I looked curiously at Jay. Those were the very same words Frippery had used when the wax was made into a model of me.
"Yes. Will Boner. Now, what shall we do with him?"
I laid the model in the coffin and tied the lid back on. Jay toyed with the spear.
"Not yet. We still don't know why Frippery wanted Raoul dead. Or why Boner was willing to kill him. We'll hang onto this. I have a feeling it will come in handy."
"My thoughts exactly. But we'll hide it well. We don't want them getting their hands on it again."
"Come on then. I'll fix your makeup and we'll get some grub. Can you model it into a spider, by the way?"
As Jay put her hand on the doorknob I put the spike to a small knothole on the underside of the box and gave a short sharp jab. I grinned nastily and followed her out into the corridor.
CHAPTER TWELVE: WHO DO YOU VOODOO?
The party was waxing fast as we reentered the grand ballroom of the Caribbean Conch. Harry had secreted the little coffin in his capacious handbag, alongside some feminine necessities purloined from my vanity case. The lipstick and powder I could understand, given H's current Tootsie role, but a nail file, eyebrow tweezers and scissors seemed a bit over the top.
"What do you need those for, darling? You've got no nails to speak of and it'd take a lawnmower to tidy up your eyebrows!"
My glamorous husband merely blew me a kiss and smiled enigmatically. Then I knew.
"Oh, I get it. Not content with simply stabbing old Bony in the bum, you're going to torment him with my toilet articles. You'd better watch your karma, angel."
Harry sent a malevolent look in the Boner-Drippits direction. They had refilled their salad plates and were hovering like vultures near Mr. Deal, who was doing his best to ignore their presence as he chatted with an attractive aspiring authoress.
"Karma schmarma. No one sticks pins in Harry Neptune and lives to walk without a limp. Why did I throw those fetishes overboard? I have a feeling they would have made a potent ally."
I thought of the strange dark artifacts and shivered. There are some things that just cannot be rationally explained.
"I don't think so, Harry. The fetishes were free agents. We had no power over them – they controlled us as effortlessly as if we were mere marionettes. I'd like to find out where the Black Widow bought the damned things. Whoever sold them to her was downright irresponsible."
"Or very clever indeed. Don't worry, Jaybird. All will be revealed in due course. Incidentally, it might have escaped your attention but the wind is getting up. I think we're in for a bit of a squall."
"What are you talking about? It's almost flat calm."
My partner grinned wickedly and began to swing his handbag back and forth like a pendulum, his gaze fixed upon my ex lover. Boner began to look a little green.
"He'll think his sea-sickness is back with a vengeance but there ain't no anti-nausea pills on board that'll cure this bout."
"Oh, you are awful!"
"Subtlety is always the best offense, my dear."
I watched with fascination as Boner clutched his stomach and put down his salad. His complexion had changed from bilious green to grossed-out gray. With a satisfied smirk, Harry led me to the buffet table, where we heaped our plates with a delectable assortment of seafood. A ghastly Boner leaned against a pillar as we spooned up lobster, giant prawns and crab.
"That should do it for now. Just setting the scene for the delights to come. Let's chow down for a bit, then I'll go in with the emery board and abrade his balls."
"Ouchy! Did you make him a pair?"
Harry frowned.
"No, I believe that wax Bony is ball-less. We can soon fix that, "though."
I was quite getting into the spirit of things. Naughtily plucking a brace of capers from a platter of lox, I arranged them on the edge of my husband's plate.
"What about these?"
"Same color as his face, that's for sure!"
"And here's a little cane to chastise his bottom."
It was almost three decades since I'd last played with dollies but the urge to accessorize Harry's version of Action Man got the better of me. Giggling, I added a sharp wooden cocktail stick to my partner's plate. Harry snorted.
"You can have the honor of giving the old boy six of the best on the bum. I think we should pick our moment 'though. The next time we overhear him dishing out punishment would be good. Spank the spanker as he spanks the spankee. How's that for an alliteration?"
"I see that the bountiful badly-boobed Barbie has bobbed up with the big black bobby."
"You what?"
I inclined my head towards the dance-floor. It seemed that during our soiree in the Boner-Drippit cabin, Miss Swat had ditched her straitjacket in favor of a large shirt and tie. Parrott was squeezed into a very familiar black cocktail dress, his broad and hairy chest doing quite a good job of expanding the low-cut bodice. I looked around for Dunnett but the alcoholic medic was nowhere to be found. Harry whistled.
"Well, well, well. Is La Lush dishing the dirt on the dastardly doc or is she simply reggae for a little light interrogation?"
I recalled my all-too-brief spell in a small, darkened room with the quietly insistent Inspector Parrott. It was just as well I really did have nothing to hide, for I suspect he'd have gained a confession from me as swiftly as he could shuck an oyster. His dark, intense eyes sent tiny shivers down my spine. I watched the couple dancing and sensed a certain sensual connection between the pair.
"He's been in her knickers – or wants to be! Now, what's happening?"
The DJ turned down the music and grabbed a mike.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, who's for karaoke? We have a special prize for the best performance! Step up now and don't be shy."
I looked up at Harry. My beautiful partner grinned broadly.
* * * *
This was evidently the moment Mr. Deal of Signonthedotted had been waiting for. He was wearing an attractive long white dress with a high collar and sequins. His wig was black, with rather tomboyish licks at front and rear.
Mr. Deal hit the stage and struck a pose, one arm high and head bent. The DJ had seen this before and knew the form. He slipped a CD in the karaoke machine.
"Since my baby left me
I've found a new place to dwell..."
Mr Deal's head rose. The aspiring authoress looked on in amazement.
"He's not all that bad, Jaybird. Got the gestures and facials down pat, and not at all a bad voice."
I tapped my foot to the rhythm and absent-mindedly swung my handbag.
"Elvis in drag – now I've seen everything. And stop swinging that bag – give him time to get out on deck before he pukes."
Boner was clutching his stomach again. I grabbed the bag and abruptly stilled it. Boner dived to the ground as if over the handlebars of a bicycle striking an ambushing rock. Frippery helped him to his feet and they staggered in the direction of out.
"...I'm living at the corner of Lonely Street
at – Heartbreak Hotel..."
I dropped the bag and heard a thump from out on deck.
"Harry Neptune, you're a nasty man! You're having all the fun – it's my turn next."
"Voodoo?"
"We do."
"You do?"
"Yes, voodoo."
That settled, I trapped the bag between my feet and applauded generously as Mr. Deal reached his big finale.
"...You know I'm so lonely I'm so lonely baby,
I'm so lonely I could die!"
Mr. Deal twitched a lip and bowed.
"Than' yuh verra much!"
He stepped off the low stage and was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek from the aspiring authoress. Maybe there was something in Elvis in drag after all.
"Go on, Harry! Give them a torch song!"
"Not without a few more Hermaphrodites. It's been a while since I waggled the tonsils in public. Definitely needs lubrication, and I'm talking about the audience."
The DJ put on s
ome background reggae and shilled his crowd.
"Come on then, who's next! Who wants our extra special humungous magnificent great big prize! There's lots of talent here tonight – let's hear some of those classics!"
He was about to raise the stakes by actually telling us what the prize was when there was a movement in the doorway beside the stage. The DJ stopped in mid-spiel and forgot to close his mouth.
Dr. Dunnett half minced and half strode onto the stage. He wore a long blonde wig. And purple velvet hot pants and bib over a yellow silk blouse. And boots. Thigh boots. Black.
"Fuck me with a feather duster!"
"Later, Mrs. Neptune. I want to see this. Not sure I want to hear it, though."
Dunnett handed the DJ a CD and seized the microphone between long-nailed fingers. He tossed his hair and nodded. The first bars of a blast from the past belted out and he launched into his party piece.
"You keep saying you got something for me
Something you call love but confess
You've been a'messin' where you shouldn't 've been a'messin'
And now someone else is getting all your best..."
The accent was a curious mixture of Edinburgh and Galveston. I had not heard anything quite like it outside a speech therapy class.
"...You keep lyin' when you oughta be truthin'
You keep losin' when you oughta not bet
You keep samin' when you oughta be a'changin'
What's right is right but you ain't been right yet..."
Loretta Swat was leaning against the Barbados policeman with a glazed expression on her face. Parrot was impassive, presumably thinking this was the normal fare on cruise ships. He may have been right, though I doubt anything quite like this had been seen on the Caribbean Conch for many a long year.
Swat's impressive frontage was back in place, presumably with the aid of either a cantilever brassiere or a bicycle pump. Jay nudged me.
"I wonder if she kept her top on with him. He looks like a tit man to me – she may have had a battle!"
"Shush, I'm enjoying the concert."
Jay turned her gaze back to the stage and gave my handbag a nudge with her foot.
"...Well, these boots are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do.
One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you..."
The bass played its meaningful downward scale and Dunnett sneered out the final two lines.
"...Are you ready, boots?
Start walkin'!"
The music reached its crescendo as Dunnett strutted about the stage glaring at his audience through swinging blonde hair. I had a feeling he had missed out a verse, but I wasn't complaining.
The DJ took out the CD and slipped it into his pocket before leading the applause.
"Your very own Dr. Nancy Sinatra Dunnett! A big hand for the medical profession!" Sotto voce he added behind his hand, "Is there a doctor in the house...?"
"Bravo! Bravo! Encore!"
Someone threw a bread roll at me as I gave a loud whistle of appreciation. The doctor bowed in my direction and tripped off the stage toward la Swat.
Out of the corner of one eye I saw the Boner-Drippits return to the fray, taking a vacant table near the stage. I couldn't see either of them doing a turn, unless it was to recite an improving verse and give a lecture on the iniquity of eating animal flesh. That didn't mean they should not provide some entertainment for the multitude though...
Out of the corner of my other eye I spotted a small movement under the buffet table.
"Wait here."
Jay looked at me curiously as I ambled over to the buffet and accidental-done-a-purpose knocked a stray bun to the floor. I bent down to retrieve the bun and reached under the table.
In Antigua they call them mahogany mice, because if you stamp on them you break your foot. It is said that they and sharks are the only creatures which would survive nuclear holocaust.
It was the work of a moment to capture the cockroach and secure it in the coffin. I tied the string tight.
With my best innocent expression I returned to my wife and the pleasure of an evening's entertainment aboard the good ship Caribbean Conch.
* * * *
Even the DJ looked a mite incredulous at Dunnett's routine, or maybe it was the purple hot pants. I wondered if the good doctor had run them up himself.
"Well! That's what I call a hard act to follow. Come along, ladies and gents, there's a great surprise in store for the lucky winner. I promise you, you won't be disappointed!"
I glanced at Harry. For some reason he was suddenly looking incredibly smug although he still showed no signs of getting up on the stage and doing his party piece. Not drunk enough yet, no doubt. Probably just as well – we'd been asked to leave a number of establishments on account of my beloved's piece de resistance and I really didn't fancy a night in the boiler room or wherever the Captain might stow away delinquent passengers. To my amazement, my ex lover scraped back his chair and stood up, a little unsteadily.
"I don't believe it! Boner is getting up. I thought he despised this kind of thing as immature frivolity."
"Is he, sweet-cakes?"
Harry had his best enigmatic "It wasn't me" look on his face. He was definitely up to something. I watched Boner approach the stage. He was really behaving very oddly, taking two steps forward and one to the side, as if practicing some obscure square dancing routine. Frippery was beginning to look rather cross. The DJ obviously presumed the latest star turn had simply had one Hermaphrodite too many and smirked indulgently as he gave Boner a hand up onto the stage. The two men had a brief discussion and the DJ rummaged in his case of CDs. It wasn't long before the familiar strains of "The Surrey with the Fringe on Top" issued from the huge speakers and I groaned.
"Not again! Can the man not try something new?"
Boner grabbed the mike and was just about to launch into the first verse when a high-pitched voice cried:
"Oh do wait for Gigi! I simply adore a little Rogers and Hammerstein! Let's sing a duet!"
For once, Mrs. Goldfinkel was not dressed in her signature pink. It was unclear which male member of the present company had loaned her an outfit but he had to be an extrovert. The suit was scarlet with broad, sequin-encrusted lapels. Harry sniggered as the Black Widow bounced up to the stage and grasped a second microphone with consummate glee.
"Bloody hell, it's Liberace!"
"Shh! Hee hee! Boner's furious at being upstaged – just look at his face."
"Never mind his face, he seems to have a bad case of ants in his pants. Funny that."
Mrs. Goldfinkel had started to sing in a shrill soprano but my ex seemed unable to utter a note. His long lilac frock twitched from side to side as he shuddered and squirmed. I hissed at Harry, who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
"Did you put itching powder in his Y-fronts? How on earth did you manage that?"
"Nope. Better than that. Keep watching."
"Chicks and geese and ducks better scurry..."
"Aaahh!"
The Black Widow shot Boner a rather perplexed look but kept on singing like a trouper, as her partner howled, then inexplicably fell over backwards and started to break-dance. It wasn't long before his curly brunette wig flew off and landed on Miss Swat's chest with a resounding hairy smack.
"Watch that fringe and see how it flutters..."
"Ooyahooyahooyah!!!"
"Well, ah'll be damned, if that's not the final straw!"
The Swat glared malevolently at the disheveled hairpiece, which perched upon her outsized boobs like a lap dog in need of a session at the poodle parlor. There was a great trembling in her bosom, as if her breasts formed the epicenter of some fleshy earthquake. Accompanied by an anguished scream, her bust collapsed, Boner's wig falling to a forlorn fuzzy heap upon the dance-floor. Wild with fury, the blonde thrust an accusing finger at Dunnett, who blanched and tried to shrink back into the crowd.
"He done it! Jezebel indeed!"
&n
bsp; Meanwhile Mrs. Goldfinkel was doing her utmost to keep the show going, to a fascinating syncopated rhythm from the drumming of Boner's running shoes against the floor of the stage. He now appeared to be wrestling with the Invisible Man. It was very unusual, if not avant-garde entertainment.
"The cows'll moo in the clover..."
Loretta Swat was jumping up and down, her boobs protruding from the approximate level of her belly button. Inspector Parrott looked like an unshockable kind of chap but even his eyebrows had hit the upper level. Dr. Dunnett was backing away from the blonde advancing upon his velvet clad form with a murderous glint in her thickly lashed eyes.
"You'all are nuttin' but a charlatan."
The Deep South swiftly segued into Brooklyn, as Miss Swat met her busty Waterloo. Dr. Dunnett continued to retreat, the crowd parting smoothly for him like the Red Sea did for Moses.
"Now, now, Larry!"
There was a stunned silence.
* * * *
It's quite hard to stun a silence. You have to hit it very hard, or more than once. This silence took a bit of a battering.
Dr. Dunnett tripped backward over the door jamb and disappeared out into the night.
Miss Swat grabbed a carving knife from the buffet table and leapt through the door after him.
Boner started jumping up and down with both feet at the back of the stage.
An unpleasant crunching sound came from my handbag.
Inspector Parrot shot through the door after Dunnett and Swat with the look of a policeman who knew how to take knives away from fallen blondes.
Boner collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Frippery fainted.
Mrs. Goldfinkel finished her song with a flourish of, "...Surrey with the Fringe – on – the – Top!" and bowed deeply.
That's how you stun a silence.
I let it go on for a few seconds then rose to my feet and applauded once more. After a few more seconds I realized I was on my own and sat down, with as sheepish an expression as I can manage when I am trying not to laugh my head off.
"Larry? Who's Larry?"
"Wouldn't we like to know, my dear? And we shall. A boy's name, I fancy. And I have a feeling the good doctor was addressing the bounteous Loretta at the time."
"Rhymes with Harry ... no, there couldn't be two of you!"
MASTER AND BABY : A Tale of Erotic Submission Page 28
