Sofia braced herself. Van was usually fine with his greetings. But with Violet she was never sure if she was going to get a hug or whether her niece would try out her latest fighting move. Male relatives usually crossed their legs or put a hand over their crotch when Violet ran to greet them. One of her most famous moves was dubbed the Nutcracker. Aidan probably still had nightmares about it.
After she’d been almost squeezed to death by Van and Violet, she gave Ray a hug. Sofia loved Ray. He was a good guy, unflappable, grounded, and with a seemingly endless supply of patience. He had his own plumbing business, which did pretty well. People always needed plumbers.
“Hey, Sofia, I hope you’re going to keep these two in check tonight,” he said. “I know what you girls are like when you’re out on your own.”
Sofia wasn’t sure he did. Then it hit her. He’d been looking at Emily and their mom.
“Two?”
“I wasn’t going to let my two little girls walk into that nest of vipers alone, was I?” said Janet, raising a glass of wine. “But you’ll have to drive.”
“There’s gonna be vipers?” Violet asked, wide-eyed. Her obsession with fighting extended to animals, the deadlier the better.
“It’s a figure of speech,” Emily told Violet. “There won’t be any poisonous snakes there.”
Violet looked disappointed. “Boo! No vipers!” she shouted.
“Yeah, boo!” Van joined in.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine on our own,” said Sofia. It was bad enough going to this thing with her sister. Watching semi-naked men gyrate with her mom sitting next to her? Eww.
Emily gave Sofia an apologetic shrug. This clearly wasn’t her idea either. “I mentioned it when I called to see if she could babysit,” she whispered. “I couldn’t exactly say no when she wanted to tag along.”
Janet overheard them. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to pull a Marcie.”
“What’s that?” asked Van.
“Yeah, who’s Marcie, and what did she pull?” Violet chimed in.
“Okay, go brush your teeth, you two,” said Emily. “Then you can say goodnight to Aunt Sofia and Grandma.”
The two kids trooped off, escorted by Ray. Emily disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. She came back with a bottle of white wine, and a glass, topped off their mom’s, and poured one for herself.
When Sofia gave her a look, Emily said, “You know how many girls’ nights out I’ve had this year? None. If we’re going to see a strip show, I’m not doing it sober.”
They hadn’t even left Emily’s and things were already descending into chaos, thought Sofia. It was supposed to be an intelligence-gathering mission, not a girls’ night out.
Emily raised her glass. She and their mom clinked.
“Hey, thanks for driving,” said Emily.
“And for inviting us,” said her mom.
“Try to remember we’re there to get some information, not just have a good time.” Sofia felt like the only adult in the room.
“I’m sure we can do both, darling,” said Janet. “Now, shall we hit the road? We don’t want to miss the start of the show.”
14
Sofia’s Tesla would be cramped with three of them, so they decided to take Emily’s mini-van. Nothing said “girls gone wild” like a mini-van. Their mom had also insisted on bringing the bottle of wine, even though Sofia had warned her about the law against open containers of alcohol.
“Oh, stop being such a worrier,” her mom had said. “Anyway, it’s going to be an empty container shortly. No law against that.”
Emily laughed. “See? Aren’t you glad we’re on your team for this? We have some serious problem-solving skills.”
It must have been the lack of a social life that didn’t involve school bake sales or soccer practice because Sofia rarely saw Emily like this. She was positively giddy. Sofia reminded herself that this might be work for her, but she was free to go out and do stuff whenever she wanted. If Emily needed to cut loose, she should respect that.
A sudden rush of wind entered the mini-van. Sofia glanced back to see Emily hanging out of the back window. She was waving the wine bottle at traffic. “Woo-hoo! Spring break!” She ducked back in. “Sorry, I’ve always wanted to do that,” she said, bashful.
Sofia hit the button to close the window. Then she hit the button next to it that activated the child locks. She was starting to realize why designated drivers looked so miserable. It wasn’t because they weren’t drinking. It was because everyone else was.
In the back seat, Janet was busy leafing through a Beef Cake Boyz program. “I quite like him,” she said, jabbing a finger.
“Let me see,” said Emily.
“Can we all remember that we’re going to this because one of these guys is threatening to ruin Marcie’s marriage if she doesn’t give him fifty thousand bucks?”
“I know that. I was the one who called you, remember?” her mom scolded. “You can still admire the paintwork, even if you don’t want to take the car for a spin.”
“Here, let me see that,” said Emily, snatching the program. “Holy guacamole. There’s a guy in a kilt!”
Sofia didn’t remember him. “Let me see that.”
“No, you’re driving,” said Emily, clutching the program like her life depended on it. “He’s called Highlander.”
“You know real Scotsmen don’t wear anything under their kilt, right?” her mom chimed in.
Sofia glanced in the rearview mirror. Emily was studying the picture.
“It says here he’s from Pasadena.”
“Guess there’s only one way to find out if he’s a real Scotsman then,” said her mom.
“Hey, what seats have we got? Are we near the front?” Emily asked.
Thankfully, they weren’t. They were all the way in the back. It had been a last-minute booking so those were the only seats available. Sofia broke the bad news.
“I’m sure we can work our way up there,” said her mom.
“Damn, kilts are hot,” said Emily, squinting harder at the picture. “What’s that pouch thing?”
“It’s called a sporran,” Janet answered. “It’s probably made of fur. I wonder if we’ll get to pet it?”
If she hadn’t been driving, Sofia would have closed her eyes and hoped that when she opened them again this was all a bad dream. As she took the exit for Hollywood Boulevard, she made a mental note to try to avoid involving her family in any future investigations.
15
Most people who had never visited Los Angeles thought the Hollywood area would be all glitz and glamor. Five minutes in the area usually set them straight. Although the Hollywood Hills had their share of beautiful homes and entertainment people, and West Hollywood with its large gay population was very pleasant, a lot of Hollywood itself was what realtors liked to describe as ‘funky’ or ‘bohemian’. In other words, run-down and seedy, with lots of crime.
Sofia parked the mini-van on the street in the best-lit area she could find and hoped it would still be there when they got back. She watched as her mom and Emily tumbled out. Oh, boy, here we go, she thought, as they fell in behind her on the sidewalk. According to Google Maps the venue was two blocks away.
“This area seems kind of sketchy,” said Emily.
“It is,” said Sofia, wishing she’d taken Jaxon up on his offer.
The surroundings seem to have sobered her family up. No bad thing, as far as Sofia was concerned.
A homeless lady pushing a shopping cart down the middle of the street asked them for some money. Sofia dug out ten bucks from the pocket of her jeans and gave it to her. She usually gave money to homeless people. She had two reasons. One was moral, the other practical. She wasn’t all that religious but she did believe in the saying that ‘There but for the grace of God, go I.’ Also, being on the street all the time, homeless people were often excellent sources of information. They noticed stuff that regular people didn’t. They had to, if they wanted to stay safe. So, maybe t
his one would remember the money and answer a question someday.
The lady thanked her and moved on with her cart. Sofia and her entourage turned a corner and kept walking. A few minutes later they were outside the front of the theater. ‘The Beef Cake Boyz’ was in big red letters on the marquee.
Who said Hollywood didn’t make dreams come true?
A line of women snaked along outside the entrance. As they joined the end, Sofia realized her mom and Emily would blend in with this crowd way better than her. Pretty much everyone was in groups of at least three or four. They were all drunk. And they were all pretty loud.
The entrance was guarded by two huge, slightly nervous-looking bouncers. They stood in front of the doors, arms folded, as several women near the front of the line shouted lewd questions and suggestions at them.
“Are you guys the warm-up act?” and “Show me what you got there, hot stuff,” were about as tame as the comments got.
The bouncers shuffled their feet and studied the sidewalk. It was hard to look intimidating when you were being asked if that was a torch in your pocket or you were just pleased to see someone. Especially if the person asking it was the same age as your mom. Sofia felt sorry for them.
Sofia’s mom linked arms with her and Emily. “This is fun. Just me and my two girls. Like old times.”
As far as old times went, Sofia didn’t remember any trips to see male strippers. Thankfully. A whoop went up from the front of the line as the doors opened. The bouncers were almost swept aside in the crush as people jockeyed for position. The line moved forward.
“Sofia, will you at least try to look like you want to be here?” said her mom. You’re undercover!”
Janet was right. Sofia plastered on a smile as they moved toward the entrance. More people had crowded in behind them. The line surged forward.
A minute later they were standing in the lobby of a theater that looked like it should have been condemned by the Department of Public Health. Paint was peeling off the walls. It smelled of damp. A huge patch of green-gray mold on one wall was partially covered by a Beef Cake Boyz poster.
Ahead of them a concession stand sold sodas, ice cream, and popcorn. There was even a grill with a couple of sad-looking hot dogs. Who in their right mind would actually eat food bought here, never mind hot dogs? The answer was a middle-aged lady with long purple hair extensions who had crammed herself into a tube top and mini-skirt.
Sofia felt queasy. Next to the concessions, two tables had been set up to sell T-shirts, posters, key fobs, and other themed Beef Cake Boyz stuff. There was also merchandise for each dancer, with T-shirts featuring pictures of Python, Jumbo, Anaconda, and Highlander. Both tables were doing brisk trade.
Wandering over, Sofia hung out at the side of one of the tables. A short guy with a comb-over and a goatee beard, a combination that made him look like his head was on upside down, stood there with a pocket calculator and a clipboard, adding up the sales.
If she’d had to guess, Sofia would have said he was something to do with the Beef Cake Boyz’s management. Merchandise, or merch as it was known in the business, was a lucrative stream of income for live acts. Sometimes the money was split between the venue and the act. It would be the job of the act’s management to make sure they got their cut and that the vendors or the venue didn’t pocket anything. Especially when cash was involved.
The guy with the upside-down head was so busy watching sales that at first he didn’t notice Sofia hanging out, not buying anything. Finally, though, he whipped round. “If you’re not purchasing anything then move away, please, lady,” he said, with an east-coast accent Sofia placed somewhere around New Jersey.
Yeah, he was definitely some kind of manager. Sofia had met enough of them when she was still in the business to recognize the tone they used with civilians―civilians being anyone they thought wasn’t in the business.
Sofia decided to stall. “Are those for sale?”
She pointed down at a large brown cardboard box with shirts spilling out of it that had ‘HORSE’ written in black marker pen on the side.
“No, they ain’t.” He turned away from Sofia and barked at one of the women behind the table. “Hey, why the hell do we still have Horse merch back here? He’s been gone three months. Come on, can we do anything right this week, people? You’re killing me here.”
A fifth member who was no longer with them? He might have some stories. Sofia noted the stage name and moved back to her mom and Emily.
“Shall we go take our seats?” Emily suggested.
They headed for the doors leading into the theater. Sofia pulled the tickets from her bag, and handed them over to the checker.
“Remember, cell phones and any other devices off for the performance, ladies,” said the man. “Anyone found recording will have it erased and be asked to leave with no refund.”
Good luck with that, thought Sofia. On many devices, anything recorded was immediately uploaded to a virtual cloud. Sofia knew this because Aidan fancied himself a tech wizard and was always dropping these nuggets of info on her and anyone else within earshot.
It was a shame the ‘no recording rule didn’t apply to the guys on stage, or backstage, for that matter. Then Sofia wouldn’t be about to sit down in this smelly theater on a seat that looked like it needed a deep clean, or maybe just incineration.
Around them, more and more women were filtering in and taking their seats, ready for the show to begin. A couple were really drunk, stumbling over people to get to their seats, or standing and blocking others’ view of the stage. For once, Sofia wished the standers had been directly in front of them. She usually loved the theater and would sit through pretty much anything. This wasn’t one of those times.
Mom and Emily, aided by the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc they’d chugged down on the way there, seemed to be in tune with the audience vibe. Rap music was playing and both of them were out of their seats, dancing. Well, Sofia reasoned, they were moms. Moms needed to cut loose sometimes.
Finally, as the last few stragglers crowded in, the music cut out. The house lights went down. The whooping, hollering and cat-calling started. A bunch of tourists with accents that sounded to Sofia like Eliza Doolittle before Henry Higgins had taken her under his wing started chanting.
“Get it out!”
“Get it out!”
“Get it out for the girls!”
The rest of the crowd took up the chant. Mortified, Sofia realized her mom and Emily were joining in. Emily caught her eye and stopped. “Sorry,” she said.
Sofia couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for the guys standing in the wings. It sounded like the Roman Colosseum just before the Christians were thrown to the lions. Probably worse. No one was chanting at the Christians or even the gladiators to whip off their loincloths. Maybe. She wasn’t sure what the protocol had been in ancient Rome.
Slowly, the footlights at the front of the stage came up. Different music blasted through the PA system—Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me”.
The noise from the crowd ratcheted up another notch. It was so loud that Sofia clamped her hands over her ears to save her hearing. Her mom and Emily didn’t seem to mind.
The time had arrived.
16
Like true professionals, the Beef Cake Boyz waited for the screaming to reach a crescendo before they made their entrance. It involved the curtain slowly rising and spotlights illuminating each of them in turn as an announcer shouted out their name and generally riled up the already riled crowds.
“The wait is over! It’s time to welcome THEEE BEEEEEEF CAAAAKE BOYZZZZZZ.” His voice rose with every syllable as he drew out the words.
He did the same with their names as he introduced Anaconda, Python, Highlander, and Jumbo, each of them dressed in top hats, black tuxedos with no shirts underneath, and black bow-ties. As their names were read out, they each tugged their bow-tie free and threw it into the crowd. The women in the front row scrambled to get to them, like basebal
l fans trying to catch a fly ball, only way more determined.
The introduction was so cheesy Sofia had to stifle a giggle. Then she reminded herself that cheesy worked with some audiences. Having made a small fortune playing the lead on a show called Half Pint Detective, she was living proof of that.
She glanced at Emily, who also seemed a little underwhelmed. Their mom was still riding a wine buzz and seemed to be enjoying it.
Introductions out of the way, the music switched and the first dance routine started. The music was an upbeat kind of seventies disco number. Sofia found herself dancing along despite herself as, on stage, the four guys stripped off until all that was left were black silk posing pouches.
It was around this point that Sofia realized either their promotional photographs were old or someone had done some serious Photoshop work. In their pictures they were ripped, with low body fat, veiny muscles and eight-pack abs. On stage in front of her? Not so much. They were still muscly but it was the fat muscly look she saw in some of the guys at Jack’s Gym who obviously used steroids and didn’t take care of their diet.
Not that any of this appeared to faze the ladies in the crowd who were all up on their feet, wolf-whistling like construction workers, clapping along to the beat, and generally having an awesome time. Sofia felt like a killjoy. Then she reminded herself why she was here.
The stage lights went off. The music switched again. A few seconds later the four Beef Cake Boyz were back, this time dressed as cops. It was a little Village People, but the audience seemed to love it. Each of the guys walked to the edge of the stage and, along with security, helped an audience member to join them.
The ladies selected were delighted. They waved to their friends. A couple grabbed their designated Beef Cake Boy, pawing at him.
Each of the guys led their particular lady to a bar stool in the middle of the stage and sat them down. The volume of the music was jacked up. Each of the guys stripped off again, helped by their lady.
E is for Exposed (Malibu Mystery Book 5) Page 4