Femme Fatale

by Dominic Piper

  ‘Sorry,’ says Brionna. I find I’m looking at her all the time. She’s wearing green sawn-off jeans with black fishnet tights, Liberty print trainers and an outsize Lemongrab t-shirt. I’m wondering what sort of lingerie she’s wearing. That’s definitively a push-up bra she’s got on and it’s pretty sexy that she likes wearing one. I realise that I’d like to take it off, or under other circumstances, leave it on.

  ‘I feel a little faint. Can I have a glass of water, please?’ says Anouk.

  ‘Of course,’ says Brionna. ‘Have a break.’

  I take a look at her thigh. The outline is done and all that’s left is the colouring of the cherries themselves. There’s blood streaming down her leg, but I don’t think things are as bad as they look. It’s only now that I notice the music playing quietly in the background; it’s Art Star by Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

  ‘That was fantastic last night. I had such a good time,’ says Anouk, running a hand through her hair.

  ‘I know.’

  Her lips purse in a petulant moue. ‘Do you want to see me again, Daniel? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’

  ‘Are you kidding? I’ll give you a call later on today. Maybe we can go somewhere tonight. Or tomorrow night. My work hours are unpredictable, but I’ll definitely be in touch. I’ve got your number. Where are you staying?’

  ‘The Corinthia in Whitehall Place. Room thirty.’

  ‘Got it. Listen. Will you be OK now? I have to go to a business meeting which I can’t be late for.’

  ‘Sure. Of course. And thank you for staying with me. You didn’t tell me what it was that you did.’

  ‘Didn’t I? I’m a private investigator.’

  Brionna comes back with a glass of water for Anouk. She overheard. She takes an appreciative look at me. ‘A private investigator? Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well if this isn’t the fuckin’ bomb I don’t know what is. I’m working in a tattoo parlour in Soho. I’m tattooing a burlesque dancer and she’s here with her lover who’s a private detective. It doesn’t get much better than this. Shit the fuck!’

  Shit the fuck! Never heard that one before. I must see if I can work it into a conversation sometime.

  *

  When I walk into the bar at The Dorchester I can’t see Paige anywhere and I wonder if she’s stood me up. There’re two businessmen in suits talking about football, a couple in their fifties touching each other like they’ve just started an affair, two Japanese women both wearing some sort of uniform and a solitary, bespectacled woman in a grey Ponte dress and black trim jacket sitting on a bar stool talking to the barman.

  I take a quick look at the seating area and then it hits me. I walk up to the bar and touch her gently on the arm.

  ‘I didn’t recognise you. You look…’

  ‘Dull and boring?’

  ‘Like a businesswoman.’

  ‘What did you expect? A lacy corset, glittery platform heels and a couple of pink feather fans?’

  ‘Yes.’

  “Sorry to disappoint.’

  ‘The glasses suit you.’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘I’m not kidding.’

  She’s wearing light, rimless, oblong frames which suit her heart-shaped face and the lenses are blue-tinted and just dark enough to obscure her eyes a little. Her light brown hair is tied back and twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck. I’m wondering why the conventional clothing she’s wearing has an erotic edge and realise it’s because I know exactly what’s underneath. Well, almost exactly.

  ‘What’s that you’re drinking? Would you like another?’

  ‘Yes please. It’s a Rosemary Mule.’

  I order a Vesper for myself and suggest we sit at one of the tables while the cocktails are being made. I want to get her away from the bar and people. Before she sits, she wipes her chair with a couple of rapid hand strokes, though it looked perfectly clean to me.

  She sits up straight, crosses her legs and looks straight at me. I feel like I’m at a job interview. It’s a little unnerving. She raises an eyebrow.

  ‘So how did last night go?’ she says.

  ‘Had its ups and downs.’

  ‘Very good. Anouk’s a lovely girl. Did she tell you she used to be married?’

  I shake my head. ‘We didn’t get round to personal stuff.’

  ‘The guy was a total thug. You can’t see it now, but he broke her nose. Thought it was great to get married to a sexy burlesque dancer, but the idea of other men watching her strip enraged him.’

  ‘There’re a lot of dopes about.’

  She frowns slightly. I can tell she’s hurting but I don’t know why. ‘Tell me about it,’ she says.

  ‘I went with her to get a tattoo done this morning. Her first. Needed someone to hold her hand.’

  ‘What did she get?’

  ‘A couple of cherries.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Inside of the thigh.’

  ‘Cherries are a very sexual fruit.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  A waiter places our drinks in front of us. Paige gets a nice smile from him. They like her here. I wonder if they know who she is. I suspect they do. She lifts the glass to her lips.

  ‘So what did you want to ask me?’

  I watch her sip from her glass. Her eyes roll with pleasure as the alcohol hits. I don’t want to push too hard. She’s a little prickly and defensive. I’ll pretend I don’t know about Rikki’s drug sideline and see if she brings it up. It’s only a theory, but matched with what Anouk told me it may be something. It may also be nothing. That’s part of the fun of detective work; the crippling uncertainty.

  ‘How did you know Rikki Tuan?’

  ‘That’s easy. Philip Hopwood is a friend of mine. He’s a costume designer, headgear in particular. He knew Rikki. They’re friends. He introduced us. I think Rikki had dinner parties at his flat sometimes. Someone took Philip along to one of them and they hit it off right away, if you get my drift.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘Rikki? Last month. The thirtieth. That’s a little over three weeks ago. I was performing at The Electric Carousel. Piccadilly. It’s a lovely little club with a great atmosphere. Not just burlesque, though that’s the main thing. Comedians, magicians, some circus acts. They had a Serbian girl from the Cirque de Soleil on that night. Very attractive. Very serious. A body like an athlete.’

  ‘Did he come backstage? Did you talk to him?’

  ‘Not backstage, no. None of the acts like it. As you saw, I made an exception for Anouk last night. And you. I always make an exception for other artistes and their paramours. But that doesn’t happen often. If you let one in you have to let them all in. We have to have our safe space. In places like the Carousel, you can come and hang out at the bar after you’ve been on. You don’t get hassle like you do in some clubs. The artistes can mix with the punters and it’s cool, you know? I would never have come out and hung around the bar last night at Bordello. It just isn’t that sort of place. Don’t ask me why. Everywhere’s different. Everywhere has a different vibe.’

  Here we go. ‘OK, Paige. Why did Philip Hopwood introduce Rikki to you?’

  ‘He – ah – he was just a big fan of burlesque, that’s all. Philip thought it would be a buzz for him to be introduced to one of the artistes.’

  ‘And when was this?’

  ‘I can’t remember the exact date. Two and half months ago? Ten to twelve weeks? Something like that.’

  ‘And Rikki came to see you perform a lot of times after that.’

  ‘As I said, he was a big fan of burlesque.’

  ‘But in particular, he was a big fan of you.’

  ‘I guess so, yes. Look – what’s all this about? How can any of this help find him if he’s gone missing?’ She looks over her shoulder as if she’s expecting someone. I don’t think she’s expecting anyone.

  ‘Did you see Rikki socially in any way? Quite apart from hanging
out in the bar after gigs, that is.’

  ‘No. Not really. There were a couple of parties he came to with me. Sometimes one of the girls might have had a bash for some reason and I invited Rikki along as I knew he’d like it.’

  ‘OK. So what was it about Rikki you liked so much? From here, it looks like he suddenly became your number one fan and new best pal for no apparent reason.’ I take a sip of my Vesper and watch her face carefully.

  ‘He was a funny guy. All my friends liked him. The other girls liked him, too. He really gets on well with Twinkle von Tassel, for example. They have the same sense of humour.’

  ‘When you saw me sitting in his seat last night, you look alarmed. Not just surprised or baffled – alarmed.’

  ‘I like it when he’s in the audience. I was disappointed that he hadn’t shown.’

  ‘Take your glasses off.’

  She looks perplexed, but I know she’s faking. ‘Are you going to tell me I’m beautiful without my glasses on?’

  ‘I already know you’re beautiful. I want to see your eyes. Take them off.’

  She takes a sip of her cocktail, removes her blue-tinted glasses and places them on the table. Her expression is composed and defiant. Her pupils are like pin-pricks.

  ‘I’m not the police, Paige. But I’m just trying to get a picture of what’s been going on. What are you taking? Opium? Diamorphine? Oxycodone?’

  She hesitates for a moment, perhaps deciding whether to walk out of here or not. ‘I’m not addicted, but I would say I was partially dependent, not that it’s any of your business. Yes, it’s heroin. I can function and it’s not making me sick. Not yet. And it never will.’

  I’ve heard that one before. ‘So it’s still something that you save for a special occasion; for when you want to treat yourself to a little oblivion.’

  ‘That’s about right. I know how to control it. Like everyone else, I have my ups and downs. I mean, for example, I was going through a bit of a bad patch in my personal life three or four months ago, but you get over these things.’ She puts her glasses back on, tapping the bridge with her middle finger.

  ‘OK. That’s fine. So Rikki was meant to turn up with some stuff for you last night. Are you running low?’

  ‘Not seriously, but Rikki said that he was going to be a bit taken up with business this month – more responsibility or something – so he’d get me a little stock now in case he couldn’t manage it later. That’s what he was like. He was a caring, nice guy. The reason I was a little alarmed when I saw you was…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Rikki was an OK guy. He knew I didn’t like injecting myself – it’s always freaked me out a little and I’ve never got over it – so if he was available, he would inject me. He said it was an honour. He didn’t want anything other than to be a part of my world.’

  ‘So he would have gone to that party last night.’

  ‘Yes. And then we’d have gone back to my place and he’d have injected me and we’d have chilled out together. Maybe watched a movie or turned the sound off and played some music. That’s all that would have happened. You know he was gay, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes I do. Did he tread on anyone’s toes, supplying you? Was there another dealer he took over from? Someone who might have resented it?’

  ‘I’m not some major consumer, Mr Beckett. I have it when I need it. I take very small doses. I like the warmth and well-being. It doesn’t affect my performances and I’m always straight when I’m onstage. What you see in my eyes was a hangover from last night. I had a little taste when I got home from the club last night.

  ‘I had contacts with friends and colleagues who could get it for me if I asked. I had no idea where they got it from and sometimes they couldn’t get it again. That was fine by me. I didn’t get withdrawal and I liked the fact that there was a middleman between me and the supplier.’

  She pats her hair lightly and finishes her Rosemary Mule.

  ‘So there was, as far as you knew, no dealer who was aware of you as the end-user.’

  ‘As far as I know, Mr Beckett, no.’

  ‘And Rikki didn’t mention anything to you that concerned his ability to get hold of diamorphine: where he got it from and so on.’

  ‘He never mentioned it.’

  ‘And he didn’t charge you for it.’

  ‘Not once, no.’

  She’s getting annoyed now. She’s trying to disguise it, but I can feel it in her voice.

  ‘OK. I was just wondering if giving it to you for free was maybe undercutting another dealer, that’s all. He might have made an enemy. It was a shot in the dark. I’m not judging you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Beckett. If I thought for a second you were judging me, I’d have asked you to leave.’

  The waiter who served us our drinks approaches to tell Paige that her table for lunch is ready. I may be wrong, but I feel the atmosphere has got a little chilly.

  17

  LUNCH AT THE DORCHESTER

  She asks the waitress to bring us a bottle of 2015 Jurançon Sec while we take a look at today’s menu.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, smiling. ‘I just ordered that without thinking. It’s what I always have when I have lunch here. If you want to…’

  ‘That’s fine by me. I’ve never had it before. Is it good?’

  ‘I’ve heard that wine people call it nervy.’

  ‘I was hoping it would be pert and juicy.’

  She smiles. ‘Another title for my autobiography.’

  ‘I can’t wait to read this autobiography.’

  ‘You’ll have a long wait.’

  ‘Will I be in it?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  She orders the lobster and asparagus and I have seared duck breast and Swiss chard. Once the waitress leaves, she puts her elbows on the table and crosses her fingers beneath her chin.

  ‘So aren’t you going to ask me?’ she says, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head to the side.

  ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think we know each other well enough yet. Give it a few more months.’

  She looks amused and purses her lips. ‘Most people who know about my habit – and I’m trusting you to keep it a secret – always ask me why I’m doing it. Why a nice girl like me etc. etc. etc.’

  ‘Everyone’s different. I guess if you didn’t do it, you wouldn’t be you. You look good. It’s not affecting you physically or mentally as far as I can make out, and you seem to know what you’re doing.’

  She doesn’t say anything. The waitress arrives with the wine. She pours a small amount into a glass for me to taste, but I indicate she should give it to Paige, who takes a sip and nods her head. I look at Paige’s face as our glasses are filled. I decide I’m going to break through all her barriers, however many there are.

  ‘I’m curious,’ I say, putting the Class A chat on the back burner. ‘Do you work out? I imagine you have to maintain a certain level of fitness to do what you do, like any dancer.’

  ‘I have a personal trainer. I go to the gym four times a week when I can. One of those sessions is an hour-long swim. What about you? I’m sure you must get into situations where you have to be fit from time to time.’

  ‘Yeah. Looking at stuff on the computer, being condescending to the police. Thinking. It all takes it out of you. I have a gym membership and get there whenever. I prefer early mornings. If I can’t do early morning, I tend not to bother.’

  ‘It’s the same for me. It can be a bit of a chore. It’s as if your body and brain don’t realise what’s going on if you do it early in the day, so you can get it out of the way relatively painlessly. I don’t mind the discomfort, though. I used to…’

  The food arrives, so we stop talking for a few minutes. I pour some more wine into her glass. She’s a little more relaxed now. I watch her eat: small, neat, controlled, economical movements. There’s something about her that’s really very appealing, quite apart from being the vamp I saw at Bordello last night.

  ‘Sorry
. You were saying? About not minding the discomfort?’

  ‘Oh yes. I trained at The Central School of Ballet. I’m sure you’ve heard how tough ballet training can be. I did the honours degree in Professional Dance and Performance.’

  ‘Ballet. Yes. I can imagine it.’

  She grins. ‘Hm. Well. I was a late developer. Got a little too busty when I was nineteen. Always a bit of a hindrance for prima ballerinas and I didn’t like being strapped down.’

  ‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’

  She tilts her head to the side. ‘Ha, ha.’

  ‘I think you’ve found your niche.’

  ‘I think so, too. I love what I do.’ She grins. ‘I hate it when people say that, don’t you? But, yes. There are so many possibilities. Ballet has room for change and experimentation, but it’s innately conservative. It has to be. With burlesque, you can make whatever you happen to think up become reality. Well, a sort of reality, anyway.’ She chews for a while. ‘What do you think has happened to Rikki? It’s only while talking about him with you that I realised that I didn’t know that much about him. He kind of blasted you with his wit and charm. I suppose he was quite superficial in a way. It made ordinary questions seem a tad redundant. He was someone I either saw at gigs or someone who I was – well, you know. Is he a drug dealer?’

  ‘No. He isn’t a drug dealer.’

  ‘But you know what he was.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’re not going to tell me.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘It makes it awkward for me, because if I told you, you’d begin to suspect who my client was.’

  ‘And that would not be a good thing?’

  ‘I think the less you know the better.’

  She takes a big gulp of wine and frowns. ‘Am I in danger?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. If I thought you were, I’d do something about it.’

  ‘How’s your Jurançon Sec?’

  ‘Nervy.’

  ‘Told you. Do you think Rikki’s in danger?’

  ‘I don’t know. If he is, I’d be interested to meet the perpetrators.’

  ‘Will you be in danger?’

  ‘Do you care?’

  ‘I don’t know.’