Without hesitation, Mary Jane flipped to the back of her tablet and swiveled Gio’s laptop on the desk so it faced her.
She could still hear Pietra’s shrill screams coming from the balcony outside. What luck! Pietra hadn’t been part of the plan. How kind of her to present herself as a target.
Mary Jane only needed a few seconds. She quickly navigated to the hard drive information and scribbled the make and model on the cardboard backing of her tablet. She made notes about the disk capacity, operating system and the list of programs. Righting the laptop to its original position, she grabbed Gio’s keys from the desktop.
Producing an egg of Silly Putty from the folds of her apron, she cracked it open and pressed the flesh colored material around the office door key. She was almost finished when she heard Gio’s muffled voice just outside. He’d obviously managed to get Pietra’s wails down to a low moan as he opened the door.
Knowing the noise from the club would buffer at least some of the sound in the office, she stayed where she was seated and slid his keys down her outstretched leg with her right hand, trying to dampen the clatter. She scooted the keys under his desk with the toe of her shoe as she picked up a stack of money with her left and resumed counting.
Gio held the door open for a moment as if he could smell foul play. In fact, what he smelled was Grace’s cranberry juice puke all over the pant legs of Pietra Maria Speranza DiFrancesco’s gold silk Dupioni pants.
Bull’s-eye! thought Mary Jane.
CHAPTER 36
“Brilliant!” Birdie grinned “I didn’t know if you hens were up to the task but I’m happy to eat me wards.”
Grace was clearly pleased with their luck. “I was just getting my finger down my throat behind the ficus on the second floor when I got a waft of Ben Gay. I turned just in time and POW!”
Tears were rolling down Sam's face as she laughed. “Oh my GOD! I bet she shrieked like a feral cat.” She covered her face with a napkin and her whole body shook with laughter.
One of Grace’s odd but exceptional talents was projectile vomiting. This was a sure fire way to get out of work. More effective than mentioning your period.
“What’s your record?” Mary Jane asked as she raised a mug to her lips.
“Five and a half feet, but I’d eaten three chili dogs that time, so I think the extra ammunition helped.”
Grace looked like a little girl, a blonde haired angel with a nasty gift. She seemed totally unaffected by the ordeal, other than being pleased with the results and feeling good about being able to contribute to the quest. The four chatted about Grace’s hidden super-power until Tanya set the plates down.
Mary Jane looked over at Grace, “Was that shrimp you’d eaten?”
“Okay, enough.” Grace didn’t want to repeat the performance.
The restaurant was hopping and Tanya was hustling around trying to keep up with the demand.
“I’d love to know what’s goin’ on with ya’ll. Four cats. Four canaries. All eaten.”
“We’ll fill you in when things slow down.”
Tanya gave a quick nod and turned to go.
“Oh, I think Tyrone, Tyrese, and their harem are supposed to be in. They were askin’ after ya’ll.” She smirked and headed toward the kitchen.
“Did’ja get what you needed, Mary Jane?”
“Sure did.” Mary Jane slid the plastic silly putty egg across the table to Grace.
Photography had been Grace’s major, but she had taken several jewelry design classes at SCAD. She loved making her own pieces although she hadn’t taken her tools out in years. The basic equipment for the class had put a seven hundred dollar dent in her pocketbook, so she never got rid of the supplies. She’d always thought that one day she was going to set up her workbench and start designing again. The time had finally come.
Grace split the egg with her thumb and looked at the mold of the door key inside. “Perfect. I should be able to do this, no problem.” Snapping it shut, she slid the orange plastic egg into a side pocket on her satchel.
“Now what?”
Mary Jane put a forkful of cheese grits in her mouth. She glanced around and chewed enough that she could speak, “I get the hardware.”
Simultaneously, the girls reached for their bags.
“Un-Uh.” Mary Jane squinted as she swallowed. “Wait ‘til we pay so it looks like we’re splitting the check.”
They had agreed they’d each chip in a hundred dollars so Mary Jane could canvass used computer stores and pawn shops for the necessary items. EBay was the simple choice, but there couldn’t be a paper trail, so everything had to be done in person, and in cash. No phoning around to look for the parts. They couldn’t run the risk of appearing on a caller ID. So for this task even a phone booth wasn’t good enough. There could be no trace.
The four finished their meals just as Tyrone and Tyrese glided through the doors with their companions skittering around their height like no-seeums at a picnic. Their eyes went immediately to the girls cozied up in their regular booth by the plate-glass window. Tilting chins up in perfect unison, they gave a quick, casual nod that would have been missed by anyone not looking for the greeting. Tanya walked over and gave them all hugs; then led the troop to the semi-circular corner booth in the back.
CHAPTER 37
Gio couldn’t remember dropping his keys on the floor, but he supposed it could have happened during the kerfuffle while he tried to get Pietra calmed down. He’d gotten her a glass of water and, from the storage locker, a pair of rather tight “Pink Pussycat” shorts for her to change into. The pants had been sealed up in a garbage bag that he’d leave with his dry cleaner first thing in the morning.
“You just don’t understaaand what it was like for me Gio! It was awful! Oh my GAWD! I’m gonna have nightmaaaares about this.” Pietra carried on talking to no one in particular.
Gio was having a hard time focusing on anything other than his mother’s mushy, blue veined, road-mapped thighs stretching in front of him. The unflattering, snug, black satin shorts weren’t helping matters, either. Apparently she’d only thought to apply self-tanner to her knees and the visual was almost too much for Gio.
‘I’m gonna have nightmares about this!’ Gio thought to himself.
Mary Jane had gotten through her checkout quickly. Her numbers matched the computer’s to the penny, or to the quarter, as it were. Gio was grateful she wasn’t one of the high-octane drama girls who would have needed to linger endlessly, yabbering on, encouraging Pietra to recount the story again and again in full detail. Mary Jane did her job well and kept chatter to a minimum. Gio loved that about her.
“Out of NOWHERE! I swea-to-Gawd! It was like a crazy tsunami of bawf. GIO! Are you even listenin’? This is important! I coulda slipped and seriously inju’d myself!”
Realizing he wasn’t going to get out of this easily, he called Pietra’s favorite bouncer over the radio headset.
“Calm down, Ma. I think we should get you checked out just to make sure you’re okay.” Gio smirked at his own stroke of genius. She went to the emergency room for hangnails, so why not this? “You know you have a weak hawt, whaddya say we make sure you didn’t suffah any strain from the scare. I wanna know you’re out of the woods before we just fugget about this. Okay?”
Pleased that Gio had finally realized the seriousness of being puked on, Pietra agreed to go to the hospital. The bouncer came through the door and Gio turned just in time to see him falter in his footsteps. He wasn’t sure if it was the sight of Pietra and her two-toned, vein riddled legs, or the lingering smell of yark, but he saw the bouncer’s spirits drop with no hope of finishing his night on a good note.
Gio slipped him a hundred and instructed him to take Pietra to Piedmont Hospital and wait with her. This plan clearly pleased Pietra to no end as she cheerfully jumped to her feet, snatching her purse she kissed Gio and patted his face.
“I don’t want you worryin’ babe, I’ll be all right. I’ll call you.” With tha
t, she was off. The bouncer trudged behind her. Gio collapsed back into his chair and wondered if it would ever get easier.
Turning his attention back to his keyboard, he started keying in pass codes to check the nightly revenue and arrange for blocks of money to be transferred to several different accounts.
CHAPTER 38
Popping the silly putty egg open, Grace examined the crisp key impressions imbedded in each half of the polymer. Thinking how lucky it was that Mary Jane had been able to get such a clean imprint under duress, she set the shells on the kitchen counter and headed for the storage closet where she kept all her supplies.
Digging through the floor of the closet, she moved a vacuum cleaner and pail of cleaning supplies out of the way. Where was the gunmetal gray toolbox that housed her metalworking equipment? Finally, she found it under a stack of Playboy and Better Homes and Gardens magazines. She pulled her propane torch and nozzle off the second shelf and kicked the door shut with her heel. Picking up the heavy box, she headed back toward the kitchen.
Kyle was standing behind the barstools lined up at the counter, shirtless with a wild mess of sleep-styled hair. He held one of the putty shells in his hand with the pad of his thumb on the putty. “What’s this?
“NO! Put that down, Kyle. Please.”
Ignoring her request, he persisted, “Why do you have an impression of a key?”
Grace held out her hand for the egg and gave him the sternest look she could muster.
He dropped the plastic shell into her hand, “Whatever.”
Kyle walked to the fridge, yanked the door open and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. He turned and disappeared down the hallway without another look.
Grace watched him go, letting out a breath as she looked down at the mashed putty. Kyle hadn’t managed to completely destroy the cast but he did flatten it somewhat, adding his thumbprint to the surface.
“Damn.”
Kyle and Grace had been together for three and a half years. In the beginning, he’d been a perfect boyfriend. Good job, motivation, and manners, not to mention great in the sack. When the two moved to Atlanta and Grace started dancing, Kyle began to change. Not for the better. He became disenchanted with the company he worked for, swearing he couldn’t take it, so he quit. Grace was the sole breadwinner and naturally offered to pay the bills while he was job hunting. The only Kyle she had ever known was charming and chivalrous, bordering on old-fashioned in his need to take care of her. They were very much in love.
Searching for work over the next few months, Kyle became discouraged. Initially, he had been diligent about the household chores. He cleaned, grocery shopped, ran errands, paid bills and assumed all the responsibilities of the nonworking half of a partnership. The two casually joked about their role reversal, but Grace was always careful not to emasculate him during the jobless spell she considered temporary. She had to admit she liked the pampering. Not having to worry about anything but maintaining a positive cash flow was just fine with her. Sure beat doing the laundry.
Over time, Kyle gave up on finding work and began to resent his “housewife” status. His cleaning and errands became an occasional event, and when Grace brought it up, he’d start an argument. As the relationship deteriorated, Grace asked him to go to counseling with her, but Kyle refused. Feeling like his self-esteem was suffering because of his lack of work, she continued to encourage him. Kyle had turned from her wonderful, loving future husband into a sulky, difficult child. Grace was at her breaking point.
Popping the egg shut, she returned it to her dance bag. She knew it would be safe from Kyle because he’d long ago quit washing her work clothes for her, claiming the smell of the cigarette smoke and sweat turned his stomach. She couldn’t blame him. It was gross.
She flipped off the kitchen and hallway lights and headed toward the bedroom. Glimpsing a sliver of light below the drapes, she knew sunrise was approaching. She hated to be up when the sun was rising, preferring to be nestled in the folds of her warm bed while it was still dark. Bedtime was usually only an hour or so before dawn, but there was something psychological about turning in when it could still be considered night. Not morning.
CHAPTER 39
Mary Jane hit five pawnshops and three used computer stores before she found the hard drive she was looking for. While she was there, she also picked up an inexpensive laptop, with two connection ports, and a bay to house the new drive. She managed to get away with spending less than the girls had allotted, so she added two video games she’d been wanting to her pile on the counter.
“‘That it for ya, Ma'am?”
“Oh yeah, throw a couple extra thumb drives in there.”
“Two?”
“Yup. That’ll do it for today. Thanks for your help. My sister’s gonna be so excited I was able to find her exact hard drive.”
“Yeah, we usually have a pretty good selection.”
“Good prices too.” She grinned at the clerk from under the rim of her Braves cap.
He passed her the receipt and the generic plastic bag with “Thank You” in red lettering across the front.
“Put my card in the bag so if there’s anything else ya think of, come on back and see me.” The clerk gave her a lopsided but wholesome smile.
“Thanks. I’ll take you up on that.” Mary Jane raised her bag in a gesture of thanks as she headed out the door. The bell tied to a string above the entrance chimed and she could feel the shopkeeper’s eyes on her as she headed out.
She picked up her pace slightly as she headed down the sidewalk and around the corner. She pulled her hat down to shade her eyes and cradled the bag in her arms as she walked the remaining block and a half to her car.
* * * *
Sam studied the documents she’d spread neatly on the kitchen table, which she used as a desk. She arranged small, color-coded post-it tabs in what might look like a random order across the paperwork. Carefully printing a letter on each tab, she scribbled notations on her grid paper about each marked item.
Flipping back through the reference books she’d marked with the same colored Post-its, she compared the pages with web page printouts she’d made at the public library. She could have printed the documents at home but she didn’t want to leave a trace of her web searches. Luckily, the library didn’t check IDs for their computer usage sign-in.
Sam jiggled the mouse to wake her Mac from its sleep and took one last look at the documents. A Georgia driver’s license, a passport, and a birth certificate. She hit the button to launch Photoshop and stared at the screen collage featuring a large eye staring back at her. The challenge excited and scared her; this was a true test of her skill as a designer. Could she fool even the most expert eye? They had purchased the identity from a rather shady customer at the club and Sam hoped the numbers were good. “Time will tell.” she thought.
* * * *
Grace inspected the partially mashed putty under a swing-arm lamp she’d moved into the kitchen. It seemed salvageable, but she wouldn’t know until her cast was done.
Turning to the stove, she lifted a Pyrex measuring cup containing blue liquid wax from a gas burner that was set on low. She waited a moment for the wax to cool slightly before tipping the contents carefully into the recesses of the Silly Putty. Then, repeating the process on the second half of the egg, she placed the measuring cup back on the burner and flipped off the flame beneath it.
Grace studied a tabloid, flipping pages casually while she waited for her wax to harden. After skimming an article on celebrity break-ups, she tested the integrity of the wax with her thumbnail. She gently pried the putty from its plastic case with the tip of a knife, mindful to maintain the shape of the delicate wax key. Turning the two halves of putty upside down on parchment paper, she slowly curled each edge up, separating the wax from its cast.
One perfect and one slightly flattened piece of wax stared up at her. She studied the two for a moment, thinking about the best way to proceed.
Turning the gas f
lame back on, she heated the blade of a knife over the fire until it glowed hot. After first moving the steel quickly over each half of the key, as if frosting a cake, she pressed the two halves together. She waited a moment for the wax to set, then picked up the wax key and turned it over in her hands. Inspecting every edge and angle, she hoped this would do the trick.
* * * *
Fifi Mahoney’s in the Little Five Points area of Atlanta was one of Birdie’s favorite haunts. Toting a small, plastic, Easter-style basket, she pulled items from their shelves like a kid in a toy store. Stage make-up, eyelash plumping powder, blue-tinted lip gloss, Hollywood tape, a band-aid box of fake moles, a bottle of extra dark self-tanner and some liquid blush. She continued to browse for another half hour, reading labels and adding a few more choice finds to her overflowing yellow basket.
The best wigs in town could be found at Fifi’s and Birdie spent some time trying different looks. She shopped for a bit in a hot pink bob, trying to casually check herself out in the many mirrors scattered around the store. Adding sunglasses, removing them, twisting scarves around her head Rhoda-style, she made faces, trying to look sophisticated. She cycled through several cuts and colors before putting on a black, curly wig that looked like a naughty Farrah Faucett knock-off.
“So, what’s the word, Bird?” the Bettie Page look alike asked as she unloaded her treasure trove onto the glass display case in front of the register.
“Not a fackin’ thing. Just picking up some stuff to help me get motivated about wark. It’s ‘Chicken Pluckers’ this week.” Atlanta was the site of the annual International Poultry Exposition. It was the biggest week of the year in the strip club industry and the money was insane. The guys were nice enough, but they were corny. After the convention ended every year, it took several weeks to decompress from the bad jokes. Birdie was particularly busy, mostly because of her name.
Tea Leafing: A Novel Page 14
