The men picked at their food, waiting for Veronica to finish dancing. Finally her music ended and she exited the stage to the sound of whistles and catcalls. As she came down the steps, the girl waiting to go next threw her a contemptuous look and muttered something, but Veronica brushed past as if she was invisible. Joe and Brent’s waitress hurried up to her and yelled something in her ear in order to be heard over the sound of the next girl's song. Veronica looked toward the men’s table, frowned and said something to the waitress, who shrugged. Then she headed across the room to a table of men near the stage who had been particularly raucous during her act. With limber grace, she sat in the offered chair and contorted herself so the man next to her could massage one of her feet.
Joe turned to Brent. “Doesn’t look like it worked."
“Maybe she’d already promised those guys before she heard we wanted her. Maybe she’ll come over here next.”
“I hope so,” Joe said, “I don’t want to have to spend the entire afternoon here.”
“We'll wait until she’s finished, then I’ll go see what I can do.”
After several minutes, Veronica finished with her customers, but instead of coming over to Joe and Brent’s table, she disappeared through a set of double doors.
Brent waved the waitress over. “Where did Veronica go? Didn't you tell her we wanted to see her?”
“I told her,” the girl said. “She said she needed to see her regulars first. If she gets done with them and you’re still here, she’ll come over.”
“Where is she now?”
The girl shrugged. “She probably just went into the back to change her costume and powder her nose. She’ll be back out in a minute.”
“Powder her nose, huh?” Joe eyed the double doors suspiciously, and sure enough, Veronica came back out rubbing her nose thoughtfully. Joe got up from his seat. “I think Veronica will want to see us.” He wove his way through the tables to where she was talking to a customer. Brent watched as he interrupted her conversation. Appearing to talk to her casually, Joe grabbed Veronica’s hand and held it. The girl's eyes took on a suspicious cast, but when he released her, she darted her hand into a jacket pocket, flipped her hair over her shoulder and went back through the double doors without a word. Joe came back to the table, grinning. “Give her five minutes,” he said. “She’ll be here.”
Brent frowned. “Did you give her what I think you did?”
“Don't worry about it.”
“Dammit,” Brent said, shoving his half-eaten plate of food out of the way. “Do you realize you could get us arrested?”
Joe turned a condescending glance on him. “Are you a part-time narc or something?”
“No, but a few probably work here.”
“You're such a tedious poser sometimes, you know that? I may not go to these kinds of places, but I know they pay off the cops. My cousin is a cop and he told me about the racket these places have.”
“Well, I still think it was a dumb thing to do.”
“Think all you want,” Joe said. “But look, she’s heading over here. That stuff works better than cash sometimes.”
"Yeah, like it worked really great with Perry," Brent mumbled.
Before Joe could answer, Veronica sauntered up to their table in her leather tap pants and bolero jacket. She glanced at Brent and her eyes widened in recognition, but then her features went blank and she turned to Joe. “You want to see me about something, and you obviously want it pretty bad.” She pulled up a chair, her eyes still wary. “That’s pretty good stuff. I wouldn’t mind knowing where you got it.”
“There’s more where it came from if you’re willing to help us out,” Joe said.
Veronica raised her eyebrows, but her cynical expression remained unchanged. “I don’t fuck customers, if that’s what you’re after.”
“Don’t worry,” Joe said, “I’m madly in love with my wife.”
“So is every man in this room,” Veronica said with a shrug. She waved the waitress over. “Married men are worse than dogs.” When the waitress appeared, Veronica ordered a Jack and coke and sent her away. “If you don’t want to fuck, and you don’t want me to dance for you, what do you want?”
“I want to know where Elise Riddisee is,” Joe said.
Veronica darted a glance at Brent, but her face and voice remained neutral. “I haven't seen Elise in years. Why do you think I would know where she is?”
Brent spoke up. “Come on, Lamia. Don't you remember me?"
"I remember you," she said coolly. "I just don't like you. Now what's this about Elise? I said I don't know what you guys are talking about, so maybe you should leave."
"Stop lying. A woman named Cece Kirk dropped her off at your place two nights ago,” Brent said.
Veronica turned on him. “Okay, maybe I did see her recently. But why should I tell either of you anything about it?”
“Because she’s my wife and I need to find her.”
Veronica grinned. “So you’re the artist. You don’t look artistic.”
Joe rubbed his forehead as if he had a sudden headache. “I’m not artistic,” he said wearily. “I just enjoy what I do, okay? And for some reason, other people seem to like it and are willing to pay for it.”
The waitress appeared at Veronica’s elbow with her drink and set it on the table in front of her. “Thanks, sweetie,” Veronica told her. "You look hot tonight." The waitress rolled her eyes and walked away. Veronica turned back to the men. “Bet you didn’t know a lot of us are lesbians, did you?”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Brent said.
Veronica turned on him. “Why do you say that?”
“Because look at what you deal with every day. If I was hanging around guys like this, I wouldn’t think much of men, either.” He took a sip of his martini. “Besides,” he added, “Where else can a lesbian meet so many attractive half-naked women?”
Veronica turned back to Joe with a smirk. “I forgot he can be pretty smart when he wants to be.” She took a sip of her drink. “Where’d you pick him up?”
“He tagged along.”
“Why would you do that?” she asked, turning back to Brent. "Unless--"
“Unless what?”
Veronica grinned like a cat. “Unless you’re the cause of all this mess.” She looked from one man to another, then laughed. “This is actually pretty funny.”
“Glad we can entertain you,” Joe said. “So where is Elise?”
Veronica’s eyes widened in innocence. “Hey, I already told you I don't know.”
“Oh, come on,” Joe said. “She was at your place as recently as two nights ago. Is she still there?”
“No,” Veronica said, jiggling her ice cubes.
“We figured as much,” Joe said. He turned to Brent. “I could just kill Cece.”
“It’s our own fault in a way,” Brent reminded him. “We should’ve pinned her to the wall and threatened her a lot sooner.”
“You did what?” Veronica's eyes lit up. “Don’t tell me you got violent with that poor woman.”
“It's not like we used a gun or threatened to detonate a bomb,” Brent pointed out. “It was all a lot of bluff.”
Veronica shrieked with laughter, causing the men at one of the other tables to turn around and look. “I can’t believe it, you two threatening that sweet woman with bodily harm. She should’ve called the police if she had any sense at all.”
“Well, apparently she doesn’t have any sense,” Joe said. “And how do you know Cece, by the way? She says she just dropped Elise off in the parking lot and never actually met you.”
“That is such bullshit." Veronica motioned the waitress back to the table and ordered a round for all three of them. “She came in with Elise, they sat on my sofa, we had a couple of drinks – not Elise, of course, because of the baby. You do know about the baby, right?”
“Yes,” Joe and Brent both said simultaneously. Then they looked at each other. Brent turned away first. “I don’t suppose you know any more about that situation than we do?” Joe asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You know.”
“Oh.” Veronica grinned. “I haven’t a clue, and believe me, I asked. I don’t think Elise is sure, herself.”
The waitress appeared with their drinks, and Veronica enthusiastically grabbed hers off the tray before it could be set in front of her. “So you guys really don’t know which one of you is the father of Elise’s baby? And you don’t care?”
The men looked at each other. “We care,” Joe said.
“It's just that there isn't a whole lot we can do about it,” Brent added.
“I guess that’s true,” she said, suddenly engrossed in her drink. “I told her to get an abortion. That would make the most sense. She doesn't want to be a single mother." She waved a hand in the direction of the stage. "A lot of these girls are single mothers, and it's a bitch."
"Is she planning on taking your advice?" Joe asked, his face blank but his hand clenched tightly around his beer.
Veronica shrugged. "Who knows? I hope she does, because she'd be a lousy mother, but you can never tell with her. She was never one to let on what she was planning to do." She sighed in apparent unconcern. "I have to hand it to you both. You seem to be handling this pretty well. I guess I’ve been around guys like these so long that I forget there’s other kinds of men in the world.” She leaned back in her chair. “Not that I have much use for men, but they do pay the bills.”
“Glad you think so highly of us,” Brent said.
“Hey, no offense.”
“None taken,” Joe said. “So where is Elise now?”
Veronica had been leaning back in her chair, but now she leaned forward. “I keep telling you I don't know. And even if I did, why should I tell you?”
“Because I’m her husband and I love her.”
“So?” Veronica examined her drink carefully. “I don’t believe all this crap about the sanctity of marriage, and the importance of having a man in one’s life. No matter what Elise decides to do, she doesn't need either one of you chasing after her, harassing her about it.”
“We’re not trying to harass her,” Joe said. "We just want to make sure she isn’t running away for the wrong reasons. I want her to know that I love her no matter what she’s done, and I want her to come home. If she tells me she still doesn’t want to come home after that, fine. But I want to be sure.”
“How noble of you.” She turned to Brent. “And what’s your story?”
Brent shrugged. “I’m helping him.” He indicated Joe with a jerk of his chin. “I want Elise to be happy, and I think she would be happiest with Joe.”
Veronica choked and set her glass on the table as she alternated between hacking and laughing. Joe patted her on the back, but she waved him away and tried to pull herself together. “This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever encountered in my life,” she said when she finally caught her breath.
“Thanks,” Brent said sullenly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Veronica waved the waitress over again. The girl came over wearily, just dodging Veronica’s attempt to pinch her on the ass. “Another round?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” Veronica told her. “And hurry. These men are talking like fools.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Joe and Brent stepped into the dimly lit entryway. The walls were encrusted with shells, nets, and paintings of bare-breasted women with bodies that merged into fish tails. A fountain sent water down a tiny stream bed where carp swam lethargically to the echo of the music thumping in the next room. A brown-haired girl in a green bikini top and mini-skirt smiled at them from behind a podium designed to resemble a giant scallop shell. “Two for lunch?”
Joe and Brent looked at each other. “Actually,” Joe said, “We were wondering if Lamia is working today.”
A wary expression crossed the girl’s face. “We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
Brent spoke up. “Lamia’s her real name. We don’t know her stage name. We’re old friends of hers, not clients.”
The girl eyed both men critically and appeared to find them trustworthy. “She goes by Veronica.” She checked her roster. “Yeah, she’s working. Will you guys want a table, or were you just going to the bar?”
“We’ll get a table,” Joe said, darting a suspicious glance at Brent. After they were seated, he leaned over, shouting to be heard over the din of the stage music. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about on the way up here. I'd completely forgotten these girls use phony names. I’ve been inside one of these places only one other time, and it was only because it was my buddy’s bachelor party, but you act like you're an old pro.”
Brent frowned. “Who are you trying to kid? You’re a man of the world. Everyone goes to these places.”
“I don't,” Joe said, “I never saw the point. I don’t think much of a woman who’ll be your best friend for twenty minutes, if you've got enough money.”
“Well, I didn’t say it was my cup of tea, either. My frat brothers liked to come to these places, and I have clients at some companies where this is what passes for lunchtime entertainment for the guys. Sometimes I have to go with them to network.”
“I’m sure it's a great hardship for you.” Joe looked up as the waitress approached—a frizzy blonde in the same green bikini and miniskirt combination that the girl at the hostess podium had been wearing. He nodded as the girl introduced herself and asked to take their drink order. “Do you have Dos Equis?”
“Sure do.”
“That’ll be fine, then.”
The girl turned to Brent.
“Absolut martini on the rocks with a twist.”
“Will you be having the buffet?” She gestured toward the steam table. “It’s free with your drink order.”
“Yeah, why not?” Joe said.
“Help yourselves, then. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
After the waitress left, the men hesitated, looking around the room as if they had only just now noticed it. The walls were covered in mermaid murals, with waves, rocks, mermaid hair and mermaid breasts picked out in neon. Most of the tables were small and packed closely together, but in a dimly lit back corner were a few booths that seemed too far out of the action to be as popular as they appeared to be. The mystery was solved when a dancer darted under the table to service a man sitting alone in a booth drinking beer from a pilsner. Joe shook his head and turned his attention to the stage, a blue affair framed with plastic palms and draped in fishing nets. An Asian girl was strutting to a recent hip-hop hit swinging her long black hair as she shrugged out of her tight bolero jacket to reveal a sequined bustier. At the other end of the room, a pale blonde leaned over a man, rubbing her bare breasts inches from his nose. Joe turned to Brent in disgust. “Where on earth did Elise get friends like these?” he asked.
Brent sighed. “Hell, I don't know. That was one thing I never could figure out about her. She seems to attract all types. For what it's worth though, Lamia was in the chorus of the ballet, like Elise when I first met her. It's not like she was involved with this kind of stuff back then."
"So how do you figure she ended up in this business?"
"Who knows?" Brent said. "She was struggling when I knew her. Diet pills, then amphetamines. Dancers have to keep their weight down you know. She probably never got off the pills. For a girl strung out on drugs and without the kind of education to get a good job behind a desk somewhere, I suppose this is a pretty decent gig." He looked around the room, then honed in on the buffet. “Let’s get some food. She'll probably be out in a minute.”
Joe followed Brent to the buffet, where they loaded their plates with pasta, chicken wings, mini-pizzas and tortilla chips. On their way back to the table, a skinny girl with lots of dark curly hair approached them. “Can I dance for you?”
Joe was about to tell her no, but Brent interrupted. “Maybe. What’s your name?”
“Denise.”
“Do you know a girl named Veronica?”
“What do you want with her?” She untied the top lace of her jacket, revealing the tops of her high, firm breasts. “Mine are bigger.”
“Actually, she’s a friend of someone I know,” Joe told her, setting his plate down and trying not to stare at the girl’s chest.
Denise jerked her head in the direction of the stage. “She’s up in a few minutes. After that, maybe you can get her to come over and talk to you." She turned her full attention on Brent. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?” she asked, stroking his calf with the toe of her stiletto sandal.
Brent shook his head. “Maybe later. We just want to eat right now, and talk to Veronica.”
Denise sauntered away in disgust and went in search of a more appreciative audience. A moment later, the waitress reappeared and set Joe and Brent’s drinks in front of them. Brent slid his credit card across the table and told her to open a tab.
"I hope this doesn't turn out to be another false lead," Joe said, biting into a chicken wing. "I'm getting tired of everywhere we go, people won't talk to us."
"It probably won't be much different here," Brent said. "I can't imagine why Lamia would be any more forthcoming than anyone else has been. We weren't that great of friends. She actively despised me, in fact." He pushed the overdone ziti around his plate, then gingerly picked up a piece and tasted it. "But I could be wrong. If Cece really did drop Elise off at Lamia's a couple nights ago, she's probably not there any more, so maybe she won't mind talking." Brent looked up at the stage, where a curvy redhead had slipped out of a turquoise dress and was wiggling her thong-clad rump in front of a group of men in blue warehouse uniforms. He raised his eyebrows, then directed his attention back to his food, which he pushed around on his plate some more before nibbling a mini-pizza. “Maybe she'll be up next.”
“So what’s the plan?” Joe asked. “When she finishes, do we go up to her, wave her over, or what? Do we tell her we want a lap dance, or tell her the truth straight up?”
“I think we should tell her we want a dance,” Brent said. “In fact, I think I’ll ask our waitress to tell her we want her after she’s done. That way none of these oafs will get to her first.”
“Good idea.” Joe caught the waitress's eye and waved her over. “Tell Veronica we’d like to see her after she gets off stage."
The girl hesitated. Noting her reluctance, Brent pulled out his wallet and slipped her a bill. “Thanks.” The girl grinned and sauntered away with a swish of her tiny green skirt. Brent turned to Joe with a mildly patronizing look. “You're expected to pay for everything in these places.”
“So I see.”
Just then the DJ announced Veronica, who strutted onstage. She was a tall girl, rangy and muscular, with wavy dark hair that she tossed around as she pranced across the stage in her ankle-strap spikes. She seemed to be a favorite with the regular crowd, because they cheered as she started to remove pieces of her tap pants, bustier and jacket ensemble. When she was down to nothing but her thong, she moved to the edge of the stage, teasing the men with her body as they stuffed bills down the front of her g-string. A few of them called comments and questions to her, and she winked, teased and answered some of them.
“I hope she’s not so popular we can’t get her over here,” Joe remarked.
Brent cursed softly to himself and pushed his plate of inedible food aside. “I'm beginning to think it'll take a little more money than I’d counted on us having to spend.”
Joe and Brent looked at each other. “Actually,” Joe said, “We were wondering if Lamia is working today.”
A wary expression crossed the girl’s face. “We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
Brent spoke up. “Lamia’s her real name. We don’t know her stage name. We’re old friends of hers, not clients.”
The girl eyed both men critically and appeared to find them trustworthy. “She goes by Veronica.” She checked her roster. “Yeah, she’s working. Will you guys want a table, or were you just going to the bar?”
“We’ll get a table,” Joe said, darting a suspicious glance at Brent. After they were seated, he leaned over, shouting to be heard over the din of the stage music. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about on the way up here. I'd completely forgotten these girls use phony names. I’ve been inside one of these places only one other time, and it was only because it was my buddy’s bachelor party, but you act like you're an old pro.”
Brent frowned. “Who are you trying to kid? You’re a man of the world. Everyone goes to these places.”
“I don't,” Joe said, “I never saw the point. I don’t think much of a woman who’ll be your best friend for twenty minutes, if you've got enough money.”
“Well, I didn’t say it was my cup of tea, either. My frat brothers liked to come to these places, and I have clients at some companies where this is what passes for lunchtime entertainment for the guys. Sometimes I have to go with them to network.”
“I’m sure it's a great hardship for you.” Joe looked up as the waitress approached—a frizzy blonde in the same green bikini and miniskirt combination that the girl at the hostess podium had been wearing. He nodded as the girl introduced herself and asked to take their drink order. “Do you have Dos Equis?”
“Sure do.”
“That’ll be fine, then.”
The girl turned to Brent.
“Absolut martini on the rocks with a twist.”
“Will you be having the buffet?” She gestured toward the steam table. “It’s free with your drink order.”
“Yeah, why not?” Joe said.
“Help yourselves, then. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
After the waitress left, the men hesitated, looking around the room as if they had only just now noticed it. The walls were covered in mermaid murals, with waves, rocks, mermaid hair and mermaid breasts picked out in neon. Most of the tables were small and packed closely together, but in a dimly lit back corner were a few booths that seemed too far out of the action to be as popular as they appeared to be. The mystery was solved when a dancer darted under the table to service a man sitting alone in a booth drinking beer from a pilsner. Joe shook his head and turned his attention to the stage, a blue affair framed with plastic palms and draped in fishing nets. An Asian girl was strutting to a recent hip-hop hit swinging her long black hair as she shrugged out of her tight bolero jacket to reveal a sequined bustier. At the other end of the room, a pale blonde leaned over a man, rubbing her bare breasts inches from his nose. Joe turned to Brent in disgust. “Where on earth did Elise get friends like these?” he asked.
Brent sighed. “Hell, I don't know. That was one thing I never could figure out about her. She seems to attract all types. For what it's worth though, Lamia was in the chorus of the ballet, like Elise when I first met her. It's not like she was involved with this kind of stuff back then."
"So how do you figure she ended up in this business?"
"Who knows?" Brent said. "She was struggling when I knew her. Diet pills, then amphetamines. Dancers have to keep their weight down you know. She probably never got off the pills. For a girl strung out on drugs and without the kind of education to get a good job behind a desk somewhere, I suppose this is a pretty decent gig." He looked around the room, then honed in on the buffet. “Let’s get some food. She'll probably be out in a minute.”
Joe followed Brent to the buffet, where they loaded their plates with pasta, chicken wings, mini-pizzas and tortilla chips. On their way back to the table, a skinny girl with lots of dark curly hair approached them. “Can I dance for you?”
Joe was about to tell her no, but Brent interrupted. “Maybe. What’s your name?”
“Denise.”
“Do you know a girl named Veronica?”
“What do you want with her?” She untied the top lace of her jacket, revealing the tops of her high, firm breasts. “Mine are bigger.”
“Actually, she’s a friend of someone I know,” Joe told her, setting his plate down and trying not to stare at the girl’s chest.
Denise jerked her head in the direction of the stage. “She’s up in a few minutes. After that, maybe you can get her to come over and talk to you." She turned her full attention on Brent. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?” she asked, stroking his calf with the toe of her stiletto sandal.
Brent shook his head. “Maybe later. We just want to eat right now, and talk to Veronica.”
Denise sauntered away in disgust and went in search of a more appreciative audience. A moment later, the waitress reappeared and set Joe and Brent’s drinks in front of them. Brent slid his credit card across the table and told her to open a tab.
"I hope this doesn't turn out to be another false lead," Joe said, biting into a chicken wing. "I'm getting tired of everywhere we go, people won't talk to us."
"It probably won't be much different here," Brent said. "I can't imagine why Lamia would be any more forthcoming than anyone else has been. We weren't that great of friends. She actively despised me, in fact." He pushed the overdone ziti around his plate, then gingerly picked up a piece and tasted it. "But I could be wrong. If Cece really did drop Elise off at Lamia's a couple nights ago, she's probably not there any more, so maybe she won't mind talking." Brent looked up at the stage, where a curvy redhead had slipped out of a turquoise dress and was wiggling her thong-clad rump in front of a group of men in blue warehouse uniforms. He raised his eyebrows, then directed his attention back to his food, which he pushed around on his plate some more before nibbling a mini-pizza. “Maybe she'll be up next.”
“So what’s the plan?” Joe asked. “When she finishes, do we go up to her, wave her over, or what? Do we tell her we want a lap dance, or tell her the truth straight up?”
“I think we should tell her we want a dance,” Brent said. “In fact, I think I’ll ask our waitress to tell her we want her after she’s done. That way none of these oafs will get to her first.”
“Good idea.” Joe caught the waitress's eye and waved her over. “Tell Veronica we’d like to see her after she gets off stage."
The girl hesitated. Noting her reluctance, Brent pulled out his wallet and slipped her a bill. “Thanks.” The girl grinned and sauntered away with a swish of her tiny green skirt. Brent turned to Joe with a mildly patronizing look. “You're expected to pay for everything in these places.”
“So I see.”
Just then the DJ announced Veronica, who strutted onstage. She was a tall girl, rangy and muscular, with wavy dark hair that she tossed around as she pranced across the stage in her ankle-strap spikes. She seemed to be a favorite with the regular crowd, because they cheered as she started to remove pieces of her tap pants, bustier and jacket ensemble. When she was down to nothing but her thong, she moved to the edge of the stage, teasing the men with her body as they stuffed bills down the front of her g-string. A few of them called comments and questions to her, and she winked, teased and answered some of them.
“I hope she’s not so popular we can’t get her over here,” Joe remarked.
Brent cursed softly to himself and pushed his plate of inedible food aside. “I'm beginning to think it'll take a little more money than I’d counted on us having to spend.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
"What do you think?" Joe asked. "Should we try the apartments first, or the club?"
Brent looked at his watch. "It's lunchtime, so let's try the club. Those topless bars usually have free buffet and I don't know if I trust eating anything from Cece after what you found out last night. Besides, I don't want to go through another scene like we did trying to get in to see Sylvia."
"Why not? Are you running low on pants?"
"Just running low on patience. Petra was able to do a pretty good patch job on the pants, by the way. You'd hardly know I ripped them."
"That's good, since you felt ethically bound to return the ones Cece gave you."
"Actually," Brent said, "I figured since I was keeping the sweater..."
Joe shook his head. "No wonder you were able to justify sleeping with my wife, if that's your attitude about things."
Brent's ears flushed red. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes you do," Joe said. "It's okay, by the way. I'm getting used to it. I don't want to kill you any more, just maybe knock some sense into you, or at least call you on your bullshit until you learn to cut the crap."
Brent folded his arms across his chest and looked out the window.
"You know, you'd be a real interesting character if you weren't such a hypocrite," Joe went on.
"Just go on and insult me. You've done it so often, it doesn't even bother me any more."
"What I'm talking about," Joe said with exaggerated patience, "Is the act you put on. Always trying to come off like you're Mr. Straight-Arrow or something. But it turns out you've got all kinds of abnormal skeletons in your closet. Your friend Sylvia, for instance. I think you like having slummy friends. You figure it gives you bragging rights that you're really not the spoiled rich kid you are. Too bad you're too high and mighty to admit it."
"Don't be ridiculous. Besides, Sylvia and Gerry are hardly friends of mine, in case you didn't notice how they treated me back there."
"Uh-huh. And the way you got us in there was something else, confusing the guard, jumping the fence, threatening Sylvia..."
"I didn't hear you trying to stop me."
"And how about the way you treated Cece? I didn't know what to think when you started threatening to tie her up and gag her. You scared that poor lady to death."
"You know I wasn't going to actually do it," Brent said. "Scaring her was the whole point. It was the only way we were going to get her to talk. It's not like you weren't willing to play along."
"It seemed to be working."
"So you admit you're no saint yourself." Brent scowled. "Besides, you're the one who stole all that cocaine and broke into that apartment. Talk about calling the kettle black."
"Yeah, but at least I don't claim to be anything other than what I am." Joe slowed down for a red light. "I'm just an inner-city kid who went to juvie for a few years and managed to make good in spite of it." The light changed and he hit the gas. "You, on the other hand, try to bill yourself as some kind of holy martyr." Joe turned in his seat. "I don't buy it, you know. Not for a minute."
"Don't buy what?" Brent waved an arm. "Why does everyone think I put on some kind of martyr act? I love Elise, okay? I know she's your wife, and I'm sorry for everything that happened, but I really care about her happiness. Why is that so hard to believe?"
"Maybe because it's so obvious you just wanted to go to bed with her," Joe said, turning back around and moving forward again into traffic. "Don't tell me you would've had the same feelings for her if she'd been ugly."
Brent opened his mouth to reply, but then clamped his jaw shut and threw himself back against the seat cushion. "Look, I won't deny I wanted her that way, because I did. But I would've loved her for herself no matter what she looked like."
Joe let out a bitter laugh. "Who do you think you're kidding? You wanted to get into her pants, and that was it. She was probably the only girl you wanted in school but couldn't have, so you couldn't let yourself give up." Joe slowed down for another light. "The only thing worse than someone who lies to other people is someone who lies to himself."
"Look, will you just drive? When are we going to get to this Sirens place, anyway?"
Joe started. "You know, I don't even know where we're going. I mean, I've got a pretty good idea, but I'm not sure."
"Well this has been a waste of our time," Brent said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started tapping on it. "We're not too far away," he finally said. "It used to be a legit nightclub called Vitus. It's off the interstate feeder near Genesius Street."
Joe nodded, made the block and rejoined traffic going the other way. After a little while, he said, "I'm sorry I jumped your shit back there."
"Anything you have to say to me, I probably deserve. I think you've got me pegged wrong, though."
"No, I don't think so," Joe said. "I've got no business dogging you about it, though."
"Whatever." Brent leaned forward in his seat, scanning the road. "There it is," he finally said, pointing. "Kinda sleazy looking, don't you think?"
"What'd you expect from a topless joint?"
"Well, you know, some are more upscale than others."
"They're all just titty bars to me."
"Looks like they're going after the working class or worse at this place," Brent said, gazing in revulsion at the profusion of neon and dangling, blinking lights. "Too bad. Lamia could be a little rough around the edges back in the day, but at least she had class. If she's working at a place like this, the drugs must've taken over."
They pulled into a parking spot and Brent jumped out, slammed the door hard and stood for a moment gazing at the neon sign of a buxom mermaid. “I can’t believe we’ve come to this.”
Joe snorted. “It’s no worse than Sylvia’s place, or the waiting room at St. Jude’s.” He dropped his keys in his pocket and began walking toward the door. “You really can’t handle the seamier side of life, can you? You like things lavish, all nice and pretty, like at Cece’s.”
“Nothing wrong with liking nice things,” Brent countered. “So what if I have good taste?”
“There’s nothing wrong with having good taste, as you call it,” Joe said. “There is something wrong with getting on your high horse about it, though. People do the best they can.”
Brent looked at his watch. "It's lunchtime, so let's try the club. Those topless bars usually have free buffet and I don't know if I trust eating anything from Cece after what you found out last night. Besides, I don't want to go through another scene like we did trying to get in to see Sylvia."
"Why not? Are you running low on pants?"
"Just running low on patience. Petra was able to do a pretty good patch job on the pants, by the way. You'd hardly know I ripped them."
"That's good, since you felt ethically bound to return the ones Cece gave you."
"Actually," Brent said, "I figured since I was keeping the sweater..."
Joe shook his head. "No wonder you were able to justify sleeping with my wife, if that's your attitude about things."
Brent's ears flushed red. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes you do," Joe said. "It's okay, by the way. I'm getting used to it. I don't want to kill you any more, just maybe knock some sense into you, or at least call you on your bullshit until you learn to cut the crap."
Brent folded his arms across his chest and looked out the window.
"You know, you'd be a real interesting character if you weren't such a hypocrite," Joe went on.
"Just go on and insult me. You've done it so often, it doesn't even bother me any more."
"What I'm talking about," Joe said with exaggerated patience, "Is the act you put on. Always trying to come off like you're Mr. Straight-Arrow or something. But it turns out you've got all kinds of abnormal skeletons in your closet. Your friend Sylvia, for instance. I think you like having slummy friends. You figure it gives you bragging rights that you're really not the spoiled rich kid you are. Too bad you're too high and mighty to admit it."
"Don't be ridiculous. Besides, Sylvia and Gerry are hardly friends of mine, in case you didn't notice how they treated me back there."
"Uh-huh. And the way you got us in there was something else, confusing the guard, jumping the fence, threatening Sylvia..."
"I didn't hear you trying to stop me."
"And how about the way you treated Cece? I didn't know what to think when you started threatening to tie her up and gag her. You scared that poor lady to death."
"You know I wasn't going to actually do it," Brent said. "Scaring her was the whole point. It was the only way we were going to get her to talk. It's not like you weren't willing to play along."
"It seemed to be working."
"So you admit you're no saint yourself." Brent scowled. "Besides, you're the one who stole all that cocaine and broke into that apartment. Talk about calling the kettle black."
"Yeah, but at least I don't claim to be anything other than what I am." Joe slowed down for a red light. "I'm just an inner-city kid who went to juvie for a few years and managed to make good in spite of it." The light changed and he hit the gas. "You, on the other hand, try to bill yourself as some kind of holy martyr." Joe turned in his seat. "I don't buy it, you know. Not for a minute."
"Don't buy what?" Brent waved an arm. "Why does everyone think I put on some kind of martyr act? I love Elise, okay? I know she's your wife, and I'm sorry for everything that happened, but I really care about her happiness. Why is that so hard to believe?"
"Maybe because it's so obvious you just wanted to go to bed with her," Joe said, turning back around and moving forward again into traffic. "Don't tell me you would've had the same feelings for her if she'd been ugly."
Brent opened his mouth to reply, but then clamped his jaw shut and threw himself back against the seat cushion. "Look, I won't deny I wanted her that way, because I did. But I would've loved her for herself no matter what she looked like."
Joe let out a bitter laugh. "Who do you think you're kidding? You wanted to get into her pants, and that was it. She was probably the only girl you wanted in school but couldn't have, so you couldn't let yourself give up." Joe slowed down for another light. "The only thing worse than someone who lies to other people is someone who lies to himself."
"Look, will you just drive? When are we going to get to this Sirens place, anyway?"
Joe started. "You know, I don't even know where we're going. I mean, I've got a pretty good idea, but I'm not sure."
"Well this has been a waste of our time," Brent said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started tapping on it. "We're not too far away," he finally said. "It used to be a legit nightclub called Vitus. It's off the interstate feeder near Genesius Street."
Joe nodded, made the block and rejoined traffic going the other way. After a little while, he said, "I'm sorry I jumped your shit back there."
"Anything you have to say to me, I probably deserve. I think you've got me pegged wrong, though."
"No, I don't think so," Joe said. "I've got no business dogging you about it, though."
"Whatever." Brent leaned forward in his seat, scanning the road. "There it is," he finally said, pointing. "Kinda sleazy looking, don't you think?"
"What'd you expect from a topless joint?"
"Well, you know, some are more upscale than others."
"They're all just titty bars to me."
"Looks like they're going after the working class or worse at this place," Brent said, gazing in revulsion at the profusion of neon and dangling, blinking lights. "Too bad. Lamia could be a little rough around the edges back in the day, but at least she had class. If she's working at a place like this, the drugs must've taken over."
They pulled into a parking spot and Brent jumped out, slammed the door hard and stood for a moment gazing at the neon sign of a buxom mermaid. “I can’t believe we’ve come to this.”
Joe snorted. “It’s no worse than Sylvia’s place, or the waiting room at St. Jude’s.” He dropped his keys in his pocket and began walking toward the door. “You really can’t handle the seamier side of life, can you? You like things lavish, all nice and pretty, like at Cece’s.”
“Nothing wrong with liking nice things,” Brent countered. “So what if I have good taste?”
“There’s nothing wrong with having good taste, as you call it,” Joe said. “There is something wrong with getting on your high horse about it, though. People do the best they can.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The men hurried into their rooms and began throwing clothes, combs, socks and razors into their bags. Joe finished first and went to get Brent. "Aren't you done yet?"
Brent looked up from putting his computer in its case. "I've got more than you, remember?"
Joe dropped his duffel bag in the middle of the floor. "Just hurry, okay? I want to get out of here before Cece decides to call the cops on us, or comes up with some new excuse why we have to stay."
"I've just about got it," Brent said. He zipped his laptop case and returned to his leather overnight bag. He frowned, then went to the closet and began removing slacks, shirts and sweaters from hangers. A few of these he put into the bag, others he folded neatly and laid on the bed. There was one sweater, though, that he didn't appear to know what to do with. "Do you think it would be unethical to take this cashmere sweater Cece gave me? I'm leaving all the other stuff, but I really like this one, and she did keep us here under false pretenses."
"In case you haven't noticed, ethics isn't your strong suit. Or hers, either. If you want it, take it. Take the whole goddamn room if you want to. But whatever you do, don't just stand there rationalizing."
Brent put the sweater in his bag along with his other clothes. Noticing that Joe was looking the other direction, he threw a few more items of clothing in there as well. After one last look around, he slung both bags over his shoulder in a single fluid motion and headed out the door.
At the bottom of the stairs Lupe ran up to them. "Are you leaving now?"
"Yes," Joe said. "We've stayed too long already."
The maid cast a nervous glance toward the kitchen. "Cece says to wait a minute."
"We can't wait," Brent told her.
Just then Petra and Cece burst out of the kitchen and hurried toward them, loaded down with bags, thermoses and a small cooler. "You can't leave without provisions," Cece said.
Joe and Brent exchanged incredulous looks. "Thank you," Joe told her cautiously, "But we really don't need anything else from you."
"You'll get hungry."
"We're not going into the wilderness," Brent pointed out.
"But..." Cece looked helplessly from Joe to Brent and back again.
"Oh, all right," Joe said. He pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket. "I'm not going to do battle with you over this. If this is what it takes, fine."
"I really do feel bad about what happened," Cece said, following them to the truck with Petra in tow. "I want to do something."
"There's not much you can do at this point," Joe told her. "You've probably ruined whatever small chance we had. Feeding us isn't going to fix a damn thing."
Brent stood aside while Petra crammed a season harvest's worth of bags and coolers into the space behind the seat and on the floor of the passenger side of the cab. "You've done more than enough," he added, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
"There is one thing I didn't mention before that might help," Cece said hesitantly. "This girl Lamia, she doesn't do professional dance any more. Or I guess you could say she does, but not that kind. She works as a dancer at someplace called Sirens. I don't know where the place is, or what shifts she works, or anything, but if you can't find her at the Mariner apartments, you might find her there."
"That's very helpful," Joe said. "Thanks."
"You know you're always welcome here, if you change your mind. I'm not mad at you, and I meant what I said earlier. If you don't find Elise, or even if you do, you can always consider this place home."
"I'll keep that in mind," Joe said. He glanced at Brent. "Ready?
Brent got into the truck, not bothering to say goodbye as he slammed the door.
Joe climbed in and started the engine. As they pulled out of the circular driveway, Joe looked in his rearview mirror, watching as the image of Cece and her maids got smaller and smaller. She lifted a hand and waved, but Joe merely shook his head and punched the gas.
Brent looked up from putting his computer in its case. "I've got more than you, remember?"
Joe dropped his duffel bag in the middle of the floor. "Just hurry, okay? I want to get out of here before Cece decides to call the cops on us, or comes up with some new excuse why we have to stay."
"I've just about got it," Brent said. He zipped his laptop case and returned to his leather overnight bag. He frowned, then went to the closet and began removing slacks, shirts and sweaters from hangers. A few of these he put into the bag, others he folded neatly and laid on the bed. There was one sweater, though, that he didn't appear to know what to do with. "Do you think it would be unethical to take this cashmere sweater Cece gave me? I'm leaving all the other stuff, but I really like this one, and she did keep us here under false pretenses."
"In case you haven't noticed, ethics isn't your strong suit. Or hers, either. If you want it, take it. Take the whole goddamn room if you want to. But whatever you do, don't just stand there rationalizing."
Brent put the sweater in his bag along with his other clothes. Noticing that Joe was looking the other direction, he threw a few more items of clothing in there as well. After one last look around, he slung both bags over his shoulder in a single fluid motion and headed out the door.
At the bottom of the stairs Lupe ran up to them. "Are you leaving now?"
"Yes," Joe said. "We've stayed too long already."
The maid cast a nervous glance toward the kitchen. "Cece says to wait a minute."
"We can't wait," Brent told her.
Just then Petra and Cece burst out of the kitchen and hurried toward them, loaded down with bags, thermoses and a small cooler. "You can't leave without provisions," Cece said.
Joe and Brent exchanged incredulous looks. "Thank you," Joe told her cautiously, "But we really don't need anything else from you."
"You'll get hungry."
"We're not going into the wilderness," Brent pointed out.
"But..." Cece looked helplessly from Joe to Brent and back again.
"Oh, all right," Joe said. He pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket. "I'm not going to do battle with you over this. If this is what it takes, fine."
"I really do feel bad about what happened," Cece said, following them to the truck with Petra in tow. "I want to do something."
"There's not much you can do at this point," Joe told her. "You've probably ruined whatever small chance we had. Feeding us isn't going to fix a damn thing."
Brent stood aside while Petra crammed a season harvest's worth of bags and coolers into the space behind the seat and on the floor of the passenger side of the cab. "You've done more than enough," he added, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
"There is one thing I didn't mention before that might help," Cece said hesitantly. "This girl Lamia, she doesn't do professional dance any more. Or I guess you could say she does, but not that kind. She works as a dancer at someplace called Sirens. I don't know where the place is, or what shifts she works, or anything, but if you can't find her at the Mariner apartments, you might find her there."
"That's very helpful," Joe said. "Thanks."
"You know you're always welcome here, if you change your mind. I'm not mad at you, and I meant what I said earlier. If you don't find Elise, or even if you do, you can always consider this place home."
"I'll keep that in mind," Joe said. He glanced at Brent. "Ready?
Brent got into the truck, not bothering to say goodbye as he slammed the door.
Joe climbed in and started the engine. As they pulled out of the circular driveway, Joe looked in his rearview mirror, watching as the image of Cece and her maids got smaller and smaller. She lifted a hand and waved, but Joe merely shook his head and punched the gas.
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