see a voluptuous blonde grind up against Marco. He shrugged as a redhead came up behind him, and they made a Marco sandwich. I rolled my eyes as my inner voice reminded me that I brought him here. A doobie was passed to me from the guy on my right, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen. I tried to wave it off, but the redhead relinquished her booty shake against Marco to take it from the boy. She took a long drag and then blew the smoke into Marco’s mouth. The blonde decided she wanted a hit and took the joint from Marco. The blonde and redhead repeated the drill with each other as Marco stood by, relishing in his good fortune. I reached up and yanked him down to my level.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. “We’re on a mission.”

  “No, you are on a mission.” He smiled all glassy-eyed at me. “I was abducted, and now I’m having fun.”

  I frowned, and my inner voice screamed, You are losing them both!

  I reminded her I never really had either one of these men to begin with, and maybe I didn’t really want them at all. Gertie had made her way to the front row and was hoisted up on some large man’s shoulders. She was steadily working her bra off to throw up on the stage like the fifty that had preceded it. I think the entire inventory from Victoria’s Secret was covering the stage floor. The band gave their final song and left the stage. I pried Marco away from his entourage.

  “We should go backstage,” I shouted over the crowd noise.

  “Wait for the encore,” Gertie yelled as she joined us back at ground level.

  Most of the audience was holding up small lighters and chanting, “BEASTS, BEASTS, BEASTS!”

  The band returned and played one final song. Then the lights came up, and the crowd wa
s given a thirty-minute intermission.

  Gertie was holding on to the back of my jacket as we made our way through the crowd. We presented our special passes and were allowed backstage. Once we were in the backstage hallway, the crowd noise dissipated, and we could speak without shouting. Marco took us back to the lounge area, where the Beasts were celebrating an after-performance success.

  There was already a ton of people in the lounge. One or two adoring fans draped each band member. Campy was sitting on one of the lounge chairs, alone.

  “This is my opportunity,” I said. “I’m going over to talk to him.”

  The blonde from the concert appeared and attached herself to Marco. Gertie mouthed, “Good luck!” and made a beeline for the drummer boy.

  I walked over to Campy and asked, “Mind if I sit?”

  He looked up at me and then at my chest. A sign of recognition crossed his face. “I met you at the hotel this morning, right?”

  “Yes, how was your swim?” I asked as he scooted over so I could sit.

  “Good. It was the first time I’ve been alone in a long time.”

  Just as I was about to inquire about his key, I heard, “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” Mitchell, the little rat, was standing in front of us.

  “This is Jennifer. I met her at the hotel,” Campy said.

  “Bullshit. She’s come to get you,” Mitchell said and reached toward me, ripping my scarf from my neck.

  “Hey, I liked that scarf!” I said.

  Campy looked startled and then saw my key. “More people are coming after me?”

  “Well, you have a special gift, and we would like to teach you how to use it,” I explained, glaring at Mitchell and snatching my scarf back from him.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Mitchell spat. “He’s doing fine on his own.”

  Campy scratched at the side of his leather pants. I looked him right in the eyes. Eyes the same color as the ones that belonged to the man I thought I loved. “I want to take you home, if you want to go. You see, you can only stay here until you’re born. Then you’ll die.”