Two Jakes

by Lawrence de Maria

  She said it so matter of factly he was stunned. Scarne knew many people said they’d never fall in love – usually after a terrible breakup. They didn’t really mean it. But Alana said it like it never crossed her mind.

  “Maybe you haven’t met the right man.”

  Scarne knew he sounded ridiculous. Alana laughed.

  “Or the right woman, or Great Dane. Why limit me to men, Jake? Next thing you’ll be waving a white picket fence and snot-nosed little kids at me.”

  “You’re a man killer and you know it, lady. You can play them like a fiddle, like you’re playing me right now. Aren’t you?”

  She leaned forward, an elbow on the bar, and brought her face close to his. He could smell her perfume and the sweet essence of vermouth on her breath.

  “Absolutely. Actually, I like children.” She smiled. “Just as long as they’re someone else’s.”

  That was too much for Scarne. They had been reduced to talking in clichés, trying to impress each other. Instinctively he knew that this was a woman who used her beauty and intelligence to build a carapace around her feelings. He stared at her until her smile evaporated.

  “You know, Alana, we have something in common. Both damaged goods. Orphans, raised by grandparents. Loved, surely, but, of course, it’s not the same. There was a duty to their love. Grandparents have already spent much of their emotional capital on their own children. We get what’s left.”

  He had her attention. The restaurant sounds faded into the distance.

  “It doesn’t matter how old you are when parents die,” he said quietly. “You lose the only people who are always on your side, who think the world of you and can forgive anything. Love without strings. We may be able to give that kind of unconditional love, but we’ll never have it again. We spend the rest of our lives trying to find something remotely like it. You’re kidding yourself if you think you’re any different from the rest of us.”

  If looks could kill, Scarne thought.

  She stood up.

  “I know a wonderful place in Hollywood Beach where we can stop on the way home. You’ve never seen anything like it. Are you game?”

  CHAPTER 28 – EVEN THE WAITERS STOPPED

  There was a good breeze coming off the Atlantic as Scarne drove. Alana hugged her legs to her chest but insisted he leave the top down. She did allow him to fetch a sweater from his bag, which she draped over her shoulders. Suddenly she sat up, eyes bright with excitement, her good mood restored.

  “There it is. That long white building.”

  Cars were lined up by the valet stand, but boys ran back along the line and handed out claim tickets. Scarne and Alana walked toward the entrance to the restaurant, which a large neon sign identified as “Taverna Opa.” Dozens of people were waiting to enter and Scarne heard Middle Eastern music wafting through the screens. He began to have his doubts. Alana walked to the head of the line. A man holding a clipboard moved the rope amid much grumbling.

  “If you need anything, Alana, let me know,” the man said as he held the door for them.

  Inside, Scarne was startled to see people belly dancing on tables while people ate below them. Some of the dancers were obviously professionals but most were patrons, an eclectic mix of families with children and a jet-set crowd. One grandma was shimmying precariously near the end of a table, while a couple of anxious children, probably her grandkids, hovered nearby, ready to catch her. On another table, two wildly gyrating toddlers kept threatening to bump each other off their perch, although grandpa dogged their every move. The water of the inter-coastal shimmered out the back windows

  “What is this, the road show of My Big Fat Greek Wedding?”

  “Let’s go to the bar. It’s a bit quieter. I never take a table, even when I come here to eat. The food is superb, by the way, especially the lamb and fried smelts. But I don’t like people’s feet in my food. Do you like fried smelts?”

  “Not particularly. But I bet it would be a great pickup line here.”

  They sat in the bar and watched the dancers, sipping ouzo. Scarne marveled at the efficiency of the staff as they served delicious-smelling platters amid the swaying arms and kicking feet. One waiter opened a bottle of wine, poured four glasses, left the wine in a bucket, all the while pirouetting as various servers and dancers swirled around him. A minute later the same waiter was dragging a recalcitrant woman onto a table, where she promptly began dancing with wild abandon to the music, which was provided by a DJ.

  Some of the scantily clad belly dancers, all of whom were lovely and had hips that wouldn’t stop, drew dozens of eyes. But the “civilian” dancers seemed lost in their own world, as if they were the center of the room’s attention, rather than that of perhaps their family and a few friends, if that. It wasn’t Scarne’s cup of tea, but everyone seemed to be having a great time, especially the family groups, which included some well-dressed swells undoubtedly out slumming. Suddenly there was loud shouting and waiters ran down between the tables throwing napkins in the air, which floated down over dancers and diners alike. Most wound up on the floor. He looked at Alana.

  “They used to smash plates on the floor, but I guess the insurers put an end to that. It was pretty wild. You can imagine the noise. Another reason I prefer the bar. Napkins are quieter, but it does seem silly now.”

  “When do they bring in John the Baptist’s head on a platter?”

  “I think you have to special order. And he might not be in season.”

  “More ouzo and my head will be on a platter. Yours is like a rock, Alana.”

  “Good genes. But I may have to dance some of it off. Care to join me?”

  “I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

  Alana reached down and took off her sandals, handing them to him. She walked out to the dining room and grabbed two young teen-age girls who were sitting at a table. Laughing, she yanked them up on a table near the center of the room. One of the real dancers joined the trio and paired off with one of the girls. People nearby started clapping in time with the music. The girls got down and the belly dancer brought two little children, obviously brother and sister, up to the table. She and Alana soon had them dancing like dervishes. The little girl was a natural. Even at her tender age, she had all the moves, twirling her belly and hips and looking provocatively at men in the audience. Her family roared approval. Alana helped her down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She had the table to herself until one of the waiters, at the urging of his fellows, joined her. He was apparently the Travolta of the wait staff and began a sensuous dance with Alana. They swayed in sync, dipping past each other as if on cue. Alana’s skirt twirled up, revealing her luscious legs. Her face took on an abandoned look as her hair swirled around her eyes, which took on an Asian cast in the light. As she tossed her head, her earrings twirled. Everyone in the restaurant was looking at her. Even the waiters stopped serving.

  Scarne reached her just as the music ended. She looked down at him, breathless, and then fell into his arms. Her body was warm and her skin glowed. There was applause as they walked back to the bar. He handed her the sandals. She picked up some napkins.

  “Let’s sit on the dock,” she said, walking out barefoot.

  When they got there, she handed him the napkins and sat at the edge, swishing her feet in the water. He sat next to her, leaning back against a piling. She kicked water at him, laughing. Then she twirled around and extended her legs to him.

  “Would you mind?”

  As he dried her feet her eyes glistened in the reflection from the lights on the dock. When he finished he put on her sandals.

  “Where did you learn to dance like that?”

  “Someday I will tell you. Now I am tired. Take me home.”

  It was almost 10 P.M. when they got to her house on the bay across the Indian River from Miami Beach. Her neighborhood was heavily treed but he occasionally caught a glimpse of the bright lights of the condos and hotels on the stretch where his apartment was. A low stone wall backe
d by thick hedges surrounded the property. A well-lit courtyard beyond the gate fronted a large two-story house. There were three cars in the circular driveway and he could hear the faint strains of Caribbean music. He walked Alana to the door. She pushed a button on an intercom. A metallic voice answered in Spanish.

  “It’s Alana,” she answered, and the door buzzed open.

  She turned to face him, smiling.

  “A good day. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t ask you in. I have people staying over for a party tomorrow. I’m going to take a hot bath and go to bed.”

  Hopefully hiding his disappointment, he replied, “That’s quite all right. We’re both pretty tired, I’d imagine.”

  She gently slipped a hand behind his neck and pulled him in for a long kiss. He started to reach behind her, but she quickly broke free, laughing.

  “I had a wonderful time, Jake.” She started to go in, then turned abruptly. “It’s a pool party. Why don’t you come? Lots of interesting people. Some from work. You can look for clues.” She paused. “Victor won’t be here.”

  “Sounds like fun. What time?”

  “Anytime after noon,” she said. “Don’t forget your bathing suit.”

  After she went in, Scarne leaned back on the warm body of his car, staring at the house. The night was very still and he could hear small creatures rustling in the heavy tropical foliage. There was a slight sweet smell in the air, a combination of both flowering and dead vegetation. Would she have invited him in had she not had company? Did she even have company? Should he have asked her to see his place on the way? He went through all the second guessing men do when they think they may have blown the chance to sleep with a special woman. For whatever else Alana Loeb was, she was special.

  ***

  Alana Loeb stood by a window in her second-floor office looking down at Scarne. The hook was set deep; she wondered how long it would take. Ordinarily, she would consider such a matter dispassionately. But, unexpectedly, she felt the first flush of arousal. She realized, somewhat to her consternation, that she wanted him. He slowly got into his car and drove off.

  She had recognized the painful truth in what he’d said at the bar. She had been angry but suspected that she was the first to hear it from him. Why her? She opened the window and let the warm, fragrant night air wash over her.

  With it came long-suppressed memories and a foreboding that was completely alien to her.

  CHAPTER 29 – CANAPÉS AND CALL GIRLS

  Scarne slept late and woke feeling groggy. The champagne and ouzo might have relieved the tension of the insane golf match, but he was now paying the price. He drank two glasses of orange juice and changed into running gear.

  Once at the beach, he jogged north near the waterline. The hardpan near the buildings would have been easier, but he wanted a good workout. It wasn’t long before he was sweating, even though there was a nice breeze and it was in the 60’s. He passed a few strollers, plenty of sea birds and, as he got nearer the public beaches, some newspaper-wrapped bums. His calves burned from fighting the sucking sand. Occasionally, he misjudged a wave and was rewarded with a refreshing splash up to his shorts. After a couple of miles, breathing hard, he cut over to Collins Avenue. He spotted a Cuban bakery and bought a fruit empanada. Then he walked back to the apartment, made coffee and ate on the portion of his terrace that overlooked the Indian River. He thought he spotted Alana’s house in the distance, but wasn’t sure.

  ***

  Scarne arrived at the house just before 1 PM. Cars were parked up and down the street, some on lawns. A large white truck was in the driveway. On its side were the words, “Parties by Rico,” and a line of men in white coats were unloading trays of food. The driveway was full of Jaguars, BMW’s and Mercedes, and one Bentley. A valet gave him a ticket. Scarne took his bag and walked into the courtyard past a board holding dozens of car keys on hooks.

  The two-story house was much bigger than it looked from the street, where it was hidden behind hedges and trees. He was happy to see that it was an older house and not a McMansion. The stucco walls were spotted with ivy. A sign near the front door directed him to a path that led around the side. He could hear music, laughter and an occasional splash. He passed a small pool house and then was in the thick of the party.

  There were perhaps 50 people in the backyard, most of them wearing speedos or miniscule bikinis. Some of the more beautiful women were topless. A few guests who were more fully dressed stood around awkwardly. Waiters walked around the pool and nearby gardens passing out drinks from silver trays. Looked like champagne, apple martinis and, of course, mojitos. There was a Tiki bar near the back of the house, complete with thatched roof. The music came from a small Calypso band set up near the bar. A buffet table was just outside the kitchen. In its center was a large ice sculpture of a dolphin surrounded by lobsters, shrimp, clams, oysters and other delicacies.

  A small stretch of lawn separated the huge pool from a bulkhead and boat dock on the bay. Scarne walked over to the dock and looked down at the greenish brown water. His shadow spooked a school of small baitfish that rippled the surface. There was a series of pipes with shower heads at various levels adjacent to the dock with a sign in English and Spanish that said: “Please shower before entering the pool!” As he read it, he heard a splash and looked up to see a man swimming from a small cabin cruiser at anchor about 75 feet out. Another man was poised on the gunwale and soon followed the first diver into the water. Further out in the bay a larger yacht streamed by. Several men on deck passed binoculars back and forth. They were looking at the topless women at the party. The boat’s horn tooted cheerfully and a couple of the men waved. Scarne smiled and waved back.

  The two men from the smaller boat reached the dock after a few short powerful strokes and climbed up onto land. They walked past Scarne shaking their hands and heads, catching him with some spray. They seemed not to notice, and took turns standing under the top shower head, which poured out a strong stream when they pulled a chain. They seemed to barely glance at Scarne, although he had the feeling they got a good look at him. Both men seemed very fit. Their bathing trunks were fashionably tight. That was where the similarities ended. The taller, thinner of the two was very blond and his hair was cut short. He looked vaguely familiar. His companion was more muscled and had thick black hair that glistened as he stroked it. He was dark complexioned and had a trim mustache. Both moved gracefully. Dancers? Scarne didn’t think so. There was something menacing about them.

  The men went to the pool and dove in, then climbed out the other side and made for the bar, picking up towels from unoccupied chairs. What were they doing at Alana’s party? The thought occurred to him that they had crashed. It would be so simple to park your boat and then swim into a party. Anybody in a bathing suit would blend in. He headed after them.

  “Hot shit, ain’t it?”

  Scarne turned to see that a man has fallen in beside him. He barely came up to Scarne’s shoulders and was wearing pink trousers, a flowered shirt and white sneakers. A substantial martini, thick with olives, was in his hand.

  “Alana’s parties get all kinds. Euro trash, Rio trash. They come out of the woodwork. But see that older guy holding court with the babes in the corner. Thomas Harris. Silence of the Lambs. Lives a few blocks away. And over there near the food is Iggy Pop, the singer. I think one of the Bee Gees is roaming around, too.”

  The man held out his hand.

  “Tony Goetz.”

  Scarne introduced himself, saying, “Remind me to skip whatever comes with the fava beans. Where do we fit in?”

  “Hell, you’ll have to speak for yourself. I’m local Miami trash.”

  They reached the Tiki hut and Goetz crooked a finger at the bartender.

  “Pablo, another one, por favor. S’il vouz plait. One more olive.”

  The bartender, whose nametag didn’t say “Pablo,” rolled his eyes and looked at Scarne, who shook his head. Three topless women strolled by.

  “Six
abreast,” Goetz commented.

  The bartender puts his martini on the bar. The glass was half full of olives.

  “Like olives?” Scarne said.

  “Hate the fuckin’ things. The glass holds about 10 olives. Then I know to stop, or switch to beer. Doesn’t work with lemon peels. I’d be dead.”

  “Jake!”

  He looked over to the pool to see Alana Loeb springing out of the pool. She grabbed a small towel from a chair and began vigorously drying her hair as she walked slowly over to the two men. She was wearing a bikini, both parts. But it was very wet and left little to the imagination. Her nipples were boldly outlined in the fabric. The effect was more erotic than the bare breasts of the other women. The bottom part of the suit was severely V-shaped and accentuated her long legs.

  “Goddamn,” Goetz said under his breath in open admiration.

  As she reached them she draped the towel around her shoulders.

  “I’m so glad you came. I see you have already fallen into bad company.”

  She gave Scarne a brief kiss on the cheek, then leaned over to buss Goetz.

  “I know I’m irresistible, honey, but you already kissed me when I came in,” the little man said. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

  “I just heard that you led all the salesmen this quarter. That deserved another kiss. Now, can I borrow Jake for a minute? I want to show him around and get his things put away. I’m sure he wants to take a swim.”

  She took Scarne’s arm and led him across the patio past a spiral stairway with decorative wrought-iron railings leading up from a loggia to the second floor. In the kitchen, waitresses were busily unwrapping platters or pulling pans from the stove. She stopped to pluck a canapé off a platter that was sitting on the island in the kitchen. After plopping it in her mouth, she uttered a purr of delight, grabbed another and raised it to Scarne’s lips.

  “Let’s get out of here before they send out empty platters,” she laughed.