Femme Fatale

by Dominic Piper

  ‘I’ve seen burlesque before,’ I say. ‘But nothing like that.’

  She laughs. ‘I could tell! It’s as if the whole of her show is aimed at you and you alone, isn’t it? As if the lyrics of that song are an obscene invitation to you and no one else.’

  ‘Yes. That’s exactly it. It was incredible.’

  She places a hand on my knee and whispers. ‘It’s OK. I fancy her, too. Would you like to meet her?’

  ‘Really? Sure. That would be great.’

  This is what I want. If I was alone, and Mr Security is her man, he’s just going to think I’m some Stage-Door Johnny trying to get into his charge’s pants and there’ll be hassle. After that type of sexually charged performance, she must get all types wanting a piece of her. There must have been a time when it was murder for a girl just starting out in this field. Perhaps it still is murder.

  If I’m with a friend of hers, however, it should be hassle-free.

  ‘We can go backstage,’ says Anouk, grinning. ‘She knows I’m here and asked me to pop in when she’d finished. We better give her twenty minutes or so. She has to shower and get all the oil off herself. You saw how the glitter stuck to her?’

  ‘Yes I did.’

  ‘It’s a new kind of body glitter. When you aim spotlights with a certain type of filter at her body, you get that sparkling effect. You can’t see them, but there’re also a couple of laser lights aimed at her that enhance the effect. It looks stunning.’

  ‘Have you ever tried it?’

  ‘Only once. I didn’t like the oil over my body. I mean, I don’t mind oil all over my body under the right circumstances, but I wear a lot of leather onstage and don’t want it damaged.’

  ‘I quite understand.’

  ‘Do you?’

  A waitress brings our drinks. Anouk smiles at me.

  ‘I’m glad we were able to enjoy that together. I don’t like to do things on my own. Not anything. Do you know what I mean? But sometimes I have to.’ She finishes half of her Royal Blush and smiles at me. ‘Are we going to sleep together tonight?’

  ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘Yes. Do you have somewhere we can go?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘It is far away?’

  ‘No. Not too far.’

  ‘Good. I’m staying in a hotel. I prefer not to make love there. The noise, you know?’

  She places a hand over mine, smiles, and looks away. I can tell she’s blushing. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Mr Security watching us. I’m pretty sure he’s got a story to tell and I want to know what it is and how it ends. I catch the attention of our waitress and order some more drinks. I realise that I can’t remember what day it is.

  15

  SO WHAT’S GOING ON?

  The backstage corridor is about twenty feet long. There are three doors to the right and two to the left. Mr Security is standing outside the second one the left and I’ll bet you anything that’s where Véronique D’Erotique has been de-glittering herself.

  It’s a little like a well-lit narrow art gallery, with each wall displaying framed photographs of many of the burlesque artistes who have performed here: Coco Framboise, Betsy Rose, Missy Lisa, Charlotte Treuse, Polly Rae, Didi Derriere, Gal Friday, Roxi D’Lite – all of them caught in mid performance in various venues around the world and all of them hot as hell. There’s a pleasing smell of female sweat and perfume. I watch Anouk’s hips sway from side to side. Perhaps I’ve died and this is one version of heaven.

  Mr Security clocks us and turns menacingly in our direction. He looks straight at me, sneers and cracks the bones in his fists. I hate that sound.

  Just before he can get heavy and aggressive, the door behind him opens and a diminutive woman in an acid yellow silk robe appears. It’s her. Light brown hair. Still beautiful without makeup. Petite but voluptuous. On her feet, fluffy green mules with five-inch heels. She’s about to say something to him, but then she sees Anouk.

  ‘Oh, baby – you made it!’

  She runs past Mr Security and embraces Anouk tightly, looking over her shoulder and flashing me a quick, quizzical look. She’s a woman in need of an explanation, but she’s not going to get it yet.

  ‘That was magnificent, Paige, my darling,’ gushes Anouk. ‘You had them eating out of your hand. I loved it to bits.’

  So her name’s really Paige.

  ‘Oh, stop it! You think so?’ she says. ‘Did you see me wobble when I was undoing my suspenders? For a terrible moment I thought I was going to fall backwards!’

  ‘Didn’t notice a thing, my love. It was all superb. Had my heart beating so fast. And you were naked at the end. I mean completely naked. I couldn’t believe it. You’re so bold.’ She turns and flutters her fingers at me. ‘This is my friend Daniel. I had to close his mouth with my hand! I was so glad the club was a fly-free zone!’

  Paige laughs, steps forward and shakes my hand. She has a feather-light touch. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Daniel. Both of you, come in and have something to drink. Anouk and I will try not to talk shop too much.’

  ‘Doesn’t bother me.’

  ‘Oh, it will. You wait ’til we get started,’ she says.

  ‘What happened to “Always leave something to the imagination”?’ laughs Anouk.

  ‘I did leave something to the imagination!’ replies Page. ‘And don’t quote Tempest Storm at me, sweetie.’

  I follow both women into the dressing room. I don’t look at him, but I can feel Mr Security’s eyes on me and they’re not very approving. Just before I step through the doorway, he can contain himself no longer and places a brawny hand on my shoulder. I decide to rile him just because I can.

  ‘Hey. No touching until there’s a ring on my finger.’

  Both Paige and Anouk hear this, turn around and laugh. Mr Security looks crestfallen and furious. He glances quickly at me. If looks could kill I’d be lying on the floor with an axe in my head. Two axes.

  ‘I thought we said no gentlemen in your changing room, Miss McBride.’

  The hurt in his voice is killing me, it really is.

  Paige McBride’s voice suddenly becomes quite terse. ‘No, Declan, we didn’t say that. We said no unaccompanied gentlemen in my changing room. That’s different. You’ve been with me long enough to know the difference. This gentleman is a friend of Anouk so that means he’s a friend of mine.’

  Anouk sticks her tongue out at him and we go inside. Just on a whim, I turn around quickly to face him. He’s staring at Paige’s back, his face a dark mask of anger and contempt. When he sees I’ve clocked this he turns away and has a little snigger to himself. Prick.

  Her changing room is bigger than I thought it would be. Mainly gold and crimson like the rest of the venue. Down one end is a table covered with large bouquets of flowers, mainly roses, which remain unwrapped and un-vased. There are also quite a few bottles of champagne and other expensive wines. A bottle of absinthe with a picture of Van Gogh on the box. A bottle of Absolut Mango. Can’t see any glasses. Three teddy bears, all funfair size. Are all these gifts from admirers? They have to be. I can’t imagine that she brings them with her to each gig.

  Next to the booze and flower table is a large, empty costume case and to my left are two hi-tech makeup stations, both with large dressing room mirrors with lightbulbs screwed into the frame, just like in the movies.

  On a separate table, two wig stands, one with a blonde wig and one with the black one Paige was wearing onstage, still covered with glitter. There are makeup and hairspray products on every available surface, including a face highlighter called Watt’s Up! I was expecting there to be a makeup artist or dresser or assistant of some sort, but perhaps she doesn’t need one or doesn’t think it’s worth it.

  There’s a big red Smeg refrigerator in the corner and a large, monochrome, framed photograph on the wall of a young Yvonne de Carlo holding a 16mm cine-camera. Next to the makeup stations, a large HD television screen and a chess set with an unfinished game on i
t. There’s also a stack of books. The only title I can read without turning my head to the side is a hardback copy of Les Fleurs du Mal. Straight ahead is a door which must lead to a bathroom or shower room or whatever it is. Music is playing, but so quietly that I can’t identify it.

  ‘Anyone fancy some champers?’ says Paige. ‘Take a seat. I’ll find some glasses. No champagne flutes, I’m afraid. Broke the last one yesterday.’

  Anouk and I sit down next to each other on a leopard-skin sofa. Paige opens a cupboard and produces three clear glass tumblers. I watch her as she pulls a magnum of Perrier Jouët out of the fridge, uncorks it and pours us each a glass. The silk robe she’s wearing clings to her body contours and I get a sudden flashback of seeing her naked on the stage half an hour ago. In my mind, the actual eroticism of her performance is only just taking over from the shock and awe and I wonder what sort of lover she’d be. She has an appealing wiggle when she walks that I didn’t notice when she was onstage.

  She sits down on a cherry red sofa across from us and holds her glass up. ‘Cheers. Sorry it’s only tumblers. Did you see this, Anouk?’ She reaches behind the sofa and produces a silver-plated filigree vase. ‘It came with this champagne. Limited edition. God knows how much it must have cost.’

  ‘You must have some wealthy admirers,’ I say, stupidly.

  She smiles at me. Somewhere in that smile was a brief, questioning ‘Who the hell are you and where’s Rikki?’ frown that I couldn’t miss.

  ‘That’s the funny thing,’ she says. ‘Usually there’s a card with gifts of this sort, but I’ve been getting these for ages. Months, I mean. Same magnum of the same champagne. It doesn’t always come with a bloody silver vase, obviously, but there’s never a card with it and no indication as to where it came from. Only happens when I’m in the UK, though. Never abroad. I shouldn’t be surprised, really. It does happen from time to time. Shy suitors, married men; you know how it is, Anouk!’

  Anouk rolls her eyes.

  I take a sip from my tumbler. ‘Pert and creamy,’ I say, jokingly.

  ‘What a coincidence!’ says Paige, laughing. ‘That’s the title of my autobiography!’

  Anouk laughs. ‘So are you doing the Sarzana festival this year, baby?’

  ‘No. I was hoping to but the damned agent has me in the States two days before, so I had to give it a miss. Can’t do this jet-lagged. Are you doing Berlin?’

  ‘Are you kidding? After last year? I’m never going to miss that, my love.’

  ‘That hotel!’

  ‘Oh my God! Do you remember Crystal Chanel and Sugar Ramone at that party? I’ve never seen anything so outrageous. I wish someone had filmed it.’

  ‘Oh, they did, sweetie. I thought you’d have a copy. I’ll send you one. So fucking hot.’

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ says Anouk, rolling her eyes.

  ‘Oh well that’s great. Maybe we can travel together. We’ll have to try and work it out.’ She turns her attention to me. ‘Can I ask you something, Daniel? What did you think of tonight? Don’t hold back!’

  She’s attempting to make normal conversation for Anouk’s benefit.

  ‘I thought it was great. I didn’t know that you’d be doing that style of strip. It was more like the sort of thing you’d see in Crazy Horse in Paris.’

  ‘Oh, you think so? That’s so flattering. Some say that they’re not really burlesque, but I beg to differ. Burlesque should have no limitations on what it is and what it can be. It’s always been a mélange of whatever’s around. What Crazy Horse do feeds into burlesque and vice versa. Dita Von Teese has performed there, but I haven’t. Not yet. You’ve been to Le Crazy?’

  ‘Yes. Well, twice, actually. A few years ago now.’

  ‘Wow. So you’re a connoisseur.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far. But seriously, it was riveting and very, very sexy. With all due respect to the other acts, I could see why you were top of the bill.’

  She turns to Anouk and laughs. ‘I like him!’

  ‘Do you think Anja would mind me popping in for a quick chat?’ says Anouk. She turns to me to explain. ‘Anja is Strawberry Sapphire. Anja Stipanov. She’s Croatian. The one whose boobs you were staring at.’

  ‘Of course not,’ says Paige. ‘She’d be delighted to see you. I don’t think I told her you’d be here tonight. Or maybe I did. I can’t remember.’

  ‘OK. I won’t be long. I haven’t seen her for almost a year.’

  Anouk places her empty glass on the floor, leans over and kisses me on the cheek and heads out. I can see Declan taking a quick, suspicious glance inside to see that all is well. Paige takes a couple of speedy sips of her champagne and stares at me. Her robe has fallen open slightly and I can see the side of one of her breasts. She smells of Tom Ford Neroli Portofino shower gel and Acqua de Parma shampoo.

  ‘OK, handsome. So what’s going on?’

  ‘Which part interests you?’

  ‘Well, first of all, what’s going on with Anouk? She’s a good friend of mine and she’s been messed around by some pretty mean guys in the past. I don’t want her to…’

  ‘I met her this evening for the first time. I bought her a drink. She asked to sit next to me. That’s it.’

  ‘Hm. You were sitting in a reserved seat for a friend of mine. How did you get the ticket? I sent that ticket personally.’

  ‘My name’s Daniel Beckett. I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired to find Rikki Tuan. He’s been missing for three days and there is concern about him. I went to his flat, I looked through his stuff, I opened his mail. I found the ticket. He was obviously a burlesque fan, but you seemed special. He’d circled several gigs on the Burlesque Map of London and you were common to all of them, as well as some other artistes. There was a photograph of you in a shibari breast harness on his computer that I couldn’t find anywhere online. When I identified you and then found the ticket it seemed the obvious thing to contact you. I have no other leads. That’s why I’m here. We need to have a talk.’

  I watch her face as this sinks in. Her expression changes from scornful to frightened and concerned. ‘What’s happened to him? Is he alright?’

  I think of the dead girl in his flat. That still doesn’t make sense. ‘I have no idea,’ I say. ‘But I only started on this case this morning and so far it looks as if he’s disappeared into thin air.’

  ‘But will you find him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who hired you?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that. Is there somewhere we can go tonight? When you’ve finished here, I mean?’

  She exhales slowly and refills my tumbler and hers with champagne. ‘I can’t do this tonight. Obviously I want to help you, but we have a party for everyone involved in our residency here. Well, not a party, precisely: we’re just going to a club. It’s one of the lighting guys. It’s his birthday. It’s important that I go. I’m the most famous, I suppose. I can’t let everybody down. They’re…’

  ‘Don’t worry. Tomorrow will be fine. What are you doing for lunch?’

  ‘I can book a table at The Dorchester. I’m a regular. Would one o’ clock be alright with you?’

  ‘That’ll be fine. I’ll meet you in the bar.’

  She looks downwards and smiles to herself. ‘Are you going to be having sex with Anouk tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does she know about this?’

  ‘Yes, she does. Why? Are you going to give me some tips?’

  This makes her laugh. I realise that I quite like looking at her. It’s difficult not to let those big doe eyes and enticing lips overwhelm you.

  ‘Tips? Oh my God! No, it isn’t that. I was going to ask her to come with us tonight, but maybe it’s better she doesn’t know about it if she’s going to be with you. I wouldn’t want to spoil her fun. Or yours.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. And be nice to her.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘She’s…’
r />   Anouk comes back in and the abrupt silence tells her everything. She does mock outrage as she points at Paige. ‘What has that bitch been telling you?’

  ‘I’ve told him everything, darling. Unfortunately, it just encouraged him.’

  16

  THAT TOUCH OF INK

  The tattoo parlour is called That Touch of Ink. I’d somehow imagined it would be small and poky. Actually, it’s as big as a large shop and just as brightly lit. I hold Anouk’s hand as she lies on her side having her cherries done by a very attractive woman in her forties who’s covered in them. Tattoos, not cherries. Her name is Brionna and she has a hot cleavage. I don’t think Anouk had anticipated that the pain would be this continuous and intense, and tears are running down her face, though she isn’t sobbing. I can tell her heart rate is up from the pulse in her hand.

  ‘It’s the inside of the thigh,’ says Brionna to me in between buzzes. ‘It’s a very sensitive spot for a tattoo. A very sensitive spot for lots of things.’

  I meet her gaze and smile. ‘So I’ve heard.’

  I’ll be coming back here to hit on her when all this is over.

  I decide to do a bit of work while I’m waiting. ‘Paige seemed very nice,’ I say to Anouk. ‘Do all the girls have minders like that guy or is it just her?’

  ‘Oh, lots of them do. It all depends. It depends on the sort of venues you’re working and how big a star you are. There are lots of factors. It depends on the countries that you work in. Anja has one when she’s in Europe, but it’s too much hassle to sort one out when she’s over here.

  ‘Dawn – that’s Kitty from last night – has a driver who picks her up from gigs, but doesn’t have what you’d call a minder. Paige used to have another guy who was kind of dishy. I don’t know what happened to him. They move on, you know?’

  ‘She seemed to be OK when I met her last night,’ I say. ‘Very quick and bright. I remember you said that she’d had some problems…’

  She looks puzzled for a moment. ‘Oh, that. Well, as I said, it’s only hearsay. Gossip. Ow!’