by W E DeVore
“Guess I'd better go find out. That is, if the new management approves of me making one final business deal?” she asked, sarcastically looking for approval from Tom and Charlie.
“Just for old time’s sake,” Charlie said. “Besides, that little blonde caterer over there needs a little something.”
“And what would that be, Charlie?” Tom asked, playing along.
“This little something,” Charlie said, grabbing his crotch.
“Ugh. Nobody needs something that little, Charlie.” Q rolled her eyes and found her way over to Marianne Multer who she was surprised to find in deep discussion with Niko, of all people.
“Great show, babe,” Niko said as he leaned over to kiss Q on the cheek. “Mrs. Multer was just generously giving out tips,” he continued brightly, holding up an envelope. “Thanks again, Ms. Marianne.”
Niko headed back to the corner where the catering had set up; theoretically to finish cleaning up, realistically to smoke another cigarette. Charlie already had the caterer pinned against the wall.
I will never understand that man’s ability to get into a woman’s pants.
“That was a lovely performance, Miss Toledano,” Mrs. Multer's syrupy drawl interrupted Q’s musings and made her vaguely uneasy. “Very wise song selection choices. Our guests had a fantastic time.”
Q decided that, up close, Mrs. Multer’s face looked emphatically stretched too thin. But plastic surgery always gave her the creeps.
“Your very welcome, Mrs. Multer. We appreciate the gig.” Q tried to sound gracious.
“Gig! Oh, how I love musician slang!” Mrs. Multer clucked in her thick Alabama twang. “I am sorry that your bandmate was under the weather. But that little black boy did an excellent job though, didn’t he?”
Just get the money and don’t punch her in her perfectly smooth, white, racist throat.
Q gritted her teeth. “Yes ma’am, JJ is very talented. He went to Julliard,” she lied, smiling.
“And you! Where did you learn to sing like that? No, no… let me guess… the Church. It’s got to be the Church...”
“If by ‘church,’ you mean synagogue…” Q interrupted.
Marianne quickly continued, “Oh, where are my manners, you’re Henry Toledano’s daughter. Of course, you must be Jewish…Gus and I have always been such big admirers of your people. So intelligent. So resourceful.”
Anti-Semitic for the trifecta.
“If you wouldn’t mind, the boys would like to get paid out.”
“Oh! Of course!” Marianne Multer reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. “Here you go, dear….” She lowered her voice and winked at Q. “…There’s an extra five hundred in there just for you to go buy yourself something pretty with. Don’t share it with those boys!”
Q felt like taking a long shower in bleach.
“That’s very generous, thank you.”
Just be gracious and get the fuck out of here.
Marianne Multer leaned in even closer and whispered, “I’m having a little private party at the estate after I leave Lafitte’s Cove.”
Q controlled her impulse to put her finger down her throat and make a loud retching noise.
“You’d be very welcome to join us. It’s just us girls, and a little bit of fun.” Mrs. Multer giggled and Q had the same feeling she had when Joe-the-muscle-bound bartender made his overt proposition earlier in the evening.
“Thank you, Mrs. Multer, but I have plans with my boyfriend.” Q pointed at Ben for emphasis.
“Oh, of course, you do. A stunning creature like yourself would have a man.” Mrs. Multer pressed her business card into Q’s hand. “That’s my private number, if you ever want to get in touch for a little… girl talk.”
Her sugary sweet, floral perfume shrouded Q in a cloud of cloying scent. Q quickly turned away and left without saying another word. She wasn’t quite sure what ‘a little girl talk’ was, but she was pretty sure there wouldn’t be much talking involved. The Multers had always been deeply and publically invested in a single line from Leviticus to justify their views on homosexuality, so Q had to wonder how deeply and privately invested they were in keeping Marianne’s appetites out of the public eye.
Not fully trusting her own instincts, she walked straight over to the best gay-dar operator she knew. She found Niko standing at the pool table piling used linens.
Q pulled him aside as whispered, “Dude, I’m pretty sure Marianne Multer just asked me to sleep with her.”
Niko said loudly, “Of course, she did. Girl, you think everyone wants to get in your pants.”
“Most people do.” Q heard Urian purr into her ear.
EwEwEwEwEw.
She turned and faced Urian. “Got your money and a little more than we agreed on," she said, holding up the envelope.
Urian took it out of her hand and backed up into the bar. He sipped his drink and thought for a moment. “No need. Pete’s debt has been paid in full. He’s so lucky to have so many beautiful women looking out for him.” He stuffed the envelope down the front of his jeans. “You can take the money back.”
Without hesitation, Q walked forward and pulled the envelope out from behind Urian’s belt buckle. “You’re pathetic.”
Urian grabbed her empty hand, wrapping it around him and sliding her fingers into his back pocket.
“Pete’s keys,” he said, as he languidly moved his face within inches of hers.
She closed her fingers around the keychain and tried to extract her hand. Urian held onto it and grabbed her other wrist. “Why don’t you let me take you someplace and get you out of that little dress of yours?”
She turned her face, feeling his breath on her temple and wrenched her hands away, trying to free herself from his grasp.
Ben appeared at her side. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Urian.”
Urian released Q and she staggered several feet back behind Ben. Urian leered at Ben and leaned towards him, inhaling deeply through his nose. “I can smell her pussy on you. You’re a very lucky man.”
Without hesitation, Ben punched Urian in the face.
“Out!” he bellowed.
Joe-the-muscle-bound-bartender leapt over the bar and the bouncer came running from the front door. Ben kicked Urian in the stomach and yelled, “Get this piece of shit out of my club, now!!”
He leaned down and grabbed Urian by the throat. “You come back in here and you’re a dead man, you hear me, you piece of shit? You are no longer welcome here.”
Urian grinned a bloody smile and spat. “You’re the dead man, Bordelon. Better watch that temper. That cunt’s not worth dying for.”
The bouncer pushed Ben back before he could strike again. He held onto Ben’s chest until Ben finally relented, throwing his hands in the air and said, “Get him out of here, Josh. Just get him out of here.”
Josh and Joe obediently picked up Urian and dragged him to the front door.
“Easy. Easy, fellows. I’m going quietly.” Urian laughed, visibly enjoying himself.
The remaining partygoers took the sudden outbreak of violence as their cue to leave and the bar was empty within seconds, except for Mrs. Multer and the catering crew.
Mrs. Multer walked over to Ben and sighed, “Thank you for adding a bit of excitement to the end of our party, Mr. Bordelon. I hope that wasn't one of Gus's donors."
Ben shook his head and struggled to find something to say that would justify his actions. Mrs. Multer handed him a check. “I assume I won’t be charged extra for our uninvited guest? Thank you for removing him from the premises.”
She winked at Q before turning abruptly and gliding out into the dark. Q put her arm around Ben’s waist.
“You ok?”
“I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” Ben said matter-of-factly.
“No, but I’m glad you did.” Q smiled. “The fucker had it coming and my honor needed some defending. But I don’t know that he’ll let this go.” She took his hand in hers to kiss it. “How�
��s your hand, baby?”
Ben flexed his fingers and looked relieved. “It’s fine. Q, I need to tell you something.” He looked around the room. “Come into my office for a minute, so we can talk.”
“Is it urgent?” she asked. He shrugged and shook his head. “Let me get packed up then so we can get out of here. Besides, I’ve got some good news for the boys. Tell me when we’re alone. For the next five whole days!” Q did a little happy dance. “Now go get a drink or something, you look like you just got out of a bar brawl,” she said, finally getting the smile she was expecting back.
She kissed him lightly on the cheek and walked towards the stage, waving the wad of cash in front of her like a fan and singing, “Money Money Money!”
Pete’s face fell. “He wouldn’t take it?”
“No need, babe. He said your debt was paid. In full. You’re square, like in a good way,” she replied, tossing him the keys to Bessie. “He made it sound like another woman paid it off, though. If you told Bubbe, you are paying back every single dime. I mean it, Peter Fontain.”
“I didn’t, Q, I swear. Besides, can you imagine Constance Toledano talking to Urian Galanos?”
Q put on her best cosmopolitan accent. Her grandmother was born and raised on St. Charles Avenue and had a singular New Orleans accent that was closer to the Brooklyn Bridge than the Huey P. Long. “Mistah Galanos. It is Galanos, isn’t it? You want to be a mensch, don’t you? You’d be killing an old woman, is that what you want? Such a sweet boychick…” She shrugged. “That wouldn’t have been such a bad back-up plan, come to think of it. Ok, so not Bubbe. Then who?”
“Beats me,” Pete said. “But I think it’s good I’m leaving for Tennessee tomorrow.”
“Leave tonight, Pete,” she said. “At least drive as far as Slidell. I don’t trust that fucker and Ben just hurt his ego pretty good.”
Pete asked, “What was that about, anyway?”
She told him what had happened with Urian. Pete nodded approvingly. “Sure makes me like Ben more. Don’t fuck it up.”
“Thanks,” she said. She took a deep breath before giving him a tight hug. “Good luck, sweetheart. I’m really proud of you for cleaning up.”
Pete held her and said, “You be happy, you hear?”
Q pulled back and nodded. He took a deep breath and said, “Q, we’re even. I mean it. We was always even. I shouldn’t have said you owed me like I did. You don’t owe me nothin’. You understand?”
She brushed a sudden tear away and nodded again. Charlie finally walked over and took Q’s money fan out of her hand. “As acting co-manager of QT and the Beasts, I think paying out the band is my responsibility. One hundred for you, Q, in honor of the show you put on for the owner of this fine establishment. Me and Tom split the rest. JJ and Pete weren’t expecting to get paid anyway.”
Tom leapt up over his drum kit, knocking over his high hat stand and ride cymbal, to quickly take corrective action. Once they were each a thousand dollars richer, with Q’s tip going to the depleted band fund, everyone set to clearing the stage.
Charlie took back Pete’s funds temporarily and removed the remaining debt owed to Tony Balladine, he shoved it back at Q, “Take back yours and get the rest to Tony.”
She took the cash and replied, “Done. Give the rest back to Pete, Charlie.”
Q stared him down until Charlie reluctantly returned the balance to Pete and started breaking down his guitar rig. She instinctively folded the money and tried to put it in her back pocket only to be reminded that she was pocketless. She exhaled loudly in frustration and walked to the office to stash the money in her bag.
Niko held out Marianne Multer’s ivory business card to her as she passed him. “You dropped your future wife’s number on the floor,” he snickered.
She scowled at him and was formulating a scathing comeback when Tom called from the door where he was helping Charlie with his guitar amp. “Q, go get the Coffin, will ya?”
She stuck her tongue out at Niko and grabbed the card before walking into the office and shoving it and her cash into her satchel. Ben looked up from behind his desk and winked at her. “Need some help, darlin’?”
Q shook her head. “No, thanks, I've got to carry my own weight. Usually literally.”
Ben grinned as she walked out past the bar and down the long hall at the side of the stage. Halfway down, she ducked into the storage room where they had stashed their empty cases. She bent down to pick up the end of the long hardware case. She couldn’t budge it, immediately realizing that, as usual, Tom had brought too much hardware and failed to mention it. She walked out of the storage room and jumped up on stage just as Tom and Charlie walked back in through the front door.
“Look, Neil Peart, you move your own fucking hardware case. You’re the one that brought twelve cymbal stands when you only needed four,” Q teased.
“What in the hell are you on about, Q? That case is empty. You need to leave that poor boy alone for a night or two, you’re wearing yourself out,” Tom replied with his hands on his hips.
Niko came over from the bar. “I’ll help her, Tom.”
“My hero,” Q said. Niko and Q walked back down the hall towards the storage room. “I swear sometimes Scare thinks he plays drums for Rush or something. Fuckin’ drummers, man.”
Niko asked, “Why doesn’t he carry his own shit?”
“I stop asking that a long time ago, Niko,” Q said as they each picked up an end of the case.
“Holy fuck, what’s in this thing?” Niko grunted.
“See? I told you…”
He slid his hands across the lid. “How the hell does this open up? Maybe we should dump out what’s in there.”
“Nah, it’s probably latched. Let’s just haul this out. You wait and see how much hardware is left inside.”
“Alright, but if you ask me, we should make Tom or Pete haul this thing,” Niko groaned.
Q stood up and crossed her arms. “Niko, just pick the damned thing up, already. I’m tired and I want to get out of here.”
“You’re losing your edge, Q.” He bent down and picked up his end with a grunt.
She swung her end up with a groan. “Aren’t we all, Niko. Aren’t we all.”
They finally managed to get the case to the stage, staggering under the weight of it.
“Jesus, what a couple of pussies.” Tom said, adding, “No offense, Q,”
Niko dropped his end of the case and replied, “Fuck you, you asshole.”
Q couldn’t bear the weight alone and dropped the case altogether. It tipped on its side and the lid fell off. What tumbled out had nothing to do with drumming.
She dropped to her knees and gasped, “Oh my god.”
She could feel tears forming in her eyes.
Laying curled up in a fetal position was a young woman still wearing her florescent green wig. Her short, red skirt was hiked up over her hips and her Hubig’s Pies t-shirt was torn at the shoulder. Her eyes stared lifelessly across the stage. Q stared at the instrument cable still wrapped around the woman’s throat and unconsciously clutched at her own neck.
Tom was instantly on his phone calling 9-1-1. “No, I can’t fucking hold. A girl’s been killed… She’s fucking dead…. No, I’m not in danger, no one’s in danger now, someone killed her…Some girl’s been killed, she’s in my fucking drum case, you’ve got to send someone now… You don’t understand…”
Pete and JJ came over. JJ let out a low whistle and quickly crossed himself. Pete fell to his knees next to Q, pushing her out of the way. He reached into the case and pulled the woman the rest of the way out, cradling her in his lap. “Ronnie, fuck, Ronnie, what did you go and do, darlin’? What did you go and do?”
Pete sobbed and rocked the dead body back and forth. Ben came over to see what had caused the disturbance.
“Holy fuck,” he whispered.
Q was shaking. A wave of nausea and cold panic gripped her stomach like an icy fist. Ben stood her up and pulled her away.
“Who would… why would…” she mindlessly tried to form the words. Ben’s arm supported her as her legs stopped working entirely.
Tom got off the phone. “The police will be here within the hour. Apparently, a dead body isn’t an emergency on Lundi gras.”
They all stared at Pete on his knees sobbing, each of them helpless to do anything but wait for the police.
Charlie finally broke their collective silence to yell at his blond caterer, “Would you go and get a tablecloth or something, sugar?”
She diligently brought Charlie a gently used tablecloth. He carried it over to Pete and said, “Come on, brother, let’s give her a little dignity.”
Tom and JJ pulled Pete away and Charlie covered the girl with the tablecloth.
Niko asked, “Is this ok? Aren’t we disturbing a crime scene or something?”
“Who the fuck cares. You and Q already moved her. She wasn’t killed on the stage inside this fucking box. You want to have to look at her while the NOPD takes its sweet time getting here?” Charlie demanded.
“Let’s go sit near the bar until the police do come,” Ben suggested.
Tom and JJ guided Pete off the stage and he crumpled up on the floor with his back against the door to Ben’s office, still sobbing, covering his face with his hands.
Q sat down next to him and asked gently, “Babe, who is that?”
He looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. “That’s my girl, Ronnie. She wasn’t s’posed to be here. I told her not to come. She was mad 'bout me leavin’, but she wouldn’t get sober, so what could I do? I had to leave. What else could I do? Why did she have to come?”
“Did you see her here tonight?” Q asked.
Pete motioned for her to move closer and lowered his voice. “During the first break. I saw her. I told her to leave and she got all mad sayin’ she was only here to help me and I should be grateful. She was so wasted, Q. I’ve been sober for five days and I’m holdin’ on by my fingernails here. What was I s’posed to do?”
“You’re supposed to take care of yourself and get your life back. This isn’t your fault, Pete.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze and walked to the bar to get him a glass of water.
Ben said, “Everybody help yourself to a drink while we wait. I think I might have some food in the studio. I’ll go and check.” He held out his hand to Q and she gratefully accepted. “Come with me, darlin’, we need to talk.”
