“Will you be joining us?” Veronica says to Gloria.
Gloria nods. “I think so.”
Veronica looks at me as if she’s just won the match and set. “I’ll see you all there then.”
“We’ll be right behind you,” Travis says.
We all watch Veronica prance away. When she’s out the doors, I let loose on Travis, “Why the hell did you just invite Veronica to go out with us?”
“Because, Jamie dearest, we are not going to American Pie for dessert. We’re going to Burt’s Burlesque for a drink.”
I breathe a huge sigh of relief. Leave it to Travis to save my bacon. “That was so mean,” I say with a tinge of admiration.
“Thank you,” Travis says, buffing his nails on his jacket.
I smile at Gloria. “You like burlesque?”
“It sounds like fun,” Gloria says.
The evening is beginning to look up.
Forty
Of all the nights for Camilla Carson, the straight girl who has a crush on me, to be working. When we walk into Burt’s Burlesque, Camilla is at the bar getting a pitcher of ice water for the dancing girls backstage. She is scantily clad in a hula girl costume, grass skirt, coconut shells, the works. She looks like one of those hula dolls people glue to their car dashboards.
As soon as Camilla spots me, she hustles over and pulls me into a big hug. It’s the type of hug that involves a lot of boobage. If that weren’t enough, she adds a pat to my butt. “Still going to the gym, I see,” she says seductively.
I swat her hand away.
“Well, Travis, don’t you have a bevy of beauties with you tonight. Who’s this delectable little morsel?” Camilla says, looking at Gloria. She circles Gloria like she is shopping for a new outfit.
“This is Gloria. She’s here with me,” I say.
“Oh no, does that mean I’ve missed my chance with you again?” Camilla says, pouting.
“You snooze, you lose,” Travis says. “We should have a booth reserved.”
“You sure do,” Camilla says. “Best seats in the house. Booth number twenty-nine.”
A scantily clad girl with a seven-foot tall basket of fruit on her head calls out from a dark doorway, “Camilla, we need to hydrate now. Stop flirting, and get that water back here.”
“She’s so bossy. Ta-ta. Enjoy the show,” Camilla says. She blows me a kiss, totters off on her high heels with the pitcher of ice water dangerously slopping from side to side.
“Our booth is right over there. Why don’t you all sit and I’ll get the first round. What’s your poison?” Travis asks.
“The usual,” I say.
Gloria says, “White wine spritzer, please.”
“Saw that one coming,” Travis says and heads toward the bar.
I lead the way to our reserved booth and surprise, surprise. Veronica is sitting there, nursing a dirty martini. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Yeah, fancy that,” Veronica says. “You didn’t really think I’d fall for that old ploy, did you?”
“I was hoping.” I look around for another booth, but the place is packed. It’s either sit here with Veronica or go home. I sit. Now I have Veronica on one side of me and Gloria on the other. Veronica puts her arm on the back of the booth like the first move of a teenage boy in a movie theater. I scoot closer to Gloria.
“I’m glad you invited me to come,” Gloria says. “This should be fun. I’ve never seen a burlesque show before.”
“Of course, you haven’t,” Veronica snips.
Travis returns with our drinks order. He looks at Veronica, then at me. I shrug. He passes out the drinks, Yoo-Hoo for me and spritzer for Gloria, saying, “You’ll love the show. I’ve seen them rehearse. It’s a good one.”
“Yeah, if you’re into a bunch of scantily clad girls shaking their asses for the male clientele,” Veronica says. “I think burlesque throws women’s rights back about a hundred years. In my humble opinion.”
I hate when people say ‘in my humble opinion.’ What they really mean is that their opinion should be taken for fact and anybody who doesn’t agree with them is stupid. “If you really feel that way, why did you come?” I ask.
“To be with you, of course,” Veronica replies.
“What, to insure I never get a date again?”
“I just don’t think you gave us enough of a chance and I’d like another one,” Veronica says, putting her hand over mine. I yank my hand away.
The house lights begin to dim. The audience quiets and looks expectantly toward the stage.
“Jamie Bravo, is that you?”
I turn to see the silhouette of a woman standing at our booth peering down at me. The lights are too dim to tell who it is.
“Yes,” I say.
“It’s London Wells, the detective from the police department.”
“Oh. Hi,” I say. Can things get any weirder?
My eyes adjust to the dark enough to see that London is wearing a white shirt with some cleavage showing, a black leather coat and jeans. She looks damn good. “I didn’t know you liked burlesque?”
London shrugs. “I read about it in the art section of the paper. It sounded fun. I was here with my partner but he got called out and bailed on me.”
“Called out for a homicide?” I ask.
“No, called out by his wife. It might turn into a homicide, though,” she says with a laugh.
“Why don’t you sit with us,” Travis says.
“Sure, if no one minds,” London says. She scoots into the booth on the other side of him.
“Why not? The more the merrier,” Veronica says. She sips her martini and checks out London.
Travis takes control of the situation and makes the introductions to London, “This is Veronica, Jamie’s ex-girlfriend who is trying to win her back, and this is Gloria, a special new friend of Jamie’s…”
“Who’s a grade school teacher,” Veronica adds like it’s a bad thing.
Just then Camilla approaches our booth. She leans down and kisses me on top of the head, effectively burying my face in her cleavage. “Wish me luck,” she says, and runs off back stage, carrying yet another pitcher of ice water.
“That was Camilla, the straight girl that has a crush on Jamie,” Travis adds. “And I’m Travis, roommate extraordinaire, as well as Jamie’s love life advisor and coordinator.”
“Wow, you’re a multi-talented guy,” London says.
Travis beams. “You bet your sweet patootie, I am.”
London takes a swig of her Corona, then says to Veronica. “Your last name isn’t Smythe, is it?”
“Why, yes it is,” Veronica answers, studying London. “You do look kind of familiar.”
“Yeah, I’ve been in court with you as the defense attorney,” London says.
“Oh.” Veronica looks away.
“You’re good at your job, but bad for us,” London says, not doing a very good job of keeping the animosity out of her voice.
Veronica, being the egotist that she is, takes it as a compliment. “Why, thank you. Just doing my usual thorough job. Unlike some people.”
“By some people, do you mean me?” London asks.
“If the shoe fits,” Veronica says. “I win a lot because your department has holes in its cases. What else is there to say?”
London grits her teeth. This is not good. We’re going to have a girl fight on our hands if the show doesn’t start soon.
I play it safe by not saying anything. Silence descends on our booth and hangs over our head. And I don’t mean one of those companionable silences either. This silence is locked, loaded and ready.
Thankfully, the show starts and for the next hour and a half we are all distracted by dancing, feathers and hula skirts.
The show was great. The aftermath is complicated. And by complicated I mean that we’re all standing in a knot, outside in the frigid cold, shivering, and not knowing what to do next. I really want to have some alone time with Gloria, but I don’t know how to do
that without being rude.
And then there’s London… sigh… Why oh why, am I suddenly interested in two women at the same time?
And I don’t have Travis to help me out of this sticky situation. He found an old beau—or maybe a new one—and he took off with him.
“Well, that was a good time,” Gloria says, breaking the ice.
“Anyone up for a night cap?” Veronica asks.
“Nope,” I say, “I have to be on my toes bright and early tomorrow. Travis and I are taking Ivan to the dog show for the first round.”
“That sounds really fun,” Gloria says. She smiles at me sweetly.
“Do you really think your little Chihuahua wanna-be from the pound even stands a chance?” Veronica says dismissively.
“He most certainly does. And he’s…”
“You can’t always judge someone by their humble beginnings,” Gloria says. “Look at Abraham Lincoln.”
“This is the type of argument you get when you hang around school teachers,” Veronica says. “They’re teaching children that everybody can attain their dreams simply because they have a dream. How about the millions of people that never got to be president?”
Gloria looks stunned. And hurt. She bites her lower lip.
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” I say to Gloria. “It’s not personal. She’s mean to everybody.”
That was rude,” London says to Veronica. “Teachers are a crucial part of a child’s life and can make the difference between upright citizens and the scum I have to deal with on the streets every day.”
This is quickly turning into a cat fight. One I don’t want to stick around for. “Okay, if everyone will excuse me, I have to call it a night.” I look at Gloria, “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Wait a minute,” London says, catching me by the elbow. “Can you spare me a moment? I really need to talk to you.” She looks at Gloria and Veronica. “It’s business. About a case we’re working on together.”
Veronica raises one eyebrow at me. She loops her arm through Gloria’s saying, “Well, we can take a hint. We’ll walk to our cars and see you two another time.”
“London, can this wait? I really need to walk Gloria to her car.” I grab Gloria’s other arm, and Veronica and I tug on her like she’s a wishbone.
“It’s okay, Jamie, I’ll walk her to her car. We’re parked right next to each other,” Veronica says.
“How do you know that?” Gloria asks.
“Who else would drive an ancient Honda Civic with a bumper sticker that says If You Can Read This, Thank a Teacher.”
Gloria nods. “That would be me.”
I don’t want Veronica walking Gloria to her car. For obvious reasons. I look at Gloria and plead with my eyes. “You’ll be okay? Walking to the parking lot with Veronica?”
“She’s in good hands,” Veronica says.
I don’t like the way she said that. But Gloria only smiles and says, “Sure. Thanks for the great evening, Jamie. Maybe I’ll see you again soon?”
“Definitely,” I say. I let go of her arm and watch as Veronica leads her away.
There’s something really wrong with this picture. I came here on a date with Gloria, but my ex is walking off with her.
“That’ll be the last time I see her,” I mumble.
“Veronica?” London asks.
“I wish.” I turn to London. “So what did you want to talk about?”
“I think you know,” she says.
“Tomorrow’s dog show is going to go smoothly, don’t worry. I’ll give you a call as soon as I have any information and you can make the bust.”
“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” London says.
“Oh?”
She doesn’t say anything. She leans in to me and puts her lips on mine. She moves her hands to my waist and draws me closer. My brain jumps ship. That leaves only my body in charge. And my body is a traitor. My lips move all on their own. I think I might even moan a little. My hand moves to the back of her head and my fingers wind themselves in her hair.
All I know is that it’s like I’m being shocked by an electric fence except in a really good kind of way. I pull away from the kiss just in time to keep from ripping my clothes off and throwing myself at her.
“What was that?” I ask.
“I’ve been wanting to do that every since I first saw you.”
“And you think now was a good time?”
A car’s headlights wash over us and I squint through the glare just in time to see a Honda Civic drive slowly by. The red tail lights illuminate a bumper sticker that says If You Can Read This, You Are So Fucked. Or at least it should.
“I think now is an excellent time,” London says. She pulls me close and kisses me again. This time a horn honks and I look up in time to see Veronica’s Porsche drive by.
“Crap. I’m going home.” I turn and walk toward the parking lot.
I’m numb the whole drive home. And not from the cold either.
Forty-One
The civic center is jam-packed. People are milling about everywhere; there’s tons of dogs scratching, whimpering, barking, licking and yipping; and every seat in the audience is filled. I didn’t realize that dog shows were such big business. I thought it was only lesbians who were obsessed with their furbabies.
I’m incredibly nervous, but I’m not nearly as nervous as Travis. You’d think he was the one who was going to be judged. He’s wearing a lavender suit with a pale yellow shirt and a multi-colored ascot. The suit is made from some kind of shiny fabric that turns colors as the light hits it. His hair is perfectly coiffed, as usual, and he’s wearing a ton of cologne. He’s probably thinking that if the perfection of his sculpted hair doesn’t distract the judges from Ivan then his suit will blind them. And his cologne will knock them out. I don’t think Mrs. Hildegard would approve but Travis is his own man when it comes to his appearance. There’s no reasoning with him.
I’m busy re-reading the rules of the show from the eighty page manifesto they gave me. I’m going over what is called Instant Disqualifiers because I think this might be our trouble spot. Instant Disqualifiers include peeing or pooping on the show room floor. Humping another dog or a judge. Licking oneself on the show room floor. Barking, growling or biting.
I try to lighten things up by saying to Travis, “Hey, Trav. Don’t hump a judge, okay? It’s grounds for immediate disqualification.”
Travis ignores me. He’s busy putting his hands over Ivan’s eyes.
“Why are you doing that?” I ask.
“I don’t want him to see his competition. It might make him nervous.”
“Correction,” I say, “It’s making you nervous.”
I look around at the other tables. We’re surrounded by a Pug, a Poodle, a Shih Tzu, a Pomeranian and a Yorkshire Terrier. I don’t know much about dogs and dog shows, but all these dogs look pretty good to me.
“Do you really think Ivan stands a chance?” I ask.
“Ssssshhhh,” Travis says. He moves his hands from Ivan’s eyes to cover Ivan’s ears. “He can hear you.”
Travis is so nervous, he’s actually hopping from foot to foot. I try to alleviate his nerves with some humor. “Funny story,” I say. “When I was a kid, I thought people were saying shit shoes when they actually were saying Shih Tzu. You can imagine my fright when Sally Martinelli wanted me to come to her house and play with her shit shoes.”
“You’re making me even more nervous,” Travis says.
A janitor mops toward our table. The janitor is wearing gray coveralls and a ball cap. “Good morning, Jamie, how’s it going?” the janitor says.
“How’d you know…?” I look the janitor in the face and realize that it’s not a janitor. “London? Is that you?”
“You’re a janitor?” Travis whispers. “You moonlight as a janitor on the weekends?” He looks at the embroidered name tag on her chest. “Your name is Juan?”
“I’m undercover. No one notices the cle
aning staff,” London says. “It’s a proven fact that janitors and mail men are never noticed. If you ever want to commit a crime—disguise yourself as a janitor or a mail man.”
“I’ll be sure to write that down,” Travis says in a voice that’s not sarcastic, which means he really is being sarcastic.
“Do you mind?” London says. “I need to speak to Jamie alone.”
“I don’t think we should be alone ever again,” I blurt.
“I think that you think you really do want to be alone with me,” London counters.
“Yeah? Well, I think that you think that I think… Wait, I’m lost,” I say.
“What’s that smell?” Travis says, dramatically fanning his face and wrinkling his nose. “Oh wait, I know what it is. It’s the smell of sexual tension.”
“You need to leave,” London says to Travis. “Right now.”
“Fine,” he says. “It’s time to enact my plan anyway.”
“What plan?” I ask.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“If you’re doing something illegal or immoral, we need to discuss it first,” I say.
“Don’t you trust me?” he says, making a pouty face.
“Nope.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t get caught,” he says. He spins and sashays away.
“I didn’t hear any of that,” London says. “If he breaks the law, I didn’t know. I wasn’t here.”
“Why are you here? Are you stalking me? If so, I think it’s kind of sexy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, but no, I’m not stalking you. I’m helping you,” she says.
“Helping me? How?”
She digs in her pocket, then hands me a tiny black button.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a bug.”
“I don’t get it. Why are you giving me an insect?”
“It’s not that kind of bug. It’s a bug as in an electronic listening device,” London says.
“Oh. Neat.”
She looks at me expectantly. Finally, I say, “I still don’t get it.”
Worst In Show: A Jamie Bravo Mystery Page 18