Her relationship with Tony was good. She was surprised that he was ok with her dancing, and he didn’t really show jealousy. He seemed happy that she always came to his place after work, and he often would meet her and they would walk together. It was as if he had a drive and mission to take care of her and protect her. She didn’t question it, as she was just so happy to have it. She figured questioning it or examining it too closely would disrupt it. So, she just went with it.
“So, you know that this is going to make your skin look awfully pale.” Belinda was still reading the instructions on the box.
“I know, that’s kind of the point. Wren was pale. It adds to the whole Goth look.”
Belinda put on some gloves to protect her hands from the dye and put an old towel around Tiffany’s neck and shoulders. “And Tony’s ok with this change?”
“Sure. He knows it’s for work and the more money I make the better. He’s kind of excited about it, actually.” Tiffany had to admit to herself she was excited by it as well. Wren’s on-stage persona had such power, and in the short time she’d known the other dancer, Tiffany realized that the stage persona was an extension of her real identity. She hoped that maybe some of that strength and assertiveness would come with the outer trappings. The tattoos had made her feel pretty bad ass.
Belinda worked the dye into her hair, making sure to get it evenly dispersed. They didn’t talk much, and Tiffany just enjoyed the feel of someone else doing her hair for awhile. They ate lunch while the dye soaked in, making jokes about other dancers and about the managers and bouncers.
“So, will you get a partner to dance with you like Wren did? In other words, will you play the part of the one corrupting all of us innocent girls?”
“I think that’s the plan. Frank wants me to get started as a solo act just to see how much new business we can get going, and then we’ll branch out from there. I do like dancing with a partner, though, and I bet you’d be fun to work with.” As she said this, Tiffany winked at Belinda and swatted her on the leg.
Belinda giggled. “Sounds like a plan. I keep saying I’m going to quit and get a straight job, but it hasn’t happened yet. I wouldn’t mind owning my own salon space or running a booth somewhere, but I need to get off my ass and get my stylist credentials. That means no more nights partying until the wee hours of the morning, sleeping in until the last minute to get ready to go to work and do it all over again. It’s like I’m trapped, you know?”
Tiffany knew all too well how the life sucked you in and didn’t let you out. Dancers feared aging, too. Most of them didn’t have an escape route in any formal way, and those who did were like Belinda and weren’t really able to or willing to do the planning to get out of the business. Most of the girls wound up at the better clubs first, like the Casbah, and then slowly got traded down the line to seedier joints, each one further from the center of the Quarter. Off Bourbon for a stripper was sort of like Off Broadway for a stage actor, she thought. Both she and Belinda had years left before they wound up at clubs near the airport, and Tiffany hoped that becoming Morrigan was the perfect escape route. Maybe with increased take home pay from her new persona, she could really start to plan for life after stripping.
Belinda wouldn’t let her look until she’d rinsed her hair clean and then dried it. She did her makeup for her too, and then handed her a mirror so she could see.
Wren stared back at her from the glass.
Frank had been playing up the return of Morrigan with Wren’s old customers for weeks, priming the pump for Tiffany’s debut. When she and Belinda peeked out later to see the crowd building, she just hoped she could live up to the hype. The clothes she’d managed to gather from Wren’s apartment fit her well, and the new boots she’d bought to complete the look made her taller. She felt powerful in the boots, the leather hot pants, and the duster she’d taken from Wren’s. She wore a leather corset as a top, one that snapped down the front, making it easy for her to remove. Belinda had done a perfect job with the hair and makeup, and Frank had nearly creamed himself when he saw her. “Baby, we are going to make so much fucking money!”
The beginning notes of the Cult’s “Fire Woman” started. Since Wren had been arrested, no one used that song in the club. Tiffany had been practicing at home, but tonight was her first night to do the routine at the club. As the music picked up, she stormed near the stage, her black duster furling out behind her. Wren’s old regulars were enthusiastic to see her back, and as she grabbed the pole and started a revolution around it, she heard Frank announcing her. “Gentleman, welcome Morrigan back to the stage!”
She’d never seen the edge of the stage so packed with customers. Even when she and Wren danced together, the crowd hadn’t been so large. The level of energy as she danced, shedding clothes and revealing Morrigan’s signature tattoos and doing the same moves she’d watched Wren use, just kept increasing.
By the time the first song was over, there was already more money on the stage than she’d ever seen by the end of a shift.
Frank was waiting for her in the dressing room, hoping to catch her before she went out to work the floor. “Sweetheart, you’re doubling your private dance prices until further notice. If they’ll pay double for the same dance, why not?” He grinned, handing her a shot of tequila and a lit cigarette. “You just tell me what you need, and I’ll take care of it.”
She downed the shot and took the cigarette, sitting down to get dressed. “So what now, you want me to just work the floor like usual?”
He laughed. “Hell, baby, I wouldn’t do that to you. You’d have a riot out there if you did that. Look, I’ve got a list of regulars here who have prepaid for three songs each. I’ve set up a section of the back room already. Bottle service and everything. I’ve got a waitress assigned to take care of you, and this first set will get you through until your next set on stage.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Frank. I didn’t expect such rock star treatment.” She headed back out to the floor, feeling invincible.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was a week after her first successful shift as Morrigan that Tiffany walked into The Ruby dressed in street clothes. Her increase in income allowed her a night or two off a week now, with plenty of breathing room, and she knew that Wren had frequented the bar before her arrest. Deanie and Liz were working that evening, and it was still the slow before dinnertime part of the day. Liz looked up when she heard glass shattering on the floor, a pint glass having slid out of Deanie’s hand.
She stopped breathing for a moment in shock. The resemblance was uncanny. At first, she wondered if she was having a dream about Wren from the time before she killed Alex, but she realized that Deanie would have been the old Deanie if it weren’t really happening. She blinked hard, hoping to clear what she assumed was a ghost from her sight. While she had her eyes squeezed shut, she heard the woman exclaim, “Oh, my goodness! Are you ok?” to Deanie. The voice was decidedly different than Wren’s. She opened her eyes, expecting that her eyes had been playing tricks on her, but the woman still was like Wren in the flesh.
Deanie stopped gaping at her long enough to take her drink order. Liz went to the back and grabbed the broom and dustpan. As she moved down the bar, she tried not to stare. Deanie gave the patron a Sea Breeze, a drink so unlike anything Wren would have chosen that it helped shake off the creeps a little bit. As Liz got closer, she smiled at the customer nervously. When Tiffany smiled back, Liz was more comforted. She could see closer up that the resemblance was close, but she could sense a warmth and friendliness she’d never gotten from Wren.
“Hi. I hope you’ll forgive us both staring, but you look like someone we both used to know.” Liz looked at Deanie who was still obviously a bit ill at ease, but who was coming around. The old Deanie had been like a lost puppy around Wren, and Liz could only imagine what she was thinking now.
Tiffany used the stirring sticks in her sea breeze as two tiny straws, her nose crinkling at the tartness of the drink. “Mmmmhmm. I
bet I know who she was, too.” She set the drink down and wiped her hand on her thigh before extending it. “I’m Tiffany. I was her last dance partner.”
“And you just decided to come in?” Liz felt like some cruel joke was being played on her.
Tiffany shrugged. “I came in with her a time or two and liked the place. I like that the people that come in here tend to be different than the ones I see at work, if you know what I mean. Even when somebody makes a pass at me here, they’re nice about it.”
Deanie finally found her voice. “You can understand that looking like her freaks us out, right? She was a horrible person, and she killed someone in our family.” She protectively put her arm around Liz.
“I guess I didn’t really think about it. I only look like her because I can make more money this way. I’m sorry if I made you guys uncomfortable.” She drained her drink and left a five on the bar as an apology tip. “I’ll just go.”
Liz knew she and Deanie should probably ask her to stay; after all, it wasn’t her fault what happened before. Neither of them said a word, though, as she walked out.
Liz thanked Deanie once Tiffany was gone, and she retreated to her office. After a good cry, she gathered her gear together and called Lisa. She needed to get out of the house and out of the bar, and Lisa and Ashley were free for the evening. “I just ran to Martin Wine Cellar, so I have plenty of goodies for us to sample. Get your butt over here!” Lisa said when Liz asked if she could stop by. “I’ve got some news you need to hear, anyway.”
She then called Kirby. “Hey, I’m out of here for the night. I know I was going to back Deanie up, but things are slow and I’m in no mood to deal with the bar.” She filled him in on what happened, and he agreed it was best for her to take a break. She told Deanie to call Kirby if she needed back up and that she was headed to Lisa’s for the night.
She grabbed a cab, not wanting to hoof it to a streetcar stop or risk running into anyone as she walked. The Quarter was still in the pre-party lull that happens in early evening, and she was soon at Lisa’s house in the Garden District. Ashley opened the door as Liz came up the walk. She was excited to see her, as this was the first time since Liz came back to New Orleans that she’d been home when Liz came over.
“Aunt Liz! I’ve missed you so much!” Ashley hugged her hard, and Liz was amazed at how much she seemed to have grown since she’d seen her last. “I so love my mural.” She pulled Liz into the house, and as they entered, Lisa hollered from the kitchen.
“Come on in here, Liz. I’m just about to open a bottle and we have to make a toast. Ashley, you come in here, too.”
The pop of a champagne cork greeted them as they entered the kitchen. “You know, they say if you uncork a bottle of champagne right that it’s supposed to sound like a woman’s sigh?” She winked at Liz. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve never sighed like that.” She got three champagne flutes down and poured two of them full and the other halfway.
“What are we toasting?” Liz asked, taking the glass offered to her. The champagne was actually a Spanish cava, and it looked expensive.
Lisa smiled, raised her glass, and said, “To my new job! Can you believe it, Liz? I got it!”
Lisa came from old money, so her jobs were more often than not pet projects that she could do on the side as a consultant. She’d gotten a graduate degree in Art History and had a fairly steady workflow with the various museums in town. She told Alex about how she’d been headhunted basically, by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. “So about six months ago, I get this call and they wanted me to give one of their curators a personal tour of New Orleans’ various museums, you know like the Cabildo, Presbytere, the Old Mint. I thought it was a bit weird, but it turns out it was basically a job interview I didn’t know I was on. Someone had mentioned the kind of consulting I do here freelance, and they want me to come work for them.”
Ashley was sipping her half glass of cava slowly, trying to look more grown up than her almost 15 years. “I’m going too! I was worried that dad would be against me moving, but he was actually really supportive since it’s not like he can’t visit. In fact, one of the first things he said was that I would have a lot of great school choices there, you know, since I’m about to start high school.”
Liz smiled. It was good to hear some good news after her scare, but she was sad at the same time. “So I guess I had better finish that mural sooner rather than later, huh?”
Lisa frowned. “That’s the down side. What say you come with us?”
“Thanks, but I think I belong here. Although after what happened at the bar today, I am tempted to take you up on that offer.”
Lisa set about making a tray of things to eat from various containers she’d picked up at Martin’s. As she arranged olives and cheese and various crackers, Liz told her about Tiffany’s visit.
“All I could see was Wren. It was like being thrown back in time before everything happened, and like it was just another night at the bar with her coming before work. I swear, if she had ordered the vodka straight up, I wouldn’t have known the difference. Thank God she asked for a Sea Breeze. Who knows what I would have said if she’d ordered a different drink and her voice hadn’t snapped me out of it.”
Lisa refilled their glasses. “Are you sure that she really looked that much like her?”
“Absolutely. Deanie was there and dropped a glass when she walked in; she thought it was Wren, too.”
“Well, you’re safe here. Our job tonight is to help you forget all of that. I hope you don’t plan on going home tonight. Between an almost-Wren sighting and our need to celebrate the new job and the move, this is going to be an all-night affair, I’m afraid. Your husbands know you’re here?”
Liz laughed at the joke. “Yes. I called Kirby before I headed over, and Mike’s got his nose buried in a book somewhere, I’m sure. So, I’m all yours, ladies.”
Ashley let out a whoop and headed to her room to collect girls’ night supplies, which in her world meant various things to do with toenails, fingernails, makeup, and hair. She was a good kid, and Liz didn’t mind being painted up.
By the time the cava was gone, Ashley had done Liz’s makeup. She took a pee break and thought the kid did a pretty good job, although the eyeliner was a bit dark. In the bright lights in the bathroom, she thought her skin looked especially pale and that she looked a little gaunt. She knew she wasn’t really eating right lately, but she’d been distracted to the point that she didn’t realize she had lost weight. She suddenly felt very hungry and was glad that Lisa had put out more substantial fare when she went back into the kitchen.
“It’s your turn to pick what to open next, apparently, as I’m in the beautician’s chair for now.” Lisa pointed to the wine rack. “The top two rows are the new stuff I picked up today. I was in a mood to go to Spain, so that’s why we had the cava. There’s some great reds over there.”
She picked a Garnacha and poured two glasses. She watched as Ashley applied makeup to Lisa’s face. It was clear by how quickly she worked that this wasn’t the first time she’d worked on her mother’s face, as she was sure of her color choices and her hands moved far more quickly now than they had as she worked on Liz’s face. Even though Liz wore little make up and didn’t really care for it, as a painter she could appreciate a well-done makeup job, and Ashley was pretty adept at it. Her father’s partner was a stylist, so she probably picked up some of her techniques from him.
Lisa opened her eyes when Ashley was done with them and she’d moved on to painting her lips. She smiled with her eyes at Liz watching them together. Ashley showed her the finished product. “Good job, kiddo. You picked out a good shade today. Now, I hate to disappoint you, but it’s going to wind up all over the rim of this glass.” She took a mouthful of wine and stood up, motioning for Ashley to sit in her chair. “Now it’s your turn.”
The bottle went quickly and was followed by another. Ashley fell asleep in the living room and they settled onto the couch aft
er they woke her up and sent her to bed.
“I can’t believe you’re moving, Lisa. I’m going to miss you and Ashley. I’m glad I took the job doing the murals, so I could spend some time with you.” She paused, then quietly said, “I see now how Alex fell for you all those years ago.” Lisa turned to face her, and Liz saw a blush creep up her neck and rise into her cheeks. Her eye’s glimmered as if she might be on the verge of crying.
She leaned in, catching Lisa’s lips before she could say anything in response. She knew it was a horrible idea, and she knew that it would complicate things, but in the moment she couldn’t stop herself. Lisa tasted of wine and olive brine, almost like tears. Neither of them said a word, and Lisa yielded to Liz completely with no resistance or hesitation. It wasn’t until Liz slid her hand into Lisa’s shirt and ran it up her back, skin on skin, that Lisa finally moved her head enough to speak. She arched her neck enough to whisper “not here” in Liz’s ear and they moved to Lisa’s master bedroom, locking the door behind them.
Liz knew she was drunk, but she felt more in control of herself than she had since Alex’s death. She acted without thought, her arms circling Lisa’s waist from behind and pulling her close, Liz’s mouth finding the sensitive curve of her neck. She nipped lightly at first, as her hands found the placket on the front of Lisa’s shirt. She didn’t bother with the buttons; she grabbed both sides and pulled the shirt free, buttons popping. She ran the tip of her tongue lightly down Lisa’s spine, stopping to pop open her bra. Reaching the waistline of her jeans, she spun Lisa around, kissing her stomach, tugging at the button on her jeans. Lisa responded by grabbing the shoulders of Liz’s t-shirt, pulling it over her head.
Throwing her back on the bed, Liz pulled her jeans off and then finished undressing herself before she settled on top of Lisa, her thigh pressed between Lisa’s. She kissed her tenderly, and started to say something, but when she pulled back to speak, Lisa was looking at her and smiling. She decided that it wasn’t time to talk.
Brigitte's Cross (The Olivia Chronicles) Page 15
