They drove in silence, winding through the local streets. "Any luck from that phone call to Selene?" Joe finally asked.
"No." Brent sighed in frustration. "She was polite about it, but she says she spent hours on the phone and couldn't find anything under the new name and passport number. I told her to throw all that stuff away and give it a try under her real name. We should know something more by tomorrow afternoon."
Joe stopped for a light. "Well, that'll be good, in case Ursula is another dead end."
The light changed and Joe hit the gas. The truck sped forward, sending up a spray of water as he turned onto the access road. After entering the freeway and settling into his lane, Joe said, "I don't know if I can take much more of this running around and her always being one jump ahead of us."
Brent settled back in his seat and adjusted the lapels of his damp coat. "I think I'm just about worn out, too."
"You know, what really gets me is that we've been gone for the better part of a week and I feel like we're no closer to finding her than we were at the beginning. I don't understand why everyone is trying to cover for her. I don't mean to brag, but isn't it pretty obvious I'm trying to help?"
"I don't know," Brent said. "It's always surprised me how loyal people are to Elise. It seems like no matter what she's done, she can always charm someone into giving her what she needs. Lord knows she didn't do anything to deserve the way I helped her over the years."
"Then why did you do it?"
"I could ask the same of you."
"What do you mean?"
"Why are you persisting in this? A lot of men would've said good riddance by this point, knowing what you know."
Joe didn't answer right away. He continued to drive, staring intently at the road ahead, tiny workings in the muscles around his eyes and mouth the only clues that he was deep in thought.
"And don't say it's because you love her," Brent added.
"But I do love her."
"Love has its limits."
"Does it?" Joe asked. "Seems a shame if it does."
Brent said nothing and stared at his hands.
They drove for the next hour in silence as the sky grew darker and the rain continued to fall. Joe turned on his headlights but they didn't help much. "It's going to be fun, trying to find this place off a farm road in the dark, in the rain."
"Well, we can't wait until morning. We've lost too much time already."
"I know. Just help me out with the directions, will you? That way I can focus on the road. I think I see our exit up ahead."
They pulled off the freeway and turned onto a farm road. Without the benefit of street lights, they had to slow almost to a crawl in order to see. Joe turned on his brights and squinted.
"You're going to want to keep to the left at that fork up there," Brent said.
"Looks like we're going pretty far out into the country."
"Just wait. I think the next turn will be onto a one-lane road, if this map is any indication."
As they turned onto the left fork of the road, the rain, which had been slackening, began coming down harder as if making up for lost time. Joe slowed again and increased the speed of the wipers, to little effect. "Are you going to be able to see where we need to turn?"
"I think it's right up here a little ways. See that stop sign by the tree?"
Joe eased onto the narrow road, his brows drawing together in concentration. "This is a dangerous street in this weather. No lines, no curbs, nothing."
Brent agreed. "They should develop out here. Get one of those rural improvement grants or something. It would improve their property values."
"Do we have to stay on this road for very long?"
Brent glanced at the map. "No, it looks like we'll be turning again soon."
"I wonder if Ursula keeps horses," Joe said, gesturing toward a stable set back from the road.
Brent shrugged. "She could do anything, for all we know."
"And we know nothing," Joe's voice took on an edge. "I hate feeling this way, like everything I thought I knew was wrong."
Suddenly Brent leaned forward, straining to see the road through the rain. "Oh, hell."
"Don't tell me we passed it."
"Yeah, I think we did."
"How can you tell?"
"Didn't we just pass a cross-street?"
"If you can call it that. It was just a little gravel path."
"Well, I think maybe we went too far. Turn around and go back. We haven't passed it by much."
"Turn around where?" Joe gestured at the road, empty of cross streets or driveways.
"Just turn around here in the road. There's no traffic."
Joe looked around doubtfully, then stopped the truck, threw it into reverse, cut the wheel and started to back up. "Reach back there and wipe off the rear window. I'm not getting a clear picture of where I'm going."
Brent twisted around in his seat. "It's okay. You're miles away from the ditch."
Joe released the brake and began inching backward, casting occasional glances behind him, but trusting Brent's reassuring words to "keep going, keep going," until suddenly the left rear wheel hit slippery gravel, and the back end of the truck lurched to one side. Before he could get his foot on the brake, the right wheel slipped backward, too, and the truck slid neatly into the ditch, with only the right front tire remaining at road level.
Cursing, Joe turned on the four-wheel drive. He hit the gas and the tires spun, but nothing happened. The rear wheels embedded themselves in the mud, the left front wheel spinning on open air, clipping a few weeds, the right front tire unable to find a hold in the slippery gravel of the shoulder. After gunning the engine a few times, Joe stomped on the brake and put the truck into park. He turned around in his seat and fixed Brent with an icy glare. "Get out and find something to put under the wheels."
Brent sucked in his breath but didn't argue. He opened the door and jumped into ankle-deep mud. He winced at the cold rain beating on his face and dribbling down the back of his neck as he walked to the edge of the ditch. The wheels were buried almost to the axle. Since there was no point trying to help from that end, he went around to the front. The left front wheel had a few inches of space between it and the side of the ditch, and after assessing the situation, Brent looked around, finding a few small rocks and branches, but nothing substantial to fill the gap between tire and ground. After a few minutes, he returned to the truck and climbed in. "I couldn't find anything."
"You must not have looked hard enough. Look again."
"Man, I'm telling you, it's hopeless. Those rear wheels are in too deep. Even if I could find something big enough to put under the front one, I don't think it would give enough leverage to pull the back end out. We're going to need a tow truck."
"If you can't find something to put under the wheels, I suggest you get out and push, since you're the one that got us into this mess in the first place."
Brent shoved his dripping hair off his forehead. "Look, you don't have to tell me, okay? I feel like an idiot, and if I thought wading in mud up to my knees to push this truck would do any good, I'd be doing it. Go look for yourself if you don't believe me."
Joe gazed steadily at Brent long enough for the drumming of the rain on the roof to grow louder, the curtains of rain nearly opaque, until it seemed the entire gray, deafening world had closed in around them and they were in the last dry place on earth. Brent picked at his soaking pants and examined the toes of his muddy shoes, then he raised his head and met Joe's eyes.
"Move over and let me out," Joe said.
Brent moved as far back in the seat as he could so Joe could climb over him and get out on the passenger side, since getting out on the driver's side was out of the question. Joe jumped down and slammed the door behind him, leaving Brent alone, dripping and shivering.
After a few minutes, Joe climbed back in, soaked to the skin. He crawled over to the driver's seat, started the engine and turned on the heater. He stretched his hands toward an air vent, flexing his fingers in the warm air. Brent leaned forward and did the same. "What do you think?" Brent finally asked.
"I think we're screwed."
Chapter Forty
Joe slumped against the elevator wall. "That was a waste of time."
"Not really," Brent said. "At least we know where Ursula Docet isn't."
"That doesn't tell us where she is, though."
"Maybe I can find her on the internet."
"She's retired. Why do you think she'd be easy to find on the web? Sylvia Lobo is young and actively engaged in...business, and she wasn't online."
"Well, if we can't find her on an internet search, we can still find out if Elise is leaving the country. I still have a lead with Selene, you know."
"How long do you think it will take her to find something?"
"Who knows?" The elevator had reached their floor and they stepped off. "She has connections, but they're pretty high up. It'll take her at least the better part of today to work her way down to the flunkies who actually access the data, and that's if she puts her mind to this and doesn't waffle or get bored and go out drinking."
Joe glanced at his watch. "Well, it's late afternoon now."
"As soon as we get out of this garage and have a good signal, I'll give her a call."
They climbed into the truck and Joe started backing out of the parking space. "Where to, now?"
"A library, I guess, or any place with public computers or a good wi-fi signal so I can do a search on Ursula."
* * *
Joe drove to the nearest library he knew, which also happened to be in his old neighborhood in the shadow of the cathedral. The library was a Greek Revival affair of gray stone and imposing columns. It had once served a middle-class community but over the years had become a haven for immigrants eager to improve their uncertain English. "Why are we coming to this dismal place?" Brent said. "A library in a poor neighborhood won't do us any good."
"Hey, the neighborhood may be poor, but that doesn't mean the libraries are," Joe said. "I keep up with what's going on in the old 'hood. They got one of those government grants."
Brent followed Joe inside skeptically and was reassured when he spotted several computers for public use. "Not bad," he admitted, opening a browser. "A shame they had to put security bars on the window to keep people from stealing them, though."
"You always have to diss something, don't you?"
"You diss the rich, I diss the poor. What's the problem?"
"Nothing, except the rich guys get that way by taking advantage of us poor people, not the other way around." Joe shoved his hands in his pockets. "How long will this take?"
"Hard telling. Luckily we're not looking for a real common name."
"I'm going to look around a bit, then."
"Suit yourself." Brent leaned over the screen, scanning the results of his first search. Impatiently, he went from site to site, finding a name on a class reunion roster, a couple mentions on a message board, and a review of a show featuring one of Ursula's protégés. Everything seemed to point toward a dead end. Finally, though, he clicked on a link that took him to a website that made him smile. He found a stack of note paper and some yellow pencil stubs and scribbled an address. Then he opened a second browser window and did a map search.
Satisfied, he went in search of Joe, who he found in the art section, poring over a book of glossy photos. Joe looked up at his approach. "Anything?"
Brent showed him the map printout. "Unless she's moved in the last couple of years, this should be it."
"No way." Joe took the map and examined it. "Man, that's clear outside of town, almost to the county line."
"It shouldn't be too hard to find, though, should it?"
"Well, those farm roads can be tricky with lots of little dirt roads connecting into them that don't show up on maps. Signage is usually bad. And then there's driveways that look like roads until you've actually gone about a quarter of a mile, and then you realize you're pulling up in front of someone's house… but that doesn't really matter. As long as we have a general idea where to look, we'll find her."
"Good."
"How'd you find this, by the way?"
Brent grinned. "A roster, of all things. Ursula Docet is still on a few consulting committees for the ballet and some of its associated charities. She's secretary of one of them, and her address showed up on the roster's mailing list. A really stupid thing for them to post online, but lucky for us."
"I'll say."
The book Joe had left open on the table caught Brent's eye. "Hey, I didn't know you were featured in a book."
"'Modern American Woodcarving.' Kind of cool, isn't it?"
"I'll say." He examined the picture Joe had been looking at. "She's been your muse, hasn't she?"
Joe gazed at the wooden angel with Elise's luscious, doe-like eyes and pouting lips. "I guess you could say that."
"You think she ever minded?"
"Why would she?"
Brent shrugged. "I would think it would get old, always being a goddess and never being a real person."
Joe closed the book and put it back on the shelf. "Don't be stupid. What woman doesn't want to be a goddess?"
"Maybe someone like Elise?"
Joe glared at him silently, then reached in his pocket for his keys. "We've got a long drive, and I don't want to be trying to find this place in the dark. Plus, I need to make a quick stop along the way."
* * *
The quick stop turned out to be at the cathedral. "What are we doing here?" Brent said. "There's no one here who can help us."
"Maybe, maybe not." Joe killed the engine and put a hand on the door handle. "You coming?"
"No, I'll wait out here and try to call Selene."
"Good idea. I won't be long."
The church was empty and nearly dark except for a few dim lights and votives. Joe dipped his fingers in the holy water, crossed himself and stepped into the Virgin's chapel. He fumbled for an unused votive, lit it and placed it with the others. Then he knelt in silence for several minutes. Finally, after a quick look around to make sure he was unwatched, he slipped off his gold wedding band and pinned it to a fold of the Virgin's skirt. When he stood to leave he noticed Brent framed in chapel doorway.
"Couldn't wait outside, could you?" he muttered, brushing past him into the vestibule.
"I just wondered what was taking so long."
"You should learn to mind your own business once in awhile."
Brent followed him to the heavy double doors in silence. Once they were in the truck, though, he said, "I really didn't mean to pry."
Joe shrugged and started the engine.
"We've been to a lot dumber places for help," Brent went on. "Anything's worth a try at this point."
"That's what I figured."
"If it works, maybe I'll convert."
"She doesn't need you to be a Catholic," Joe said. "She just needs you to believe."
Brent considered. "I guess you could say a lot of women are like that."
"Maybe so."
"Not really," Brent said. "At least we know where Ursula Docet isn't."
"That doesn't tell us where she is, though."
"Maybe I can find her on the internet."
"She's retired. Why do you think she'd be easy to find on the web? Sylvia Lobo is young and actively engaged in...business, and she wasn't online."
"Well, if we can't find her on an internet search, we can still find out if Elise is leaving the country. I still have a lead with Selene, you know."
"How long do you think it will take her to find something?"
"Who knows?" The elevator had reached their floor and they stepped off. "She has connections, but they're pretty high up. It'll take her at least the better part of today to work her way down to the flunkies who actually access the data, and that's if she puts her mind to this and doesn't waffle or get bored and go out drinking."
Joe glanced at his watch. "Well, it's late afternoon now."
"As soon as we get out of this garage and have a good signal, I'll give her a call."
They climbed into the truck and Joe started backing out of the parking space. "Where to, now?"
"A library, I guess, or any place with public computers or a good wi-fi signal so I can do a search on Ursula."
* * *
Joe drove to the nearest library he knew, which also happened to be in his old neighborhood in the shadow of the cathedral. The library was a Greek Revival affair of gray stone and imposing columns. It had once served a middle-class community but over the years had become a haven for immigrants eager to improve their uncertain English. "Why are we coming to this dismal place?" Brent said. "A library in a poor neighborhood won't do us any good."
"Hey, the neighborhood may be poor, but that doesn't mean the libraries are," Joe said. "I keep up with what's going on in the old 'hood. They got one of those government grants."
Brent followed Joe inside skeptically and was reassured when he spotted several computers for public use. "Not bad," he admitted, opening a browser. "A shame they had to put security bars on the window to keep people from stealing them, though."
"You always have to diss something, don't you?"
"You diss the rich, I diss the poor. What's the problem?"
"Nothing, except the rich guys get that way by taking advantage of us poor people, not the other way around." Joe shoved his hands in his pockets. "How long will this take?"
"Hard telling. Luckily we're not looking for a real common name."
"I'm going to look around a bit, then."
"Suit yourself." Brent leaned over the screen, scanning the results of his first search. Impatiently, he went from site to site, finding a name on a class reunion roster, a couple mentions on a message board, and a review of a show featuring one of Ursula's protégés. Everything seemed to point toward a dead end. Finally, though, he clicked on a link that took him to a website that made him smile. He found a stack of note paper and some yellow pencil stubs and scribbled an address. Then he opened a second browser window and did a map search.
Satisfied, he went in search of Joe, who he found in the art section, poring over a book of glossy photos. Joe looked up at his approach. "Anything?"
Brent showed him the map printout. "Unless she's moved in the last couple of years, this should be it."
"No way." Joe took the map and examined it. "Man, that's clear outside of town, almost to the county line."
"It shouldn't be too hard to find, though, should it?"
"Well, those farm roads can be tricky with lots of little dirt roads connecting into them that don't show up on maps. Signage is usually bad. And then there's driveways that look like roads until you've actually gone about a quarter of a mile, and then you realize you're pulling up in front of someone's house… but that doesn't really matter. As long as we have a general idea where to look, we'll find her."
"Good."
"How'd you find this, by the way?"
Brent grinned. "A roster, of all things. Ursula Docet is still on a few consulting committees for the ballet and some of its associated charities. She's secretary of one of them, and her address showed up on the roster's mailing list. A really stupid thing for them to post online, but lucky for us."
"I'll say."
The book Joe had left open on the table caught Brent's eye. "Hey, I didn't know you were featured in a book."
"'Modern American Woodcarving.' Kind of cool, isn't it?"
"I'll say." He examined the picture Joe had been looking at. "She's been your muse, hasn't she?"
Joe gazed at the wooden angel with Elise's luscious, doe-like eyes and pouting lips. "I guess you could say that."
"You think she ever minded?"
"Why would she?"
Brent shrugged. "I would think it would get old, always being a goddess and never being a real person."
Joe closed the book and put it back on the shelf. "Don't be stupid. What woman doesn't want to be a goddess?"
"Maybe someone like Elise?"
Joe glared at him silently, then reached in his pocket for his keys. "We've got a long drive, and I don't want to be trying to find this place in the dark. Plus, I need to make a quick stop along the way."
* * *
The quick stop turned out to be at the cathedral. "What are we doing here?" Brent said. "There's no one here who can help us."
"Maybe, maybe not." Joe killed the engine and put a hand on the door handle. "You coming?"
"No, I'll wait out here and try to call Selene."
"Good idea. I won't be long."
The church was empty and nearly dark except for a few dim lights and votives. Joe dipped his fingers in the holy water, crossed himself and stepped into the Virgin's chapel. He fumbled for an unused votive, lit it and placed it with the others. Then he knelt in silence for several minutes. Finally, after a quick look around to make sure he was unwatched, he slipped off his gold wedding band and pinned it to a fold of the Virgin's skirt. When he stood to leave he noticed Brent framed in chapel doorway.
"Couldn't wait outside, could you?" he muttered, brushing past him into the vestibule.
"I just wondered what was taking so long."
"You should learn to mind your own business once in awhile."
Brent followed him to the heavy double doors in silence. Once they were in the truck, though, he said, "I really didn't mean to pry."
Joe shrugged and started the engine.
"We've been to a lot dumber places for help," Brent went on. "Anything's worth a try at this point."
"That's what I figured."
"If it works, maybe I'll convert."
"She doesn't need you to be a Catholic," Joe said. "She just needs you to believe."
Brent considered. "I guess you could say a lot of women are like that."
"Maybe so."
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Joe paused under the canopy outside the club. "When did the weatherman say we were going to get rain? I thought it was supposed to stay clear."
Brent shoved his hands in his pockets. "It was on weather.com."
"Well that's really helpful to someone without a computer or a smart phone."
Brent shrugged. "Cece had computers and TVs, you know. Several, in fact."
Joe frowned at the rain. "I guess we're just going to get wet." He stepped from under the canopy and Brent followed, his coat pulled over his head.
Once they were inside the truck, Brent looked at his wet shoes in dismay. "I bet they're ruined now. They're Bruno Maglis, too."
"I'm glad to see nothing we've been through has changed your priorities," Joe said. "So how are we going to find this Docet woman?"
"Let's go to the ballet. While we're driving, I'll call information and see if Ursula is listed."
Joe pulled onto the feeder road. "I’m assuming you know how to get there," he said as he entered the freeway. "It's downtown, right?"
Brent nodded. "When we get closer, I'll give you directions."
They drove a long time in silence, once Brent gave up on his attempts to get a phone listing for Ursula Docet. Settling back in his seat, he gave in to the mesmerizing rhythm of the rain beating on the roof and the pumping of the windshield wipers.
Finally Joe muttered, "Damn dirty trick of that girl back there, putting Lamia's drinks on our tab."
"They all do that," Brent said. "It's assumed that if a dancer is at your table, you're buying her drinks."
"Well, I didn't appreciate it. And I wouldn't have had so many if she hadn't kept ordering them."
"Too late now." They were nearing downtown and Brent pointed to the exit up ahead. "Let's get off here. It's not as close, but it will keep us from getting stuck in that traffic up ahead."
Joe pulled off the freeway, turned onto a side street and following it toward the anonymous towers ahead. Under Brent's guidance, he navigated the broad one-way streets of the city's center, dodging office-workers and lumbering city buses that cut him off when they didn't stop directly in front of him to admit or disgorge passengers. "I knew there was a reason I hated driving downtown."
"Park in that garage up ahead," Brent said, ignoring Joe's complaints. "The one two blocks up, on the left.
"Now you tell me." Joe wove through the chaos to get from the far right to the far left lane, darting in front of a red Hyundai just in time to make the garage entrance. He found a vacant parking space then twisted around to look behind the seat. "Are we going to need an umbrella? I have one here somewhere, I think."
"No, if we take the elevator to the basement level, there's a tunnel that we can use to get over to the ballet building. This is all part of the fine arts center." He stepped out of the truck and did a quick assessment of his clothes. Then he examined Joe with the same critical eye. "We're going to have to get into some drier things. We need to look nice."
"What for?"
"Trust me." Brent reached behind his seat for his overnight bag and took out a few things. "See anyone who'll notice if I change my pants?"
"Are you insane? This isn't your bedroom."
"You're right. I'll go in the stairwell." He slung a pair of slacks and fresh sweater over his arm and headed toward the steel exit door. With a glance over his shoulder at Joe, he called, "Pick something dry for yourself. Something that looks professional."
Grumbling, Joe dug in his bag, but the best he could come up with was a pair of dry jeans and a sweater. He followed Brent to the stairwell, meeting him as he was coming out. "Is that the best you've got?" Brent asked.
"Yes, it is," Joe said irritably. "Unlike you, I didn't take any of that stuff from Cece's."
Brent frowned. "Well, I guess it will have to do."
"Have to do for what?"
"Just get dressed. I'll tell you the plan in the elevator."
A few minutes later they were riding the elevator into the depths of the building. Joe fidgeted in one of Brent's cashmere sweaters and asked, "So what's all this about?"
Brent was focused on something in his wallet and didn't look up.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting a few business cards on top so I can get to them quickly. When we get there, let me do the talking. I'm going to make like I'm doing a little cold-calling, seeing if they'd like me to handle their advertising."
"Aren't you a little high up the food chain to be doing your own cold-calling?"
Brent smiled. "I'll wing it. I can be very convincing."
"No argument there." Joe examined the cuffs of his sweater. "So who am I?"
Brent considered. "I think you'll be my photographer. You know enough about art and lighting to be believable."
"Just so long as I don't have to take any actual pictures."
The elevator doors slid open on a dim winding tunnel that meandered into the murky distance under the dim blue lighting. They followed its twists and turns for several minutes, the bare concrete walls occasionally relieved by framed ballet and theater posters whose bright colors nevertheless managed to look sad and drained of energy in the claustrophobic tunnel.
"How far is it?" Joe finally asked. "I'm starting to feel a little hemmed in, here."
"We're almost there. These tunnels go on for miles, though. You can get lost if you don't know what you're doing." A few moments later, they found themselves at a glass double door with the words "St. Argent Ballet" neatly calligraphed on the glass. "Just remember to keep quiet. And try to look artistic." Brent opened the door and they went inside.
They found themselves in a small lobby decorated in soothing tones of gray and blue. No one was immediately in sight, and Brent took the opportunity to pick up a schedule of performances lying on a small table. He scanned it briefly, taking note of the dates. Finding a few programs on the table as well, he flipped through one, memorizing the names of a few directors and principals. Suddenly a woman burst into the room, brisk and athletic in leotard, baggy pants and a windbreaker. Brent ran after her. "Excuse me, ma'am, could you direct me to the business office?"
"Down the hall, third door on the left," she said as she brushed past him and hurried out the door.
"Nice lady," Joe remarked.
Brent was unconcerned and headed down the hall, Joe following close behind. When he got to the office he was looking for, he paused to compose himself then pulled out a business card and strode confidently up to the reception desk. "Good afternoon." He handed his card to the young woman at the desk. "My name's Brent Conner, and this is one of my associates, Joe Gonzales."
Joe offered a polite nod of agreement.
"I was wondering if I could see Claire Fournier."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Uh, no. I saw the performance of Giselle last night and was very impressed. As you see from my card, I'm in marketing, and I think I can help get the word out about what a great collection of talent you have." He leaned forward. "I have a client with a small area magazine he's putting together, and maybe we could collaborate with him-- get him to run a story about the work you're doing here." He pulled out another business card from his wallet. "So is Ms. Fournier available this afternoon? I don't need much of her time. I just want to introduce myself and see if she'd interested in setting up a formal appointment for a later date."
The receptionist reached for the phone. "I'll see if she's available," she said. "Have a seat while I page her office."
Brent shoved his hands in his pockets. "It was on weather.com."
"Well that's really helpful to someone without a computer or a smart phone."
Brent shrugged. "Cece had computers and TVs, you know. Several, in fact."
Joe frowned at the rain. "I guess we're just going to get wet." He stepped from under the canopy and Brent followed, his coat pulled over his head.
Once they were inside the truck, Brent looked at his wet shoes in dismay. "I bet they're ruined now. They're Bruno Maglis, too."
"I'm glad to see nothing we've been through has changed your priorities," Joe said. "So how are we going to find this Docet woman?"
"Let's go to the ballet. While we're driving, I'll call information and see if Ursula is listed."
Joe pulled onto the feeder road. "I’m assuming you know how to get there," he said as he entered the freeway. "It's downtown, right?"
Brent nodded. "When we get closer, I'll give you directions."
They drove a long time in silence, once Brent gave up on his attempts to get a phone listing for Ursula Docet. Settling back in his seat, he gave in to the mesmerizing rhythm of the rain beating on the roof and the pumping of the windshield wipers.
Finally Joe muttered, "Damn dirty trick of that girl back there, putting Lamia's drinks on our tab."
"They all do that," Brent said. "It's assumed that if a dancer is at your table, you're buying her drinks."
"Well, I didn't appreciate it. And I wouldn't have had so many if she hadn't kept ordering them."
"Too late now." They were nearing downtown and Brent pointed to the exit up ahead. "Let's get off here. It's not as close, but it will keep us from getting stuck in that traffic up ahead."
Joe pulled off the freeway, turned onto a side street and following it toward the anonymous towers ahead. Under Brent's guidance, he navigated the broad one-way streets of the city's center, dodging office-workers and lumbering city buses that cut him off when they didn't stop directly in front of him to admit or disgorge passengers. "I knew there was a reason I hated driving downtown."
"Park in that garage up ahead," Brent said, ignoring Joe's complaints. "The one two blocks up, on the left.
"Now you tell me." Joe wove through the chaos to get from the far right to the far left lane, darting in front of a red Hyundai just in time to make the garage entrance. He found a vacant parking space then twisted around to look behind the seat. "Are we going to need an umbrella? I have one here somewhere, I think."
"No, if we take the elevator to the basement level, there's a tunnel that we can use to get over to the ballet building. This is all part of the fine arts center." He stepped out of the truck and did a quick assessment of his clothes. Then he examined Joe with the same critical eye. "We're going to have to get into some drier things. We need to look nice."
"What for?"
"Trust me." Brent reached behind his seat for his overnight bag and took out a few things. "See anyone who'll notice if I change my pants?"
"Are you insane? This isn't your bedroom."
"You're right. I'll go in the stairwell." He slung a pair of slacks and fresh sweater over his arm and headed toward the steel exit door. With a glance over his shoulder at Joe, he called, "Pick something dry for yourself. Something that looks professional."
Grumbling, Joe dug in his bag, but the best he could come up with was a pair of dry jeans and a sweater. He followed Brent to the stairwell, meeting him as he was coming out. "Is that the best you've got?" Brent asked.
"Yes, it is," Joe said irritably. "Unlike you, I didn't take any of that stuff from Cece's."
Brent frowned. "Well, I guess it will have to do."
"Have to do for what?"
"Just get dressed. I'll tell you the plan in the elevator."
A few minutes later they were riding the elevator into the depths of the building. Joe fidgeted in one of Brent's cashmere sweaters and asked, "So what's all this about?"
Brent was focused on something in his wallet and didn't look up.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting a few business cards on top so I can get to them quickly. When we get there, let me do the talking. I'm going to make like I'm doing a little cold-calling, seeing if they'd like me to handle their advertising."
"Aren't you a little high up the food chain to be doing your own cold-calling?"
Brent smiled. "I'll wing it. I can be very convincing."
"No argument there." Joe examined the cuffs of his sweater. "So who am I?"
Brent considered. "I think you'll be my photographer. You know enough about art and lighting to be believable."
"Just so long as I don't have to take any actual pictures."
The elevator doors slid open on a dim winding tunnel that meandered into the murky distance under the dim blue lighting. They followed its twists and turns for several minutes, the bare concrete walls occasionally relieved by framed ballet and theater posters whose bright colors nevertheless managed to look sad and drained of energy in the claustrophobic tunnel.
"How far is it?" Joe finally asked. "I'm starting to feel a little hemmed in, here."
"We're almost there. These tunnels go on for miles, though. You can get lost if you don't know what you're doing." A few moments later, they found themselves at a glass double door with the words "St. Argent Ballet" neatly calligraphed on the glass. "Just remember to keep quiet. And try to look artistic." Brent opened the door and they went inside.
They found themselves in a small lobby decorated in soothing tones of gray and blue. No one was immediately in sight, and Brent took the opportunity to pick up a schedule of performances lying on a small table. He scanned it briefly, taking note of the dates. Finding a few programs on the table as well, he flipped through one, memorizing the names of a few directors and principals. Suddenly a woman burst into the room, brisk and athletic in leotard, baggy pants and a windbreaker. Brent ran after her. "Excuse me, ma'am, could you direct me to the business office?"
"Down the hall, third door on the left," she said as she brushed past him and hurried out the door.
"Nice lady," Joe remarked.
Brent was unconcerned and headed down the hall, Joe following close behind. When he got to the office he was looking for, he paused to compose himself then pulled out a business card and strode confidently up to the reception desk. "Good afternoon." He handed his card to the young woman at the desk. "My name's Brent Conner, and this is one of my associates, Joe Gonzales."
Joe offered a polite nod of agreement.
"I was wondering if I could see Claire Fournier."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Uh, no. I saw the performance of Giselle last night and was very impressed. As you see from my card, I'm in marketing, and I think I can help get the word out about what a great collection of talent you have." He leaned forward. "I have a client with a small area magazine he's putting together, and maybe we could collaborate with him-- get him to run a story about the work you're doing here." He pulled out another business card from his wallet. "So is Ms. Fournier available this afternoon? I don't need much of her time. I just want to introduce myself and see if she'd interested in setting up a formal appointment for a later date."
The receptionist reached for the phone. "I'll see if she's available," she said. "Have a seat while I page her office."
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Joe stretched his feet out under the table and looked Veronica steadily in the eye. “Okay, so you think we’re fools. That’s fine. Just tell us where Elise went and we’ll leave you alone.”
“I told you I have pretty strong feelings about that. She doesn’t want you, she doesn’t need you...if I knew anything, why would I betray her confidence?”
“The fact that we love her makes no difference to you?” Brent demanded, leaning forward so suddenly he startled her. “Don’t tell me you’ve worked in places like this so long you don’t have any faith in love.”
Veronica leaned forward too, displaying a mound of surgically enhanced cleavage. “What makes you think I don’t love Elise myself?”
Brent’s mouth fell open as if this was a possibility he had never considered.
Joe recovered more quickly. “She obviously doesn't love you, or she'd still be at your place. If she doesn’t want you any more than she wants us, why not tell us where she went? We’ll let you go back to whatever you were doing, and that will be the end of it.”
Veronica idly twirled a lock of hair while pretending to consider this. “I thought there was something you were going to give me if I talked. You don’t think I’d betray a friend for nothing, do you?”
“I can pay you the same way I paid to get you to this table.”
“How much?”
“I’ve got two more.”
Veronica frowned into her drink. “The last thing I want is for Elise to hate me. I lost track of her for years. We used to be roommates, danced together, hung out together. We dated some of the same guys back when I still dated guys. And even though she stayed straight and I didn't, I kept hoping one of those jerks would be the last and she'd see who her real friends were. When she started acting like she wanted to settle down, I thought I didn’t stand a chance. Then all of a sudden she looks me up and needs a favor—a place to stay and for me to keep my mouth shut. Two simple things. It just doesn’t seem right to tattle over a little blow.”
“What else do you want?” Brent asked.
“What makes you so sure my information has a price?”
“All information has a price.”
“Not necessarily,” Veronica said, finishing her drink and indicating to the waitress that they wanted another round. “Just because I work in a place like this doesn’t mean I don’t have standards.”
“No one said you didn’t,” Joe told her. “But you’re not ratting on Elise. She’s scared and needs our help.”
Veronica shook her head. “She may be scared, but if you think she needs help from you, you don’t know her very well. Besides, you can't keep pace with her. She’s probably not even in the country any more. You guys are wasting your time.”
Joe pushed his empty beer bottle aside. “Where is she going?”
“She told me she didn’t feel safe here. She was worried you’d find her, even after she changed her name and bleached her hair.”
“She colored her hair, too?” Brent asked.
“You didn’t know? She makes a delicious blonde.”
“Fine, whatever,” Joe said. “So where was she talking about going? Did she already have her plane tickets? What about a visa?”
"I don't know. She got a passport from that guy she bought her new name from, but I got the feeling that it made her a little nervous. I think if she goes through with her plan to leave the country, she may do it under her own name."
"Where was she thinking about going? And how was she going to get there?"
"I really don't know," Veronica admitted. "She said something about wanting to catch a flight to the Virgin Islands or someplace like that, and then go from there to some larger country where it's not too hard to get a work permit. I told her that was stupid and she should catch one of those Mexican express buses to Veracruz and relocate from there under her phony name. There's lots of shady characters in Mexico who could help her out, and their prices are cheaper than dirt."
"So what did she decide?"
"I said I don't know." Veronica looked around for the waitress. "Where's that other round I ordered?"
"You sure you should be drinking so much?" Brent asked, toying with a napkin from under his empty martini glass.
"Who are you, my mother? At least I'm not driving."
Brent opened his mouth to say something, but Joe flashed him a silencing look, and at that moment the waitress arrived with a tray full of drinks. "It's about time," Veronica told her. "What took you so long?"
The waitress ignored Veronica's nagging and began setting drinks in front of them. "Some of your other customers are wondering when you're going to go see them."
Veronica craned her neck and a group of men in electrician's uniforms waved at her. She turned back to Joe. "If we're going to do business, we need to cut the bullshit and get down to it. I've got some regulars waiting to see me, and they're my bread and butter."
Joe reached for his fresh beer. "I'm just waiting on you. I made you an offer: two more of what I gave you earlier if you tell me who Elise was going to see after she left you."
"Is that the best you can do?"
"It's a pretty good offer, I think," Joe said. "What else do you want?"
Veronica considered. "How about the phone number of the person you got this stuff from? That's better shit than what my contact I have now is getting me."
"We got it from Sylvia Lobo," Brent said. "You remember her."
Veronica smiled. "I sure as hell remember Sylvia. Man, I haven't talked to her in forever. I had no idea she was still in the business." She drained half her Jack and coke, then darted a look at her table of electricians and indicated she would only be a minute more. "How can I get in touch with her?"
Brent had pulled out his wallet by this point and was copying the phone number onto a cocktail napkin from the blue post-it they had found in Elise's office a few days before. "Don't mention us, okay?"
Veronica folded the napkin and slipped it into a pocket of her jacket. Then she turned to Joe. "Well?"
Joe searched his jacket pockets, removed a few pieces of paper, then took the jacket off and slipped it around her shoulders. "Left inside pocket."
Veronica fumbled a bit, then shrugged off Joe's jacket and handed it back. "Ursula Docet."
"What?"
"Ursula Docet. That's who Elise went to stay with. She's one of the women from the ballet. We did a lot of our training with her."
"Do you have a phone number or an address for her?" Joe asked.
"Sorry."
"Is she still with the ballet?"
"I have no idea."
"That's okay," Brent said. "If she's not at the ballet, there will be some kind of record at the academy or on the internet. Ballet is pretty incestuous. We ought to be able to track her down."
"Well that's good," Joe said. "Otherwise that would've been a pretty high price just for a name."
Veronica drained the last of her drink and got to her feet, "That's all you asked for, remember?" She tossed her heavy hair over her shoulder and straightened her jacket. "Just remember, if you find her, you didn't get anything out of me."
"Of course not."
"You won't find her, though."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
“I told you I have pretty strong feelings about that. She doesn’t want you, she doesn’t need you...if I knew anything, why would I betray her confidence?”
“The fact that we love her makes no difference to you?” Brent demanded, leaning forward so suddenly he startled her. “Don’t tell me you’ve worked in places like this so long you don’t have any faith in love.”
Veronica leaned forward too, displaying a mound of surgically enhanced cleavage. “What makes you think I don’t love Elise myself?”
Brent’s mouth fell open as if this was a possibility he had never considered.
Joe recovered more quickly. “She obviously doesn't love you, or she'd still be at your place. If she doesn’t want you any more than she wants us, why not tell us where she went? We’ll let you go back to whatever you were doing, and that will be the end of it.”
Veronica idly twirled a lock of hair while pretending to consider this. “I thought there was something you were going to give me if I talked. You don’t think I’d betray a friend for nothing, do you?”
“I can pay you the same way I paid to get you to this table.”
“How much?”
“I’ve got two more.”
Veronica frowned into her drink. “The last thing I want is for Elise to hate me. I lost track of her for years. We used to be roommates, danced together, hung out together. We dated some of the same guys back when I still dated guys. And even though she stayed straight and I didn't, I kept hoping one of those jerks would be the last and she'd see who her real friends were. When she started acting like she wanted to settle down, I thought I didn’t stand a chance. Then all of a sudden she looks me up and needs a favor—a place to stay and for me to keep my mouth shut. Two simple things. It just doesn’t seem right to tattle over a little blow.”
“What else do you want?” Brent asked.
“What makes you so sure my information has a price?”
“All information has a price.”
“Not necessarily,” Veronica said, finishing her drink and indicating to the waitress that they wanted another round. “Just because I work in a place like this doesn’t mean I don’t have standards.”
“No one said you didn’t,” Joe told her. “But you’re not ratting on Elise. She’s scared and needs our help.”
Veronica shook her head. “She may be scared, but if you think she needs help from you, you don’t know her very well. Besides, you can't keep pace with her. She’s probably not even in the country any more. You guys are wasting your time.”
Joe pushed his empty beer bottle aside. “Where is she going?”
“She told me she didn’t feel safe here. She was worried you’d find her, even after she changed her name and bleached her hair.”
“She colored her hair, too?” Brent asked.
“You didn’t know? She makes a delicious blonde.”
“Fine, whatever,” Joe said. “So where was she talking about going? Did she already have her plane tickets? What about a visa?”
"I don't know. She got a passport from that guy she bought her new name from, but I got the feeling that it made her a little nervous. I think if she goes through with her plan to leave the country, she may do it under her own name."
"Where was she thinking about going? And how was she going to get there?"
"I really don't know," Veronica admitted. "She said something about wanting to catch a flight to the Virgin Islands or someplace like that, and then go from there to some larger country where it's not too hard to get a work permit. I told her that was stupid and she should catch one of those Mexican express buses to Veracruz and relocate from there under her phony name. There's lots of shady characters in Mexico who could help her out, and their prices are cheaper than dirt."
"So what did she decide?"
"I said I don't know." Veronica looked around for the waitress. "Where's that other round I ordered?"
"You sure you should be drinking so much?" Brent asked, toying with a napkin from under his empty martini glass.
"Who are you, my mother? At least I'm not driving."
Brent opened his mouth to say something, but Joe flashed him a silencing look, and at that moment the waitress arrived with a tray full of drinks. "It's about time," Veronica told her. "What took you so long?"
The waitress ignored Veronica's nagging and began setting drinks in front of them. "Some of your other customers are wondering when you're going to go see them."
Veronica craned her neck and a group of men in electrician's uniforms waved at her. She turned back to Joe. "If we're going to do business, we need to cut the bullshit and get down to it. I've got some regulars waiting to see me, and they're my bread and butter."
Joe reached for his fresh beer. "I'm just waiting on you. I made you an offer: two more of what I gave you earlier if you tell me who Elise was going to see after she left you."
"Is that the best you can do?"
"It's a pretty good offer, I think," Joe said. "What else do you want?"
Veronica considered. "How about the phone number of the person you got this stuff from? That's better shit than what my contact I have now is getting me."
"We got it from Sylvia Lobo," Brent said. "You remember her."
Veronica smiled. "I sure as hell remember Sylvia. Man, I haven't talked to her in forever. I had no idea she was still in the business." She drained half her Jack and coke, then darted a look at her table of electricians and indicated she would only be a minute more. "How can I get in touch with her?"
Brent had pulled out his wallet by this point and was copying the phone number onto a cocktail napkin from the blue post-it they had found in Elise's office a few days before. "Don't mention us, okay?"
Veronica folded the napkin and slipped it into a pocket of her jacket. Then she turned to Joe. "Well?"
Joe searched his jacket pockets, removed a few pieces of paper, then took the jacket off and slipped it around her shoulders. "Left inside pocket."
Veronica fumbled a bit, then shrugged off Joe's jacket and handed it back. "Ursula Docet."
"What?"
"Ursula Docet. That's who Elise went to stay with. She's one of the women from the ballet. We did a lot of our training with her."
"Do you have a phone number or an address for her?" Joe asked.
"Sorry."
"Is she still with the ballet?"
"I have no idea."
"That's okay," Brent said. "If she's not at the ballet, there will be some kind of record at the academy or on the internet. Ballet is pretty incestuous. We ought to be able to track her down."
"Well that's good," Joe said. "Otherwise that would've been a pretty high price just for a name."
Veronica drained the last of her drink and got to her feet, "That's all you asked for, remember?" She tossed her heavy hair over her shoulder and straightened her jacket. "Just remember, if you find her, you didn't get anything out of me."
"Of course not."
"You won't find her, though."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
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.”
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.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)