Hungry for It

by Fiona Zedde

  Rémi sat at her friends’ table. Nuria turned to give her a moist smile and an Opium-scented hug. Her cleavage was on impressive display tonight. Rémi gave the lifted and separated breasts a cursory leer to let her friend know that her efforts weren’t wasted.

  Sage greeted her with a distracted look. “That woman is pure nitro,” she said, staring at the stage. “Do you think she’s into some company tonight?”

  “I doubt she plays that way,” Rémi said.

  “Too bad.”

  Rémi cocked an eyebrow at Sage. “I doubt she has any regrets.”

  Phil grinned and shook her head. Rémi stayed with her friends for a moment longer before getting up to make the rounds. Although most of the club’s patrons were wrapped in the spell Cassandra wove on the stage, they noticed when the owner took the time to stop at their table and inquire about their comfort. Many came to Gillespie’s for some of the best live jazz in Miami and the flavorful, unique spins on classic dishes served up by its beautiful four-star chef. But a lot of people also came to Gillespie’s to see its owner.

  Before the review in the Herald, many of the patrons of the club came out to see one of Miami’s rare gems, the celebrity club owner and model. On any given day in the city, one just had to look up to see one of the three billboards that boasted Rémi’s image. Her unconventional beauty and look of unmistakable power were used to sell high-end men’s shoes, watches, even cigars. A few years ago when she was starting to get worried about money, Rémi agreed to be the local face of an exclusive jeweler who wanted to reach a certain type of client. With Rémi’s help, he reached those clients. Still, the club owner didn’t know where the fame came first, her sporadic modeling, or from owning Gillespie’s, the sexiest pre-party place on the beach.

  Rémi waited until Cassandra Wilson and the band took a break before she approached Claudia’s table.

  The older woman greeted her with a wide smile. “I wondered when you’d grace us with your presence, Ms. Celebrity.”

  “I am a busy woman about town, you know,” she teased before shaking Derrick’s hand. “Good to see you, Derrick.”

  “Rémi.” The polo shirt he wore under his blazer, a rich shade of red, complemented his complexion and reflected the color in his full lower lip. Nuria must be salivating nearby. “The place is great,” he said. ‘I’ve been here a few times but I had no idea you owned it.”

  “You must have come in for the music or the food, then. That’s good. I’ll take that. As long as you came in.”

  Since there was room for only two at the table, Rémi found herself hovering. She clasped her hands behind her back. “Are you two enjoying yourselves?”

  “Absolutely.” Claudia’s mouth curved in a smile. “Thank you for the invitation.”

  “No problem, Mrs. N. Please consider yourself my guest anytime you’re here. You can even come up to my office and say hello if you like.” She felt stiff and formal standing over them and offering the invitation when all she wanted to do was press the back of Claudia’s hand to her lips and inhale her scent.

  “Derrick. Mrs. Nichols.”

  All three turned at the sound of Nuria’s voice. She walked blithely through the packed bar, her cleavage making the way for her. Derrick was definitely paying attention.

  “Hello, Nuria.” Claudia stood up to greet the other woman.

  “No, no. Please don’t stand up. I just wanted to come over and say hello since I just noticed the two of you sitting over here.” She crouched between the two people sitting at the table so they could all be at the same level, using her hip to effectively nudge Rémi out of the way. “I’d love to buy you a glass or bottle of whatever it is that you’re drinking.”

  Claudia laughed. “Not a bottle, Nuria. Please. I’m just having a glass of the house white, but my son is a Scotch man.”

  Nuria signaled over the waitress and ordered them refills on her tab. She bobbed up and down in her generosity, and Derrick had no choice but to notice her bountiful assets spread out before him like another option on the menu. Rémi met Claudia’s eyes over their heads and smiled. The older woman’s eyes sparkled with mirth. It was fairly obvious what Nuria was up to. Rémi reminded herself never to be that blatant or desperate. She cleared her throat.

  “Cassandra is about to go back on, so I’ll see everyone later.” She took Claudia’s hand in hers and held it briefly. “As always, Mrs. N. A pleasure.” Rémi nodded at Derrick then left her friend to her games.

  She didn’t know what she had expected from Claudia, but she knew that she didn’t get it. Maybe it was Derrick’s presence, maybe it was the stares pressing at her from all sides. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to be caught like that again. She wanted to get Claudia to herself. She wanted to go on a date with the woman.

  Chapter 5

  “What the fuck was that?”

  Rémi’s eyes darted, following the flash of black as it scurried across the floor and disappeared behind the large stainless steel refrigerator. “Tell me that’s not what I’m seeing right now. Someone tell me.”

  She looked up, meeting the horrified eyes of her kitchen staff, all except for Rochelle, who chased after the rat, her white apron flapping behind her, the chef’s hat tumbling off her dark head to the floor.

  “That’s not possible,” Rochelle wailed, trying to push at the refrigerator. “There’s no way that thing should be in here.”

  “Carlos, call the exterminator, now!” Rémi looked at her watch. “Fuck!”

  It was nearly three hours until they opened for the Friday afternoon rush leading into their normally busy weekend. This was complete bullshit. Rémi turned on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen, tugging her phone from her jacket pocket.

  “Elena.” She forced calm into her voice when her manager answered the phone. “Can I see you in my office now, please?” Rémi didn’t wait for an answer. A few minutes later, a brief knock sounded on her office door before Elena poked her head around it.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  Rémi gestured her inside and Elena closed the door, concern knitting her brow as she walked into the office to claim her customary seat on the couch.

  “Why are there rats in my kitchen?”

  The manager stopped her progress across the room. “What?”

  “Why are—”

  Elena put up her hand. “Sorry, I heard you. But that’s not possible. We just did our inspection, and Sam was just here less than a month ago,” she said, naming the owner of the extermination company they used.

  “I think he missed something.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “We’ve always used Sharpe’s Exterminating. There’s no way that they missed something like that. But”—she raised her hand again as Rémi opened her mouth to speak—“I’ll call them again. If you saw rats, they need to come back out.”

  “Get another company. I’m not taking any chances.”

  “All right. Whatever you want. But I’m telling you, they didn’t miss anything.”

  “Sure. Whatever.” Rémi waved her hand in dismissal. “Just get it done.”

  Without watching to see Elena leave, she turned away, shoving her hands in her pockets in frustration. This was the last thing that they needed. The absolute last. Beyond the wide glass wall, the club lay quiet, but Rémi felt as if she could see through the walls to the kitchen, the filthy rat dropping its shit all over her clean floors and counters. In the food. She believed Elena. They’d used Sam for years now with not one problem. But what was the other explanation? A dull pain blossomed behind her forehead.

  A low chime in her jacket pocket interrupted her fruitless thoughts.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  Claudia’s voice on the other end of the line immediately rebooted her brain, and she sank into the sofa before her desk, her body loosened into some semblance of relaxation.

  “Not at all, Mrs. N. What’s on your mind?”

  It had been nearly a week since Claudia’s visit
to the club. In that time, she’d examined her resolution to ask the older woman out on a date. The more she thought about it, the more possible it seemed.

  “I’m having a little get-together here at my house this afternoon. Can you make it? I know that it’s short notice.”

  “I can make it.” Rémi took her lighter out of her pocket and turned it over in her hands. It was platinum and had her name engraved in script on its bottom. One of the many presents Dez had given her over the years. “Thanks for thinking of me.” She flicked the lighter open. Closed it. Opened it again.

  “We always think about you.” Rémi idly wondered who the “we” referred to and how often they thought about her. And how. “By now, you’re practically one of the family,” Claudia finished.

  Family. Hm. “I have a few things to take care of at the club, but I’ll drop by afterwards. Is that all right?” With a twitch of her thumb, a sharp blue flame shot from the lighter.

  “That’s perfect.” Claudia said. “See you then.”

  “Okay.” As Rémi hung up, someone knocked at her door. If I want Claudia, I have to quit smoking. Cigarettes and cancer survivors don’t go well together. She closed the lighter and put it back in her pocket.

  “Come.”

  Elena’s head peeked around the corner of the door, but she didn’t come in. “Carlos found another rat.”

  “Fuck.” Maybe I’ll quit tomorrow.

  Rémi’s headache grew with each passing hour until finally at five, when the doors opened and customers began walking through them, her head felt like an abused warning drum. She stood looking down into the bowels of her club, watching the tables and barstools slowly fill. This was how she loved it, crowded and thick with noise. Low hum of conversation and sparkling laughter on both levels of the club while the speakers wove mellow jazz through the air.

  A flicker of unexpected movement by the main door caught her eye. Two men in suits. One with a notebook under his arm, the other a look of distaste on his face. The hostess, Melina, smiled pleasantly enough at them, but her body language was all terror. Rémi stiffened. When the young girl held up a finger, asking for a moment, before she picked up the phone next to the reservation log, Rémi was less than surprised when her cell phone rang.

  “The health inspector is here to take a look at the place.” There was a slight tremor in Melina’s voice. “Do you want to give the go-ahead for that?”

  A cold sweat shuddered over Rémi’s skin. Did she want to give them the go-ahead? Shit. She wanted to tell Melina to show them the other side of the door. But if they had to come back later, they would make the club pay dearly for that inconvenience.

  “Welcome them in. But call Elena first and tell her what’s happening.”

  Rémi closed the phone. Feigning a calm she did not feel. This was too tidy. First the rats, then a health inspection. On the same day? There wasn’t that much coincidence in the entire world. Was this the danger Wynne talked about? Anger surged like poison through her veins. Who was this trying to fuck with her life? With shaking hands, she rolled down the sleeves of her shirt, put on her jacket, and left the office.

  “Gentlemen,” Rémi approached the two men with a smile, holding out her hand. “I’m Rémi Bouchard. Welcome to my place of business.”

  Both men smiled pleasantly enough, but she felt an air of expectation around them. The one with the notebook shook the offered hand and returned her smile, introducing himself as Henry Caballo and showing his credentials. The other only shook her hand, looking as if he wanted a wipe off his own after he did so.

  “What brings you here, and on a Friday evening too? We had an inspection barely six months ago.”

  “This is a surprise inspection, Ms. Bouchard. Sorry for any inconvenience this might cause you. I wanted to do it earlier in the day, but my colleague was insistent on doing it tonight.”

  “Not a problem. As you can see, I have many customers here tonight. If you can carry out your business without disturbing them, I’d be most grateful.”

  “We’ll try our best.”

  Again, the other man remained silent. Rémi kept the smile on her face and gestured ahead of her through the crowd that shifted around them.

  “Thank you, Melina.”

  The hostess gave Rémi a trembling smile before turning back to the growing line of customers.

  The inspectors looked through every inch of the club, paying special attention to the kitchen, the bars, and the back lot with the Dumpster. With a cold fist pounding in the pit of her stomach, Rémi accompanied them each step of the way, smiling, giving them access to everything that they wanted as they asked for it. The kitchen staff glanced up as the men walked in, but looked thankfully unconcerned and went about the business as usual of managing the kitchen’s organized chaos. Pasta boiled on the stove. Aimee, the pretty sous chef with the plum purple skin and long fingers, rhythmically chopped garlic on the cutting board while Rochelle put the finishing touches on the meals ready to be served. Each looked in turn at Rémi with a comforting smile. When Henry Caballo knelt to look behind the refrigerator, Rémi flinched but kept her smile firmly in place. Two hours later the inspection was finished.

  “I think I almost had a fucking heart attack tonight. Twice.” Rémi collapsed into the couch, fingers twitching in their need for a cigarette.

  Elena perched her backside on the desk and smoothed a hand over her already neatly twisted hair. “Everything was already taken care of by the time they came. Carlos found two more rats. Although it could’ve been the first one and his sister.” Her mauve lips tightened. “He tossed their carcasses in a bin far up the street. Right after that Sharpe’s cleaned the place up and did another inspection.”

  Rémi dropped her head back against the arm of the sofa and put a hand over her eyes. “Let me guess. He saw no evidence of long-term rodent activity. It was as if they just showed up one day.”

  Elena’s eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know?”

  “A shot in the dark.”

  “Is something going on that I should know about, Rémi?”

  “Maybe. I’ll let you know when I know. In the meantime, just keep a more careful eye on everything and everyone around here. Pay particular attention to strangers.”

  “Are you serious? Everybody around here is a stranger to me most nights.”

  “Yeah, I know it’s a lot but that’s what has to be done for now.”

  “Okay. You’re the boss.”

  Rémi chuckled. “Right. And don’t you forget it.”

  When Elena left she went to her desk and booted up the computer. Searching the Web with narrowed eyes and venom in her veins, she didn’t get up until she had an address and a name. Matthias Anderson. Rémi called her manager.

  “Elena, I’m gone for the rest of the night. If anything happens, call. No matter what time.”

  Then she jumped on the bike and went on the hunt.

  The club was right on the water. Prime real estate in Miami that anyone with the means would happily kill for. Riding up to the squat, single-level building, Rémi idly wondered if Matthias Anderson had bumped somebody off to take control of the property. At barely eight o’clock, the parking lot was already full, with a uniformed attendant pointing cars toward what looked like an overflow lot. All the windows of the building were reflective. No matter how much anybody from the street looked, they wouldn’t be able to see anything inside.

  Rémi parked her bike next to three others near the entrance and sat back on the seat, watching the customers flow in and out of the door. The clientele was nothing extraordinary, mostly men from any ethnic background under the Miami sun, dressed in jeans or slacks and blazers, ready to unwind after a long day at the office or at home. The few women walking through the doors were stiletto femme types, holding onto their boyfriends’ arms or strolling in groups of three of more. Some of them obviously would be working there later on in the evening.

  Rémi took out a piece of peppermint gum and folded it into her
mouth before getting off the bike. At the door, the muscled doorman looked her up and down with nothing more than curiosity in his face before grunting the entrance fee. She gave him the ten dollars without comment and walked past. Inside was an orgy of mirrored walls, naked girls bouncing on clear four-inch heels, and infatuated men holding their thick wads of cash in their hands. Top 40 music, heavy with bass, pumped from the club’s speakers.

  “I’m looking for Matthias Anderson,” she said to the first eye-level woman she saw.

  The woman, cleavage set up high in her red shelf bra and long legs bare below the black fringe of a skirt, gave Rémi the same treatment as the doorman but pointed her with a feline smile and thrust of a narrow hip down a dimly lit hallway. Rémi’s knock on the door with the plaque that read “office” yielded a deep, “Come in.”

  Rémi didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t the pale figure behind the desk. An angular face, illuminated by the security monitors showing shifting images of the club, turned lazily toward her. Thick, closely cut white blond hair framed that ageless face. He could have been thirty-five or fifty-five. And Rémi suspected he had genetics to thank for that, not surgery.

  There was nothing handsome about the man, but his electric green eyes burned with intelligence, and the hands that rested on the desk looked strong. The man before her had everything. His two-thousand-dollar suit, manicured nails, neatly trimmed mustache and beard. The ease with which he wore his body and the room made that clear. In the darkened office, she sensed the presence of at least two other people. Rémi kept the door open.