She yanked again on the stretchy fabric of her skirt, trying in vain for it to cover another inch of thigh. She caught sight of Tim sitting at a table, nursing a drink and staring at her. His eyes were hazy, as if he were on drugs or sexually stimulated. He wore a shirt straining across his surprisingly muscular chest, with skinny mustard-colored pants. Lauren could see every man in the bar give him the once-over. As the bar grew more crowded, he lost his ability to clearly see Lauren. She tried to think of some way she could use that to her advantage, but no clever plan came to mind. She knew he’d start moving around the second she did, always to keep an eye on her. That seemed to be the whole purpose of these exercises, the pleasure Tim took in watching Lauren do humiliating things. He didn’t seem to be tiring of it, and like an addict he kept needing more to get the same effect. Even the clothes he wore were part of the game. He somehow managed to dress like a gay man without over- or under-doing it. He was a genius with clothing.
She looked down the bar and around the room in search of a likely target. She recognized a friend of Kelly’s at the other end of the bar and quickly turned away. It was unlikely Denise would recognize Lauren if they stood nose to nose, but it would be disastrous if she did. Her makeup was dramatic enough to serve as a mask, and her clothes were the opposite of what Lauren would normally wear. Everything was opposite of what she’d normally do.
After her third Cosmo she knew it was pointless to wait for anyone to come to her at the bar. She grabbed her purse and maneuvered off the bar stool. She looked ridiculous wobbling on her heels and she could see heads turning to follow her, Tim’s among them. It was as if she’d dressed outrageously for a costume party, only to find out at the door it was a formal affair. That’s how much she stood out. She figured the pool room was her best bet at this point. Hopefully, the butches gathered around the tables were well on their way to being blind drunk and none too picky about whose skirt they got up at the end of the night. It was possibly still too early for that. She’d already been turned down by one woman during her last trip to the bathroom. It was too bad. She was attractive and kind, maybe even someone she would have enjoyed talking to before Tim hijacked her life.
She leaned against a wall next to the cue rack and inventoried the room. The only lighting came from the two fixtures hanging over the pool tables, which were placed end to end in the long, narrow space. The semi-darkness could only help her, she assumed. The spectators lined the wood-paneled walls like they were at a cockfight. They were all women and trans men, some standing by themselves, some with friends. Tim came in and took up position across the room from Lauren. Two women next to him pointed at her and laughed. Tim leaned toward them and said something, and the women laughed even harder.
She thought by now she would have become inured to other people’s judgments of her. She’d been embarrassed and humiliated so often over the past year she didn’t think she had any shame left in her. But apparently she had an inexhaustible supply. She was standing in a place with perhaps the most accepting of all people, yet even they couldn’t overlook her jarring appearance or the desperation that was written plainly on her face.
Staring at her from one corner of the room was a tall, perfectly androgynous woman. She didn’t look at Lauren with the derision she saw in everyone else’s face. She seemed impassive, perhaps a little curious, and she wasn’t looking away. When Lauren met and held her gaze, the woman pushed off the wall and made her way over, taking the empty space along the wall next to her. Lauren didn’t look at her. She kept her eyes on the pool table. Beyond it she could see Tim straighten up from his slouch, a smile on his face. They both knew it was show time.
“I haven’t seen you here before. My name’s Cory.” She turned to Lauren and stuck out her hand. “What should I call you?”
Good question, Lauren thought. She took Cory’s hand and scrambled for a name. Why hadn’t she thought about this before?
“Helen,” she said, using her mother’s name because it was the only one that came to mind. It made her slightly ill, but so did everything else about her situation.
Cory looked amused. “What’s your story, Helen?”
“My story?”
Cory still faced her, trying to catch Lauren’s eye. “I know you’ve got one.” When Lauren still didn’t respond, cursing herself for not knowing how to flirt, Cory said, “You look really uncomfortable.”
“It’s the shoes,” Lauren said, finally raising her eyes to meet Cory’s and trying out a seductive smile. She was sure her face would crack open.
“That wig can’t feel very good either. It must be hot.” Cory looked sympathetic. “You might want to straighten it a bit, though. It’s dipping to the left.”
Lauren’s hands shot up to the wig. She realized she had no idea how to adjust it without making things worse. Cory gently took hold of her arms and lowered them.
“Let’s go in the bathroom where you can see what you’re doing,” she said.
Lauren looked at Tim, who was watching intently, before following Cory into the bathroom. All of the stalls were occupied. One of them had two sets of legs showing below the door. She could hear the moans the couple was trying to muffle.
“Sounds like true love,” Cory said. “In a bathroom stall kind of way.”
Someone was throwing up in another. The door to the third stall opened and a woman stalked out. “I was just peeing,” she said.
“What’s the matter, Betty? No one willing to take you on in the bathroom?” Cory said. Lauren watched as the two women looked at each other in the mirror and laughed.
Betty dried her hands and headed for the door. “Well, fuck off, Cory. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Cory was smiling when she looked back at Lauren. “An ex,” she said. “We’re only on slightly friendly terms.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
Cory watched as she straightened her wig. The moans were getting louder from the middle stall and Lauren looked more embarrassed than ever.
“Come on,” Cory said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Lauren was beginning to hope she’d complete her assignment with the help of this very kind woman. She felt like a homeless person, saved by a kindhearted stranger who feeds her a big meal and points her to the nearest shelter. Cory wasn’t the thoroughly drunk and sleazy person Lauren thought she’d end up with.
Cory took her hand and led her into the back bar, seating her at one of the small tables and getting them both drinks.
“I’ll be real honest with you,” Cory said. “I don’t believe this is the way you normally are. You don’t pull it off. In fact, you’re really terrible at it. So what’s your story?”
Lauren saw Tim enter the back bar and take a seat at the next table. She was certain he’d be able to hear their conversation. She looked back at Cory.
“I’ll forgive the insult since you seem like such a nice person,” Lauren said.
“It wasn’t an insult,” Cory said. “But I don’t get it. You don’t even talk like someone who would dress like…that.”
“Aren’t you stereotyping a bit? Are my vowels not flat enough? Should I be chewing gum?”
Cory looked uncomfortable for the first time. “I’m sorry if I misunderstood.”
Lauren leaned forward and took Cory’s hand. “It’s forgotten,” she said. “And besides, I agree with you about one thing.”
Cory raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“I’d look better out of these clothes than in them.”
Cory took a moment before speaking.
“I may need empirical evidence of that. I’m naturally a skeptical person.” She had a slight smile on her face. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“Do you have a car and a place of your own?”
“I do.”
“Then let’s go. I’m dying to get out of this wig.”
Relief washed over her as Cory took her hand and led her out of the bar. She to
ssed Tim a triumphant look. As soon as they hit the open air she began shivering in her tiny clothes. She would not be considered overdressed in a sauna. Cory took off her jacket and wrapped it around Lauren’s shoulders as Tim came out and lit up a cigarette, waiting to see which way they’d go. As soon as they headed north, Tim scrambled to get to his car. Cory seemed to have no awareness of him. She unlocked the door of her beat-up Mazda and closed it behind Lauren. She was very old-school butch, but couldn’t be over thirty. She eased into the Saturday-night traffic on Halsted and headed north.
“Where do you live?” Lauren said.
“Uptown. And not a particularly nice part of it. But the rents are cheap.”
Cory turned onto Broadway and flipped on her windshield wipers as it began to rain. Lauren stared out the window at the people moving quickly up and down the slick sidewalk, past shops with hand-painted signage, most of it misspelled. The streets were filled with foreign shopkeepers trying to make a living selling used bikes and native clothing, hookahs and wholesale gewgaws. In the middle of it all was a giant, brand-new Target, looking as out of place as a skyscraper in the desert.
She snuck a look out the back window and saw Tim’s car right behind theirs. He was forced to drive on when Cory pulled into a private lot behind an apartment building. She didn’t know if he’d be watching to see if she left the building right away, but she assumed he would. He saw all these stunts through to the end.
Cory’s apartment was small and extremely clean and neat. The main room was furnished sparingly, but each piece was of good quality. The place looked pristine enough to have real estate photos taken. Cory led her to a love seat in the living room and sat down beside her after grabbing a couple of beers. Lauren realized she had more control of the situation than she thought she would. All she had to do was cajole Cory into letting her spend the night.
“Would you do me a favor?” Cory said.
“Of course.”
“Go into the bathroom and take off your wig and makeup and put on the robe that’s hanging on the door. Then come back in and introduce yourself.”
Lauren did as she was asked, thrilled to scrub her face and rip the wig from her head. She took her clothes off as well and returned to the living room naked under the robe. Cory stood when she entered the room, smiling broadly. Lauren thought of how Kelly once smiled at her. It wasn’t half as genuine as Cory’s smile was.
“I knew it,” Cory said. “I knew underneath all that crap was a woman I’d ask out in an instant.”
“Does that make this a date?” Lauren asked.
Cory pulled her down beside her. “It is if you want it to be. I believe on a first date, two people are supposed to get to know each other. So tell me your story. Please.”
Which story? That she was Lauren Wade, recently acquitted of murder and out for the night dressed as a prostitute? Cory didn’t seem to recognize her, but she would have heard about the trial and known the name. Or she could tell her she was being blackmailed by her brother, but Cory seemed the sort who’d want to save her, no doubt getting her parents killed in the process. It was easiest to do what she didn’t half mind doing with this attractive woman. She pulled Cory to her and whispered an inch away from her lips.
“Let’s make up our own story.”
Chapter Nine
Sunday, September 8
“Where’s Dad?” Josie said. She sat in the dining room with her mother, where the oval table was covered with a wine-stained cloth and set with her wedding china. Elaine had brought in the last of the brunch food. There wasn’t a warm dish on the table. Mornings weren’t the best of times for Elaine, and cooking brunch was well beyond her capabilities. Josie was used to the bagels and lox, Danish and fruit. The food wasn’t a hardship. What was a hardship was simply being at the monthly Sunday brunches her mother insisted she attend.
They didn’t seem any easier on her mom. She looked bilious, but Elaine still made the effort to dress up for the occasion. Josie had recycled her socks that morning, hoping things would go well enough at brunch that she could bring her dirty clothes in and avoid the Laundromat.
“Your father had poker last night,” Elaine said. “He should be up anytime.”
It was a little after noon. Josie sipped her coffee as she watched her mother drink her suspiciously thin orange juice. Even in her most manic, beer-soaked time, Josie never drank in the morning. It always seemed the line you couldn’t cross without becoming an alcoholic. Her mother had crossed it ages ago.
“I know your father’s anxious to see you,” Elaine said. “He talks about you all the time.”
More news from Elaine’s fantasyland. Josie hadn’t seen her father in months; he always seemed to have something going on that prevented him from being home for brunch. She was a little nervous because it seemed he was here today. She’d only seen him a few times since she got out of the hospital, and none of those visits had gone well. Early on in her recovery Greta wanted to have a family session about Josie’s illness, but Jack sent word through Elaine he didn’t want anything to do with shrinks. Her mother thought there was little point in her attending if her father didn’t, so she excused herself as well. Josie was relieved. Greta was concerned.
Josie was pouring more coffee when she heard the sound of football coming from the basement rec room. All the bungalows in the neighborhood had additional living space in the basement. Nearly all were finished with knotty pine paneling. Most had bars set up in a corner, sometimes elaborate structures with beer taps, liquor wells, TVs mounted on the wall, mirrors on the back bar. Josie’s father had transformed his into a tiki bar, complete with faux shack, brightly colored bulbs, and battery-operated hula dancers.
“I guess he’s up,” Elaine said as she slathered cream cheese on a bagel and then put it on her plate in favor of more orange juice.
Josie looked at her blankly. “I thought you said he was anxious to see me.”
“Oh, he is. But the Bears are playing. I think you’ll need to go downstairs.”
Josie fumed. Greta said anger was the way Josie covered up how hurt she was, and maybe that was true. But right now she was sure what she was feeling was anger. She considered leaving without seeing him at all, but realized that was exactly what he wanted her to do. She’d inflict herself on him instead, the bastard.
The basement smelled of cigarettes and cigars and last night’s beer. The large card table in the middle of the room was littered with overflowing ashtrays and empty bottles and cans. On one side of the room was the tiki bar and the other held a single reclining chair in front of an enormous flat screen TV. Her father was sprawled in the chair, reclined to nearly horizontal. He turned his head when she kicked a beer can across the room. Then he turned back to the game. Josie dragged a chair from the poker table and sat down next to the recliner.
A minute or so went by with neither saying anything. You’d think as a homicide detective he’d have mastered waiting out a silence; it’s a classic interview technique. But he’d always been unable to tolerate uncomfortable silences.
“Stan tells me you’ve set up shop as a PI,” her dad said. “I thought he was joking.”
He lit a cigarette and didn’t take his eyes from the Bears grinding out their yardage. His beer sat in a cup holder built into the recliner.
“I’ve never known Stan to be much of a kidder,” Josie said. She had her eye on the fridge next to the tiki bar. If she brought over a beer and talked about nothing but the Bears, things would be tolerable. But she didn’t. She sat on the stiff-backed chair with her arms crossed, determined to not let him get to her.
“I don’t understand you. Are you determined to embarrass yourself again? What do you know about being a PI?” He didn’t look at her as he spoke. There was an ad for Pabst Blue Ribbon beer on the screen.
Josie took in a couple of long breaths. She’d harbored some hope her father’s first words might have been to ask how she was or what was new in her life. She was in as much a fantasyland a
s her mother. She sat quietly, trying to decide whether to stay or go.
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself? Your mother and I aren’t going to keep supporting you. You’ve got another month, maybe two.”
“Good to know how much rope I have, Dad. But you can keep your money. My new business is doing fine.”
He turned to look at her. “Is that right? Did you get all the lesbian infidelity cases? That’s not going to keep you in paper clips for long.” He laughed his nasty, derisive laugh that was like nails on a chalkboard to her.
It hadn’t taken him long to touch on the first reason their relationship had disintegrated over the past years. When Josie had joined the police department and started her rookie year working out of the same district as her father, he was ready to burst. He was a bragging, hugging, back-slapping proud daddy. Then word got around the district that Josie had been seeing another female patrol officer and they’d had a messy breakup. He didn’t speak to her for six months, though Stan Waterman told her no one else in the district really gave a shit about her and her girlfriend.
Josie felt anger starting to churn in her gut; left untended it could cause her to do almost anything, like throw a stale beer in his face or stomp on his remote control. The thoughts started to tumble around in her brain, so she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.
“If I was handling cases involving your infidelity, I’d be the richest PI in town,” she said.
Jack looked amused, as if he approved of her anger. “Whatever drips and drabs come your way, you’ll end up fucking them up. That’s how you’re built. The crazy in you will slap down anything you try to do.” He turned his attention back to the game.
And there was the second reason. When word got out Josie had tried to seduce Commander O’Neil and then ended up in a psych ward, Jack essentially disowned her. She hadn’t heard a kind word from him since.
The Aquittal Page 6