He took a sip of his beer and then turned to me with a grin. “Okay—the doctor’s now in. What can I do you for?”
I watched in metabolic envy as one of the waitresses slipped an extra-large piece of double fudge cake in front of Dr. Bob. A groan escaped my lips as the first bite disappeared into his mouth.
“For chrissakes, Porter. Why don’t you just break down and order yourself a slice?” he suggested.
My attention was fixed on the second forkful of pure chocolate bliss that hovered in midair. “Can’t. I’m on a diet,” I explained, lost in a chocoholic haze.
“Oh, all right. Here—you win,” he said, handing me a second fork.
I dug in.
“You want to explain to me why you can eat my dessert, but can’t order your own?” Dr. Bob interrogated me.
“It’s one of the unwritten laws of the universe. There are fewer calories this way,” I explained between bites.
“That makes a lot of sense,” he retorted, watching his slice of cake disappear. “Vodka and chocolate. You know what that says about you, don’t you?”
“That I can blame my dietary lapse on fermented potatoes, I suppose.” I took the last bite, feeling totally satisfied, and then ordered Dr. Bob his very own second slice. “I need help with a case that’s come up.”
“Animal, vegetable, mineral, or man?” Dr. Bob queried.
I filled him in on the gruesome remains that had once been Alberto Dominguez.
Dr. Bob gave me the once-over from behind his bottle-lens glasses, his finger idly stroking the few hairs on his chin. “Is there some reason you’re not buying the serrated-blade scenario? Perhaps due to a personal dislike of a certain Metro Dade medical examiner?”
I looked at the good doctor with disdain. “Do you really think I would be so petty?” I countered, figuring there was a good chance he might be right.
“Listen, it’s all a moot point, anyway. I can’t barge in there and personally examine the body, so it’s impossible for me to tell whether Cooper’s autopsy conclusion is in any way wrong,” Dr. Bob explained.
I slipped my hand inside my purse and whipped out a brown paper bag, containing the ragged patch of fabric that I’d found near Dominguez’s body.
“I can’t produce a corpse. But I did recover this,” I smugly revealed.
Dr. Bob took a peek inside. “Congratulations, Porter. I see that you managed to get yourself a real memento there.”
“This fabric was wet and slimy when I found it near the body. Is there any way to tell what caused that?” I asked.
“What are you on the lookout for? A slobbering killer?” Dr. Bob joked.
I continued to dangle the bag.
“Besides, why not just hand it over to Metro Dade and let them figure it out? They’re the ones with all the pertinent information,” he said.
“I suspect they might not appreciate my questioning Hal Cooper’s work. Besides, I trust that you’ll do a better job,” I replied, appealing to his sense of vanity. “And I’ll get you a date with that waitress over there if you do this for me.” I indicated the babe who’d delivered his cake.
Dr. Bob looked at me skeptically. “You really believe you can do that?”
“One hundred percent guaranteed.” I’d already caught her giving him the eye; just the whisper that he was a highly regarded doctor would undoubtedly clinch the deal.
Dr. Bob went for the bait, removing the paper bag from my hand. “I have a friend who’s a whiz with DNA analysis,” he said with a grin. “If I were you, I’d get busy setting up that date.”
Eight
The sun was set on late-afternoon mellow as I made my way home, the air temperature akin to a light sauté. I drove up to find that Sophie had been true to her word. Her house, which had been a deep periwinkle blue, was now painted magenta and lime. But it was the sound coming from inside which aroused my curiosity. Instead of two distinct laughs, there were now three—one of which washed over me as powerfully as a fifty-foot wave.
I dashed through the door and into the kitchen, where I found Sophie and Lucinda all dolled up to party in outrageous Carmen Miranda outfits. But it was the tall, slender figure angled away from me that I was interested in. I followed a pair of gorgeous gams, up past the Chinese-red kimono, to a headful of curls as blond and voluminous as one of Dolly Parton’s wigs.
“Oh, my God. Terri?” I whispered, unable to believe it was my best friend from New Orleans.
Terri Tune whirled around and grabbed me in a long overdue hug, as we both screamed in excitement. Then I stepped away to take a good look at my former French Quarter landlord, whose smile created dimples the size of quarters in each cheek.
He shook his curls in dismay. “See? I let you move away and look what happens. Your complexion and makeup get all shot to hell. Now I’m going to have to start again from scratch,” he scolded, a hand gracefully placed on each hip.
I couldn’t say the same for Terri. He looked as if he’d just walked off the cover of Cosmo magazine, except that his baby blues were hidden behind a large pair of Sophie’s sunglasses, replete with dancing dolphins.
Terri turned back to the kitchen counter to put the finishing touches on four highly potent piña coladas, each embellished with a brightly colored paper umbrella.
I looked at him in amazement as he handed me one. “How did you know I’d be home in time for this?”
Terri gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Rach, the day you can’t home in on my piña coladas from fifty miles away is the day I become straight.”
I flashed him a grin.
“All right, already. If you’re gonna fix her up, you can count on giving the two of us a complete overhaul while you’re at it,” Sophie chimed in. She held on to her turban, which was loaded down with fruit, while taking hold of her glass. “Here’s to playing Queen For a Day for the rest of our lives.”
“Sophie honey, I’ve been playing that number for years,” Terri laughingly told her.
Lucinda leaned over and gently gave his cheek a pinch. “Yes, but now you get to play it Cuban style.”
We raised our glasses and gave each one a clink. I took a sip and twirled the paper umbrella, feeling almost as if I were back home in New Orleans.
“Why didn’t you call and let me know that you were coming? I would have picked you up at the airport. Hell, I even would have cleaned up my bungalow for you,” I wailed.
“Save it, bubeleh. We’ve already compared notes,” Sophie informed me.
“That’s right. We found out that you never bothered to defrost your freezer back in New Orleans, either,” Lucinda added with a sly grin.
I was trying to come up with a cast-iron defense when a ball of fur rubbed against my leg. I looked down to find it was Terri’s cat.
“You even brought Rocky?” I asked in amazement. Obviously, something more than a quick visit was afoot. “I’m really glad that you’re here, Terri. But why don’t you let me in on what exactly is going on.”
Terri slowly removed Sophie’s shades to reveal a muy black eye that encompassed every color of the rainbow.
“Oh, my God! What happened to you?” My first guess was that he’d been through another episode of gay bashing. “Was there some sort of riot in town?”
Terri shook his curls. “No skinheads this time, Rach. Just old-fashioned boyfriend trouble.” He sighed. “I have lousy taste in men. You know me—I’m just a sucker when it comes to black leather.”
“It’s not your taste that’s bad, sweetheart.” Sophie gave him a consoling pat. “It’s just the male of the species in general. Lucinda and I gave up men years ago and we feel all the better for it. You’re welcome to join the club anytime.”
Terri sat down and picked up Rocky, who purred in contentment as he curled up in his lap. “I decided this was the perfect time to get out of town for a while: this look isn’t exactly going to have them flocking in to see my act.” He crossed his legs and a cherry-red mule, balancing a fuzzy pom pom the si
ze of a hamster on hormones, dangled off his big toe.
Terri had a running gig in the Quarter as one of the best female impersonators in the business, performing at a nightspot known as the Boy Toy. I’d seen him do a better job portraying Madonna than she did herself.
A screech drew my attention to Bonkers, who was dangling from a brand new avian Evel Knievel jungle gym in a corner of Sophie’s kitchen. The gym touted a climbing rope, a perma-play ring, a hanging pogo stick, a parrot mobile, plus ladders and bells, putting the simple swing I’d bought him to shame. This could only mean one thing: we were in a showdown for the bird’s affection. I caught Sophie’s eye.
She looked at me and shrugged. “It’s the closest thing I’ve got to a grandkid. So, what are you going to do? Sue me if I spoil him?”
Rocky noticed the bird as well but wisely stayed put, as Bonkers dug into a piece of mango that Lucinda hand-fed him.
Terri whirled his finger around the lip of his glass, collecting the excess foam. “Personally, I think it’s time to start shopping around for a good plastic surgeon. What do you say, girls? I hear there are some terrific ones here in Miami. Maybe we can get ourselves a group rate.”
I sat down next to him and gave his arm a squeeze. “Why not? I’ve got a few things that could use touching up.”
Lucinda leaned over and slid the sunglasses down Terri’s nose, closely examining his eye. “Before we all resort to plastic surgery, I think I’m going to teach you how to fight.” She clucked her tongue. “I hope you at least gave that guy a good shot in the cojones.”
Terri sipped at his drink. “Actually, Bruno knocked me out cold. He’s one of those men who take breakups rather badly.” His finger wandered up to touch the swollen skin. “That’s why I’ve decided to try celibacy for a while. I was going to check into a convent, but I look lousy in black. So instead I decided to come and visit you, Rach.” He added his paper umbrella to my drink.
I looked at Terri sitting there with his perfectly shaved legs, manicured nails, and golden blond curls, and was grateful that he wasn’t a girl. The competition would have been impossible.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” I just wished I had something better for guests than my worn-out, secondhand couch.
“We’ve already discussed it, and he’ll be bunking here in our spare room,” Sophie stated.
I wasn’t all that crazy about the idea. It was one thing to have Sophie vying for Bonkers’s attention—but Terri was my closest friend, and I found myself feeling the tiniest bit possessive.
“It’s okay, Rach, I’ll be right next door. Besides, you’ll be off at work all day—so we’ll have fun after you get home at night.”
He was right. “Sophie, Lucinda, he’s all yours,” I agreed with a smile.
“Good; that’s settled,” Sophie rasped. “You two go catch up on old times. Lucinda and I are going to the Warsaw Ballroom tonight.”
Both women wore floor-length, red and black, form-fitting gowns, so that they resembled a cross between oversized ladybugs and psychotic flamenco dancers. Each dress had a wide cummerbund. While Lucinda’s sash emphasized the shapeliness of her hips, Sophie resembled a tiny cigar whose band had fallen partially down.
A split surrounded by an explosion of ruffles ran up the middle of each skirt to their thighs. But the finishing touches were the real whoppers: They not only balanced enormous baskets of fruit on their heads, but had their feet strapped into mile-high platform shoes.
I couldn’t have dreamed up a better way of growing old. I gave each of them a kiss goodnight, then Terri and I headed out the door.
We followed a group of powder-puff clouds toward Ocean Drive. Though evening was just kicking in, the South Beach carnival scene was already working up a full head of steam. We stopped in at a café for a drink, settling into ringside seats to watch the endless parade go by.
Terri sighed contentedly as an oversized mai tai appeared before him. “This is perfect, Rach. Just what the doctor ordered.”
Two bleached-blond beach boys sporting golden tans strolled past, followed by surfer dudes, a bodybuilder, and a Gucci-attired senior citizen with the skin of a lizard.
Terri followed the procession with his eyes. “I could definitely get used to this.”
The sun began to set, launching the nightly meat market into gear with its array of young model wanna-bes. Their bodies squeezed into vivid spandex dresses, each looked beautiful and bored as they trolled the chi-chi strip, their radar fine-tuned to catch Miami Vice clones wafting the distinctive bouquet of freshly laundered money.
“All right. I’ve told you what’s been going on with me. Now it’s time to catch up on your life.” Terri popped a slice of rum-soaked pineapple into his mouth. “Since I’m living vicariously these days, fill me in on the juicy details. How’s that ragin’ Cajun of yours doing?”
I speared the olive in my martini like Ahab going after Moby-Dick. “I’m afraid that chapter in my life is over. In fact, I plan on joining you in taking celibacy vows,” I dourly noted.
Terri looked at me in surprise. “What are you talking about? The last thing I heard, the two of you were contemplating marriage.”
I flashed him a sidelong glance.
“Or at least Santou was,” he amended.
“What happened was that the man I fell in love with turned into Archie Bunker before my eyes!” I drowned my sorrow in my martini.
“Santou as a homophobic, pot-bellied bigot? You’ve lost me, Rach.”
My drink took on a saltwater kick as tears skidded down my cheeks and plopped into my glass. “His biological clock is ticking faster than mine. Not only does he want to immediately start producing a flock of kids, but he’s looking for a twenty-four-hour maid, cook, and bottle washer as well.”
Terri gave me a quizzical look.
“Jake insisted that I quit my job and devote my energies to being a full-time wife and mother. And I don’t even know if I want kids!”
Terri remained silent for a moment and then flagged down the waiter, motioning for two more drinks. “Well if that’s his attitude, then to hell with the man! I don’t care how hot he is. Tell him to hit-the-road-Jack, take-the-bus-Gus, don’t-pass-go-Moe.” Terri put an arm around my shoulder and kissed my cheek. “Cheer up, Rach. Life is a series of never-ending adventures. The next one is just around the corner waiting to take place.”
“It’s just that it happened so fast, Ter. One minute, everything seemed to be fine. The next, I was being handed an ultimatum to choose between Jake or my job.” I polished off my martini. “You can guess how I felt about that. My temper kicked in and made the decision for me.”
The waiter placed our drinks before us and Terri lifted his mai tai in salute. “Sophie and Lucinda are right. To no more men in our lives!” We sipped our drinks, and I wondered if Terri’s fingers were crossed as tightly as mine.
The throbbing beat of salsa sizzled on the street, luring us out to a crowd that had gathered round a musician hawking tapes of his band. The infectious rhythm prompted one Cuban mamacita to throw her inhibitions to the sky. Though her once-voluptuous body had given way to the gravity of years, that didn’t stop the woman from cutting loose. The music wriggled through her, spilling out in a torrid dance.
But competition is tough on the street. A young, leaner version moved in, grabbing the spotlight away. Denim hip-hugger shorts came alive on a body that gyrated in a sensual grind. Taut stomach muscles glistened, leading up to a pair of full breasts, barely covered by thin strips of peek-a-boo crocheted fabric. The girl’s hands twisted and curled like two writhing snakes, running up and down her figure in a steamy show of self-gratification. Pulsating neon made the strip a voyeuristic wet dream.
We moved on toward another young girl reeking of sensual heat, swaying to the beat. Her skimpy outfit was demurely hidden behind a cigar-filled vendor’s tray that hung from her neck.
“I have Montecristos, Romeo y Julietas, Cohibas, and Upmanns, straight fr
om Havana,” she called out in a singsong voice.
“Are those genuine Cuban cigars?” Terri asked, acting like a wide-eyed tourist.
The girl gave a mock pout at having her honesty questioned. “I sell to Demi, Bruce, Arnold, and Madonna.” She gave Terri a closer look. “In fact, has anyone ever told you that you look a little bit like Madonna?”
Terri struck a pose. “No way. People always say I’m much better looking.” He bought a cigar and slipped it into the shirt pocket of the first man who caught his fancy as we wended our way home.
I wasn’t surprised to find the Two Musketeers were still out when we arrived. In South Beach, the night stayed young until dawn. I retrieved Bonkers from Sophie’s house, having decided there was no way she was going to keep both Terri and my bird.
Bonkers’s crown of feathers stood up in excitement as he watched me drag his new jungle gym into my small cottage.
“Wheee!!!” the bird screeched in delight. He dangled by one daredevil foot, hanging upside down from his ring.
As I headed for the bedroom, Bonkers’s angry squawk brought my exit to a halt. I held out my arm and he hopped on, running up to give me a nip on the ear in reprimand for leaving without him. At least I could count on one male who planned on permanently hanging around.
Nine
The next morning I awoke before the sun had come up. Even Bonkers wasn’t awake as I tiptoed out the door.
This was my favorite time to walk around South Beach—when the insanity of the night had dispersed. I strolled down empty Washington Street, with its run-down buildings the color of candy Valentine hearts. My sneakers whispered against the pavement as I passed the darkened windows of the Art Deco Market and Larry’s Kosher Meats. It wasn’t until I hit the block containing a transient hotel that I saw any other people.
“Hola, señorita,” muttered a man sitting on the building’s steps. He slouched against the railing, his thin white shirt unbuttoned to his waist to display a chest covered with damp, curly hair. His eyes conveyed a “come-hither” look through half-closed lids.
Bird Brained (Rachel Porter Mysteries) Page 14