“Did she say anything more about Lena? I just don’t get how Lena might have ‘messed’ with her.”
Rocky shrugged his bulky shoulders, “I don’t know. Like I said, she was being all bad-ass. It coulda just been talk. You know, makin’ herself feel more important than she is? Coke will do that to you.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Sam thought back to her drug days, remembering how her own sense of self had become over-inflated. She knew Lena and Nikki weren’t friends, but they also weren’t enemies. Her mind turned over the information, trying to see it from different angles. Hoping something would make sense if she focused hard enough.
Grace groaned and motored her chair into a full recline position, head back, feet up…
Rrrrrriiiiiiippppppp.
“Holy MOTHAH! AAAAIIIIIIEEEEEE!”
Sam yelled “We heard that Bird.”
“That was me fackin’ undercarriage,” Birdie huffed, trying to catch her breath.
Giggles erupted throughout the salon. Even the sourpusses couldn’t resist.
CHAPTER 16
After a week of reading, tanning, and organizing her apartment, Sam was ready to get back to work. She’d taken Gio’s warning to heart and had given thought to whether or not the Pink Pussycat was the right place for her. She put out her feelers, looked for art directing jobs, and revised her resume. Although the legit jobs paid a fraction of what she made dancing, she wrestled with the idea of hanging up the lycra and making a go of the real world again. She hated the process, knowing it would be months of sending out her book, interviewing, negotiating, and finally starting a new gig.
While she was off, she also nosed around a little about Lena, but she soon realized that without the access the club provided, it was difficult — at best — to ask questions of anyone or learn anything new. She wondered why information that normally had to be hunted down, simply floated into the club.
Birdie had also returned to work immediately after her suspension was up. The tale of their insubordination had grown to epic proportions and they were hailed as heroes by most of the girls. The few who were sleeping with or trying to sleep with management kept quiet and doled out nasty looks, as if they were somehow good, obedient employees.
Perched on a leather barstool at the main bar, Sam sipped her coffee with Mary Jane, scoping the crowd before beginning her hustle. Grace got a VIP room almost immediately with a regular that came in every Monday night at 8:15 p.m. sharp. Birdie was still in the dressing room, trying on outfits and muttering to herself about having nothing to wear.
Sam saw a familiar face in the crowd.
“Score.” Sam smiled at Mary Jane and slipped from her perch. Straightening her ice-blue dress and smoothing her long black hair, she slid a five across the bar. “My cop just showed up.”
“Go get ’em tiger!” Mary Jane took the bill and cleared the mugs from the bar.
Striding across the main floor, Sam flipped through her mental Rolodex. Not just knowing a name, but remembering the intimate details of a customer’s life was helpful. Peter, the po po. Sam often used rhymes and name games to help her remember things, a very helpful trick she’d honed over the years. Po-po Peter’s wife, Nita, worked as a dispatcher. Sam thought of Peter’s house as being very clean — neat-a, with lots of phones. The mental images she’d conjure up seemed silly, but the method worked.
Sliding around the far side of the elevators, Sam snuck up behind Peter.
“Reach for the stars!” Sam whispered from behind him with the dramatic intonation of a film noir.
“Hey there!” Peter turned, beaming at Sam. Grabbing her in a hug, he said, “You look beautiful! How are you?”
“Better now that you’re here, Peter. Did you come to save me from boredom?” Sam gave him a coy smile.
Some regulars were just that — regular. Others were what Sam called ‘irregulars.’ The irregulars were familiar faces that would show up at random. Repeat business that would come and go, but didn’t have a schedule. Peter was an irregular.
Sam took Peter’s hand and pulled him across the floor to their usual table as far away from the bass-fueled speakers as they could get. Peter didn’t spend a lot of money, just a table dance here and there, but Sam liked him and looked forward to his stories. On a busy night he understood she had to make money and wasn’t upset if she couldn’t spend time with him. Sam appreciated that he got how club life worked, and Peter appreciated that she didn’t hustle him.
“How’s Miss Nita?” Sam looked him straight in the eye.
Peter dropped his head and smiled. “Pregnant.”
“Oh MY GOD, PETER! That’s FANTASTIC!” Sam knew they had been trying to get pregnant for quite some time. She worried a little about the danger involved in his line of work, but took comfort knowing the two would be great parents.
“Thanks. We’re pretty excited. We’d started to lose hope, you know?”
Sam nodded, still feeling a rush of excitement for him.
“Hey Peter!” China had appeared, tray in hand. “Can I get you two anything to drink?”
“His wife is pregnant, China!” Sam blurted.
Most of the club employees knew the return customers by name. Peter’s job was extra incentive for people to remember him. A symbiotic relationship existed between the club and the police department. The police provided protection and gave the girls respect, The girls provided information the police might have trouble obtaining otherwise. It wasn’t oil and water like most outsiders would have guessed.
“Shhhhh.” Peter smiled and put his finger to his lips. “We want to keep it quiet for now. We’ll start telling people in her second trimester.”
“Oops!” Sam put her fingertips to her lips and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“You’re secret is safe with us.” China winked.
As Peter ordered the drinks and chatted with China, Sam thought she caught a glimpse of Combover. Her heart skipped. She felt a cold prickle down her spine as her eyes tracked the faceless shape moving through the shadow of the back wall. Time slowed. She was aware of ambient noise and chatter around her, but every nerve in her body stood at attention focusing on the dark shadow.
“Right, Sam?” Peter’s voice snapped her back to reality. “Sam?”
As she looked at Peter, his smile faltered. Her face must have betrayed her suspicions.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Um, nothing.” Sam stopped and stared at him for a minute. “Okay, there’s a guy over there, in the shadows. I think he might have been stalking Lena. I can’t get a good look, but I’m pretty sure it’s him.”
Peter nodded. “What time is he at?” he asked, referring to the clock-face method of pinpointing.
“Yours or mine?”
“Mine.”
“Two-Thirty-ish. I think he’s moving towards the main bar.” Sam said. Turning to look for the dark figure, Peter put a hand on her arm to stop her.
“I see him. I’ll keep an eye on him and let you know when he comes into the light.” Peter squeezed her arm as if to comfort and calm her.
“Speaking of,” Sam breathed, “Any word at the office regarding Lena’s death?”
Peter shook his head. “No. The whole thing has been kept very hush hush. Some special task force has been assigned to handle it and they’ve been tight lipped.”
Sam felt the tingle of excitement. “A task force? I guess that’s a good sign, huh? A sign they’re taking this pretty seriously. I was a little worried because we haven’t heard anything. I don’t know anyone that’s been questioned and, well,” she paused, “I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I was beginning to think nothing was being done. No offense.”
“None taken.” He flashed a genial smile. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like much is happening during an investigation, but then the whole case breaks wide open. Be patient, Sam. They’ll catch whoever did it.”
Sam smiled and looked at his large hands resting on the arms of the chair. His wedd
ing band pinched his finger tight and the flesh around it puffed into a cradle for the curved gold. It looked like a part of him. Not like something that ever came off, but something that had always been and would always be. She found comfort in its permanence. Used to seeing the raisin-puckered, pale skin where men would remove their wedding bands and tell the obvious lie. Sam loved to see the bands worn proudly.
“Hey, your guy just slipped out.” Peter tipped his head toward the door.
Snapping her head towards the door, Sam searched for Combover.
Peter quickly added, “He never came out of the dark, just wandered by the back wall.”
“Dammit.” Sam squirmed.
“Are you worried about this guy?” Peter looked concerned. “Do you want me to follow up on him?”
“No. I mean, not yet. I don’t know his name, but I do know that Lena took out a restraining order against him a few months ago. He never hurt her but he was following her around. Just gives me the creeps.”
“Say the word, Sam, and I’ll do what I can. If you get his name let me know and I’ll pass it along to the task force.”
“Hey, do you mind poking around to see if you can find out anything about the investigation?” Sam resisted the urge to bat her lashes, knowing it would be lost on him.
“Sure kid, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Next up on main stage is SAM!” The DJ’s voice thundered through the speakers.
“I guess I’m being paged.” Sam hugged Peter’s neck and stood up. “Thank you. Really. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it Sam, now go knock ‘em dead! I’ve got to be on my way.”
Sam trotted off through the gathering crowd. Even after all this time, she didn’t love the main stage. The floors seemed slicker than the rest of the club and she lived in constant fear of tripping. If she got in the groove and the money was flowing, the ego trip was fantastic, but she had to psyche herself up to get in the right headspace. Focusing on her ‘big money’ mantra, she walked toward the side steps leading to the main stage. At the bottom of the steps she leaned against a wall, bouncing on the balls of her feet in time with the music.
“You are one sexy fuckin minx.”
Sam heard Gio’s muffled voice nearby.
“And I’m yours.”
Was that Nikki? Sam couldn’t believe her ears. A small access hallway used by the busboys was tucked beneath the staircase to Sam’s left. Pressing herself against the back wall, she balanced on the tippy toes of her stilettos and moved toward the corner.
“Do you like that?” Gio’s voice grew louder as Sam edged toward the entrance to the hall.
“Mmmmm.”
Listening, Sam wondered if she would be able to sneak a glimpse of what she suspected was going on. She chastised herself for her curiosity, but not so much that she talked herself out of it. Gio and Nikki? She couldn’t believe those two, of all people, would be having a rendezvous. The conversation stopped and she could hear grunts and squeaks coming from the hidden nook.
Three, Two, One. Moving her head slowly, she went just far enough to get a single eye past the corner and in full view of the hallway.
Gio and Nikki were doing something. Sam couldn’t tell exactly what through the tangle of clothing and body parts, but she was sure it wasn’t anything Fedya would appreciate.
“And here’s Sam on main. Gloria on Satellite One, and Kitten on Satellite Two. Please step up and show these ladies your appreciation!”
Snapping her head back, Sam had almost forgotten about the stage. She felt giddy with the power of dangerous knowledge. Sure the coupled lovers hadn’t seen her, she sprang up the steps to the stage as her predecessor made her exit.
“It sucks.” The other girl mumbled out of breath.
Sam nodded and smiled. She’d make them tip. She had the rush she needed to command the stage, and that’s exactly what she did.
CHAPTER 17
“Get whatever you want, just not school girl. I hate that shit. And I get to burn that Catholic school girl uniform. Don’t forget this is a trade.”
Birdie rifled through the rack of string bikinis and skimpy costumes, studying each with a critical eye, not unlike a jeweler examining the facets of a diamond.
“Tosh, tosh, tosh.” Birdie announced as she slid the plastic hangers along the bar, dismissing pieces not up to her standards. “I don’t know why you ah so uptight about me Catholic uniform. It’s a Bogg’s Standard fantasy and it make me lots of money to boot!”
“You don’t think it’s a prosaic way of encouraging child molesters, Bird?” Sam tried to suppress the indignation in her tone.
“What’s prosaic?” Birdie stopped clattering the hangers and looked at Sam.
“Oh for Chrissake Birdie. It’s just gross. And look at you! I can’t say I’d feel much differently if you were built like Pam Anderson, but you have the body of a prepubescent girl! Don’t you ever feel weird dancing for guys who are into the juvenile thing?”
“I fink you ah over-analyzing it, love. I just part fools wif their money.”
Knowing this was an argument she wasn’t going to win, Sam sighed and tried to steer Birdie toward a display of shoes.
The theme song to Car 54 played from the muffled recesses of Sam’s shoulder bag. Birdie walked past her, focused in on the wall of stilettos calling her name. Sam dropped her bag to the floor and rummaged through its contents.
“Po-eter!” Sam caught herself.
“Po-eter? Is that my new name?” He laughed.
“Sorry.” Sam smiled and gathered her bag, lifting it off the floor. “Any news for me?”
“Yeah, some. I can’t talk now, but I wanted to let you know. I pulled the restraining order Lena took out and got the guy’s name. It’s Charles Polczeck. I ran his rap sheet just to see what we’re dealing with. Looks like he pretty harmless. He’s a peeper, but doesn’t look like he can close the deal. No indicators of violence.” He paused, “And Sam, he was in lockup the night Lena was murdered. The whole weekend in fact. There’s no way he could have gotten to her.”
“What was he in lock-up for?”
“Indecent exposure. He apparently showed his goods to an eighty-four year old grandmother of seven who pistol-whipped the shit out of him and held him at gunpoint until a patrol unit got there.”
Sam stifled a laugh. “Well, I guess that’s good. Sort of. Maybe not for him, though. What about the task force?”
“I can’t talk about it, Sam.” Peter’s voice was strained. “Don’t nose around. Just drop it. That’s all I can tell you. You don’t want to get mixed up in that.”
Sam was silent, waiting for Peter to say something.
“I’ve got too much at stake now, Sam. A baby on the way . . . shit. Just let it drop. I gotta go.” The line went dead.
Sam listened to the silence until tones played letting her know the call had been disconnected. She stared at her phone for a moment before slipping it back in her bag.
“This is facking brilliant!” Birdie chirped excitement from behind Sam.
Turning to face her, Sam was greeted by the sight of Birdie in a large feathered headdress, clutching a matching bodice to her chest. Radiating joy, she looked like she’d found her soul mate.
Sam doubled over howling. Her cries drew the shop owner who looked like she was a hundred if she was a day. She hobbled towards the two, maybe to help, maybe to chastise. Shffft. Shffft. The polyester pants crammed between her thick legs made a sound that reminded Sam of church when she was a kid. Old ladies in pantyhose made an almost identical sound.
“That’s from some new hot shit designer out of Vegas. Thinks he’s gonna’ bring back the ol’ burlesque style.” The shop keeper grinned, revealing a set of perfect chompers that Sam guessed were dentures. “I think it’s pretty hot, but what do I know? I been outta’ the business since Christ was in Kindergarten.”
“I fink it’s fackin’ smashing! I love it!”
Sam managed to fish her wallet from her ba
g, trying not to look at Birdie. The sight alone was killing her, especially since she knew Birdie would wear the damn thing at work. Stifling a laugh, she asked, “Okay, I promised her an outfit to replace her schoolgirl uniform. What do I owe you?”
Screwing up her face, the woman looked the two over. “Tag says three-fifty, but I’ll give it to ya at my cost. Two-seventy-five if you payin cash and promise to tell the girls where you bought it.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. “Two-seventy-five?”
“It’s genuine ostrich!” The woman protested, reaching for the feathers.
“So no imitation ostriches were harmed?” Sam sighed with a smirk.
“Come on Sam, you promised! I’ll frow out the schoolgirl if you buy me this bit a cleverness.” Birdie chimed in.
“Fine.” Sam crammed the bills back into her purse. “Hold it at the counter while we finish looking, please. I need to stock up on garters and g-strings.”
Taking the pieces from Birdie the woman shuffled back to the counter.
“Oo was that?” Birdie asked.
“What?”
“On your mobile? Oo was it?”
“Peter. You know, the cop with the pregnant wife.”
“Roit! Peter. ’Is wife’s in the puddin’ club?”
Sam smirked. “Classy. And yes, she’s pregnant. He was calling to give me some info about Lena’s stalker. He sounded strange though.”
“Strange ‘ow?” Birdie returned to her assault on the circular clothing rack.
“He seemed nervous.” Sam headed toward a display of thong bikini bottoms with plastic clasps for easy access. Changing the subject, she went on, “So, what do you think about the Nikki and Gio thing?”
“I think it’s proper fitting those two pillocks shaggin’ each other. They deserve wha’ever they get. Bloody daft if you ask me. Buggering the bosses bit o’ stuff. What’s he thinkin’?”
“Obviously he’s not.” Sam thought for a minute. “Bird?”
“Yeh?”
“Do you suppose it’s possible — just for the sake of argument, I mean — that screwing each other behind Fedya’s back isn’t all Gio and Nikki are up to?”
Tea Leafing: A Novel Page 7
