by Helen Jacey
I approached the door. After ringing the bell, the small hatch slid open. A woman’s eyes, devoid of mascara, flashed up and down me. ‘Members only.’
‘My lady friend’s a member.’
‘Yeah? What’s her name?’
‘Tell you later when I’ve got lucky.’ I winked.
The hatch slid shut. Had my looking-for-action act worked? It seemed to, because seconds later, the heavy door opened.
The hunky doorwoman impatiently summoned me in. Her muscular chest was crammed into black tails and a dickie bow, her short hair greased back. She looked me up and down. ‘You already got lucky, Trixie. You know where to find me for that dance later.’
I told her I’d remember that.
The club was dark, smoky, and at ten o’clock, already heaving. The heaving dance floor writhed like a pond of breeding carps. Women outnumbered the few men. I could blend into the dive of misfits. I could relax here.
Now I was under Lauder’s control, the company of women en masse was a pleasant change.
Perspective is an amazing thing.
On the small semicircular stage edged with blue lights, a female swing outfit pelted out a good beat. The big battered drum revealed the name in flaked writing. The Charmettes.
The singer was a tiny blonde, in a cheap-looking satin aqua floor-length gown covered in sequins and tulle. Even from the back of the club, I could see her hem was coming loose. She had a vivacious face, but dark rings under her eyes. Still, with a voice like honey, she might have been good enough for an uptown joint in a better quality dress.
I glanced over the band. They were pretty good, made up of about twelve women of different ages and races, in jade jackets edged with an aqua trim. The saxophonist was giving it some and more. I did a double take. Wait a minute! She looked familiar, really familiar. It took a moment to place her because I’d only seen her in a certain situation.
Alberta, Dede’s maid. Hotel maid by day, tenor sax by night, dishing up the solos in a lesbian club instead of doing the dishes. Now her hair was elaborately piled up on her head, with a green flower pinned to the side. She was engrossed, and I could have watched for hours. Was she a lesbian too? Were all the Charmettes? Alberta and Dede were cozy. Could they be an item? The whole maid and mistress relationship one big act to enable them to live with each other? Clever, if so. That could explain Dede’s assault on me. Was she here, too?
I inwardly cursed as I looked around. It was hard to focus. Alberta was safely installed on stage, and I was pretty sure she hadn’t seen me. If I bumped into either of them, I would just have to bluff it. Better to just get my business done here fast. Lauder’s orders were fresh in my mind. My recent past as Connie Sharpe and my very new present as Elvira Slate had to stay strictly divided. Then it struck me – if Alberta played here a lot, she might even know Shimmer. But I couldn’t ask her. Joyce was my lead, and that was who I came to find.
I moved deep into the crowd, scanning it for any sign of a transvestite.
In another corner of the club, a slim, exotic-looking creature sat at a small table protecting a box. The resident drug dealer. Her angular bare arms moved fast, dishing out Red Devils, Yellow Jackets, Blue Velvets to her customers. She was a busy spider, weaving her toxic web; there was nothing discreet about it. My eyes moved on and then I saw her. Joyce. The tallest woman here, swanning about in a dark red velvet gown like she owned the place, making sure everyone was having a good time. An elaborate red and silver corsage was pinned to her breast. She wore a lot of faux ice, matching her twinkling but wizened eyes. Under the layers of white foundation was a hawkish bone structure that no amount of mascara and lipstick would soften. She would have been quite handsome as a fellow. As a woman, she was striking and elegant, lady of the manor, fussing over her regulars, laughing gracefully with a tinkling voice. She had more feminine panache than the rest of us women put together.
Propping myself up at the bar seemed the best move, and I pushed my way through the throng. The bar itself was U-shaped, attended by three girls in silver short pants, and turquoise bikini tops. An assortment of silk green and blue tropical flowers topped their pin curls like decoration on a pie, bobbing about as they mixed cocktails at a frenetic pace.
I perched on a stool and it wasn’t long before I felt Joyce’s gaze land on me. It hadn’t taken her long to clock a stranger. Within seconds, she cruised up to me, wafting perfume.
‘First-timer?’ Joyce stood opposite me, mirroring my posture, elbow on bar. Behind us, two women in identical dinner suits and top hats were sucking the lipstick off each other’s lips. It was distracting.
‘Yeah. New to town.’ My eyes moved to one of the bar girls. ‘How about yourself? A regular?’
‘You could say that. I’m Joyce. This is my place.’ She said this rather pompously. ‘How did you find about us?’
‘Strolling past. Liked the sound of the band.’ I caught her eye. I’d soon be contradicting myself but I wanted her to lower her guard.
She clicked her fingers at one of the bouncy bar girls and within minutes a tall orange neon cocktail was delivered to me. ‘Zombie – on the house, my compliments.’
‘Thanks.’ I took the glass and sipped it. ‘Nice.’
‘We add something to give it a little kick. Don’t worry,’ she said, catching me freezing. ‘Nothing too naughty!’
There was no point in beating about the bush. ‘Turns out we’ve got mutual friends.’
‘Oh?’
‘Rhonda and Shimmer.’
It’s funny how a smile changes from genuine to false without a muscle moving. It’s all in the eyes. And Reba’s suddenly became opaque. She pursed her lips, shutting down already.
‘Really?’
‘Uh-huh. And I’m a little worried about Rhonda. Thought you might know where she is.’
‘Me? No, not at all. Is something wrong?’ Joyce’s voice softened with fake concern. Those perfectly arched painted brows disappeared into the horizontal folds of her forehead.
‘Other than her lover dying?’
‘I heard about that. Very sad. But is there anything the matter with Rhonda?’
‘Mind if we sit down?’
The mask didn’t crack. ‘Certainly.’ Joyce gracefully pointed to the far side of the club, where booths lined the wall. In the middle, one stood empty. It had the best view of the band. Joyce’s throne.
Joyce waited for me to sit down, then elegantly lowered herself onto the opposite side, crossing her legs. She maintained a bemused look on her face. ‘So. Rhonda?’
‘I just need to know if she’s okay, considering recent events. Thought you could put my mind at rest.’
Joyce flinched slightly. ‘Who are you, exactly?’
‘A friend. Shimmer told me she got along with you, so here I am.’ Should I be Gina or Elvira? Until she dished, I was under no pressure to share, either. ‘If you don’t know, maybe for old times’ sake you could find out through the grapevine if Rhonda’s with your ex.’
Joyce leant forward on her elbows, holding her lighter back. ‘I’m of the opinion that divorced couples should proceed as if they had never known one another. I don’t speak to Reba.’
‘So you won’t help?’
‘Can’t. You’ve wasted your time. At least you are drinking the best Zombie in town.’
‘Last thing anyone saw of her, she was going off in a car. Did you pick her up?’
Joyce gave me a cold look but her voice stayed calm. ‘Whatever tree you’re barking up, it’s rotten and about to crash down on you, sweetmeat.’
‘Relax. Rhonda’s not exactly in the best shape to look out for herself.’
Joyce stood up. ‘Then let’s hope she’s all right. Enjoy your Zombie. I trust we won’t have the pleasure of seeing you again.’
I was blundering, and hadn’t achieved anything except antagonize her. But my instincts told me she knew something. I stood up, not caring how loud I sounded. ‘Scared shitless of your ex-wife, or something?’
Joyce hissed. ‘Keep your voice down. Now would you leave, or do things have to get unpleasant?’
I leant back, defiant, smugly slugging the cocktail. ‘You’re right. It’s darned good.’
Joyce bent over the table. She snarled, ‘Hop it.’ Her voice growled, menacingly. It matched her knuckles, large and white. A standoff with a transvestite would be a first. So would a fistfight with the doorwoman.
I’d come off worse in both cases.
I had a last shot, looking up at her. ‘You’re now a woman, right?’
‘No. I was always a woman, inside.’
‘Whatever. But what type of woman? A fucking bitch, just like your ex? Or a compassionate woman who does right by a sister in need?’
‘You think I’d run a place like this if I didn’t care, dumbass?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe you spotted a gap in the market.’
Her nostrils flared. ‘You got a nerve.’ She raised her arm. In seconds, two beefcakes muscled their way through the crowd. ‘Problem, Boss?’
‘Escort the young lady from the premises.’
I stood up. ‘Keep your dogs on the leash. I’m leaving. Just wanting to make sure Rhonda’s all right. Some folks are worried about her.’ For added flair, I slipped her one of Beatty’s cards. ‘Call this number if you remember something.’
The doorwomen grabbed my arms. Joyce scanned the card. ‘Of course. A professional Nosey Parker.’ Joyce raised her finger, and wagged it. The women released me.
‘Alright. Let’s talk.’ With another wave, she dismissed her guards. She turned to me. ‘Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Sit down.’
The change of tune was interesting.
I sat as Joyce signaled a passing waitress. ‘Another Zombie?’ she enquired. I nodded, keen to help the truce along.
The girl glided away, a tray of empties held high above her head, her cute ass wiggling. I snuck a look at Joyce to see if she was also appreciating the sight. Joyce’s eyes, if they had been roving, were already swiveling back to mine.
Joyce leaned forward slightly. ‘Who’s footing the bill for your services?’
‘A client.’
‘And you expect me to dish.’ Sarcasm pushed the brows up again. Then she sighed. ‘All right. I’d like to help. I read about the tragedy just like the rest of the world, but I have no idea where Rhonda is. If you must know, I’ve already asked around. Even asked people in with my ex. Nobody knows a thing.’
‘How did you find out Rhonda was missing?’
She turned back to me, struggling to get over her dislike. ‘I have an apartment block in San Diego, my hometown. They were going to rent one of the apartments for a while. Shimmer was due to come in here to collect a key. The plan was for Rhonda to have the operation down there. Shimmer didn’t show. Then I hear the news. I assumed Rhonda would come and collect the key – her house is sold, after all. But no. So I rang. No answer. No word, nada. But they knew people, people liked them. So maybe she’s with friends.’
They were even more pally than Shimmer had let on. Joyce was part of the whole escape plan. ‘You knew they skimmed from Reba T.?’
‘Yes. It was foolhardy – I made that clear. Reba lives by the law of the jungle, particularly when it comes to money. Anything goes for her. Anyone else tries it, big trouble. Queen of double standards.’
I nodded. ‘On the last day she was alive, Shimmer said she had a sweet deal, some gig that would pay good. Some meeting?’
‘She told you that?’
‘Yes. Could she have been selling drugs?’
Joyce shrugged. ‘I don’t know and I’m hardly one to judge. They needed money fast. She never told me if she was dealing and nobody I knew supplied her.’
‘Could Reba T. have set it all up, as a punishment for Shimmer? The overdose?’
This surprised Joyce. ‘You mean, murder? That she somehow got them all there and drugged them?’
‘Why not?’
Joyce laughed, throwing her head back. ‘Reba is many unpleasant things, but a murderer? No. Shimmer and Rhonda were small fry. She would play the long game to get her money back.’
‘You said anything goes with her.’
‘Anything but killing.’ She met my eyes. Had years of marriage set some kind of deep-rooted loyalty, like the foundations of an old house? You pull one down and build a new one on top, but the whole time the original bricks are still stuck in the ground, immoveable markers of a previous existence.
We fell silent as the waitress sashayed over with my second Zombie and a small shot glass of something clear for Joyce. I tipped her. She gave me a flirtatious grin before bouncing off. Joyce observed the interaction with a coy smile. ‘When you’re done, feel free to stick around. Enjoy yourself.’
‘Thanks, but I’m working. Guess your ex didn’t appreciate you becoming a wife?’
Joyce took a cigarette out and placed it in a long ivory holder. ‘Reba is one-way traffic. She cannot think beyond herself. She always wants more, the best of everything. Being around that is like living in the eye of a hurricane, exhausting. You don’t exist. It’s very tiresome, after a while – pretending you don’t exist.’
She seemed to be waiting for me to light her cigarette, so I obliged.
‘My major crime, becoming my true self… Well, you can imagine.’
She shook her raven curls slightly.
‘What are her clubs like?’
‘Cater for a wide variety of tastes. Some classier than others, that’s all I can say. We don’t talk anymore, and even if we did, this place doesn’t let me have a social life outside. I’m no entrepreneur, like Reba.’
I looked around. ‘Business looks good to me.’
‘I’m doing all right.’
I tried a new track. ‘Shimmer was crazy about Rhonda. Seems odd she was found with a straight couple.’
Joyce studied me for some time. ‘Darlene Heymann wasn’t in a relationship with Frank Acker. They were just friends. Darlene’s girlfriend is the artist Olive Harjo. Been together for decades. Regulars here.’
Olive Harjo. Another name the papers left out of Darlene’s sob story of a life. Now it added up. ‘The artistic community.’
Subtext – abnormal, by society’s double standards. Shimmer and Darlene. Two women, both in relationships with other women, found dead together.
‘Think there’s anything fishy?’ I tried to keep the intensity out of my voice.
‘I’m not thinking anything. You’re the P.I. I just run a nightclub and two of my regulars met with tragedy. I expect you’re hitting a dead end because there’s nowhere else to go. Maybe Darlene just went too far. Maybe Shimmer was selling. Maybe that’s all there is to it.’ Joyce arched a brow, exhaling.
‘Did Darlene and Shimmer know each other from here?’
‘I asked myself that question. We’re packed out all night, every night. I don’t keep tabs on who know who knows who. Anyhow, Darlene and Olive are the kind of couple that prefers their own company. Most nights, they sat alone, sometimes they’d join me.’
Shimmer and Darlene’s fatal encounter felt like an itchy scab. I knew I should leave it alone. But here it was again, a fat and inflamed hive, demanding I have a damn good scratch.
‘How often did Darlene and Olive come here?’
‘Oh, once or twice a month. Olive hasn’t been back. Guess she’s pretty cut up.’
‘Know how can I find her?’
What are you doing?
‘My, oh, my! You are a persistent little thing. All right. I’ll give you Olive’s address, and I’ll double-check Reba hasn’t done anything stupid. If you don’t hear from me, I’ve got nothing.’
She got a pen out of her purse, scrawled an address on a napkin. ‘Olive lives up in the Hollywood Hills. Don’t say I gave it to you. I don’t want my regulars to think I’m indiscreet. You could say you like art, you want to see her work. She might be cut up but she’ll show you. They were flat broke. Heymann had completely cut
Darlene off, you know. All that money and she never got a penny.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Guess he thought she didn’t deserve it. Powerful men like to control people. She liked to live her way.’ Joyce waved my card. ‘Now, I’ve played ball. Tell me who’s paying you to do all this?’
She may have opened up but I wasn’t going to break client confidentiality on my first outing.
‘A compassionate woman.’ I downed the dregs of my drink, avoiding her eyes. ‘If you do hear anything, call the number and leave a message. For Elvira Slate.’
‘That’s you?’
I nodded. It was beginning to feel like me.
44
I drove back to the Astral, enjoying cruising along the wide empty streets. The moon was high, the air sticky. I had the window down, letting in the warm breeze. I wouldn’t go back immediately. I wanted to drive for longer and didn’t feel ready for bed. I felt strangely alert. I signaled left and headed towards Sunset.
