Aftermath

by Ann McMan

  “No. Thanks, Josette. I’m fine now.”

  Maddie dropped down onto her chair like a sack of bricks. “I need something stronger,” she said to Josette.

  “Sure thing, hon.” She laid a palm against Maddie’s forehead. “You okay? You don’t look so hot.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Maddie said in a flat voice. “I just need a drink.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  Maddie looked up at her. “Pick the one thing you’d never serve—even to the person you loathe most in the world, and bring me a double.”

  “You got it, baby.” Josette winked at her and walked off.

  Syd leaned across the table. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  Maddie gave her a hopeless look. “Oh, god . . . That drag queen?”

  Syd nodded.

  “It’s Tom Greene.”

  “What?” Syd jerked around in her chair.

  “Stop it!” Maddie reached across the table and grabbed her by the arm. “Don’t turn around . . . he’ll see you.”

  Syd pulled her arm free. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” She looked back at the bar area. “She’s gone.”

  “You mean he’s gone—and, good.”

  “Are you sure it was Tom? I mean . . . come on . . . What are the odds?”

  Maddie raised a shaky hand to her forehead. “I’d say about a zillion to one. But, yes, I’m sure. He recognized me, too.”

  “Oh, my fucking god.”

  “Exactly. We need to get out of here.”

  “Wait a minute. Why do we need to get out of here?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No,” Syd said, more calmly. “I’m not kidding. Think about it.”

  “Think about what?”

  Syd rolled her eyes. “Honey . . . there’s about a thousand ways you can leverage this little revelation.”

  Maddie sat back and slowly shook her head. “Do I know you? What are you suggesting? Blackmail?”

  Syd nodded with enthusiasm.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Maddie—”

  “Are you crazy? Or do you suddenly have an irrational hankering for the oatmeal they serve at Red Onion State Prison?”

  Josette reappeared with Maddie’s drink. It was an eerie, lime green color. It had a plastic swizzle stick in the shape of a small Tasmanian devil sticking out of it.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said as she set it down in front of Maddie.

  Syd laid a hand on the server’s arm. “Can I ask you a question, Josette?”

  “Sure, hon. Shoot.”

  “That drag queen who dropped the glass of wine . . . Do you know her?”

  “That’s Amanda Playwith.” Josette rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen her here a few times, but you girls gotta understand—this ain’t my normal night. The drag shows are usually on Saturdays.”

  “Drag shows?” Maddie asked.

  Josette nodded. “They had to switch nights this week because the pudding pool sprung a leak when one of the girls forgot to take off her butch collar.” She glanced at her watch. “Your food will be up in just another minute or two. You should be done in plenty of time to catch the show, if you want to hang around.”

  “Thanks, Josette.” Syd smiled at her.

  Maddie waited until Josette walked off, then turned back to Syd. “Amanda Playwith?”

  Syd chuckled. “You have to give him points for originality.”

  “I feel like I should be looking around for giant seed pods.”

  “Oh, gimme a break. How often does the universe drop something like this into your lap?”

  “Thankfully, not very often.” Maddie pulled out her cell phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling us a cab. We’ll get Josette to pack our food up so we can take it with us.”

  “No way, kemosabe.” Syd snapped the phone out of Maddie’s hand. “I refuse to look this gift horse in the mouth.” She pushed back her chair and stood up.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Maddie felt a surge of anxiety. She’d seen this look in Syd’s eyes before, and it was never good news.

  “Finish your drink. I’ll be back in a flash . . . no pun intended.” Syd turned on her heel and took off across the restaurant.

  “Syd, no,” Maddie hissed after her. “Syd!”

  Maddie sank back against her seat and watched Syd disappear down the stairs that led to the club below the restaurant.

  “Fuck,” she said aloud.

  THE CLUB AREA beneath the restaurant was a blaze of Technicolor tundra. Syd was certain that the hammering noise from the subwoofer would jar her fillings loose. She thought she recognized the song—a dance remix of an old Gloria Gaynor standard. The dark and the blinding flashes from strobe lights made it hard for her to get her bearings, so she decided to stake out a spot and wait for her eyes to adapt to the light.

  There were men in drag all over the place. The last time Syd had seen so many fantastic heads of hair was on her ninth birthday, when her mother walked her past a flooded wig shop on Allegheny Avenue. The night before, they’d had a monstrous storm that dropped more than five inches of rain in two hours, and most of Baltimore County was under water. But Syd had a violin recital at Immaculate Conception School, and her mother was determined to get her there. Syd remembered walking down that long block lined with wigs, resting on their faceless, Styrofoam heads. They were stacked up on every flat surface, drying in the morning sun. For an impressionable nine-year-old, there was something truly creepy about the spectacle. In her mind, it coalesced with an episode of Outer Limits that her brother had persuaded her to watch one Friday night when her parents weren’t at home. She’d had nightmares for weeks, and she always regarded “the wig incident” as one of her earliest Fellini moments.

  She felt some of those same emotions pushing their way to the surface as she looked around the interior of the nightclub. But these wigs weren’t attached to disembodied heads with no faces. They were parts of ensembles that vibrated with color and life. They were like sensational exclamation points at the ends of run-on fashion sentences.

  Her eyes were adjusting to the light. It was easier now to make out details of the various examples of couture on display. Finally, she saw Tom—Amanda—lurking next to a short, portly-looking guy wearing black leather biker garb that was accented with a lot of chains.

  Someone bumped into her.

  “Sorry,” a gravelly voice said.

  Syd looked up at . . . her. “It’s okay,” she said. Then she had an epiphany. She touched the man—who was a dead-ringer for Tammy Faye Bakker—on the arm. “Excuse me for asking, but do you happen to know that guy over there with Amanda Playwith?”

  Tammy Faye looked across the room and squinted. No small feat with that much mascara.

  “Oh, sure,” he said. “That’s Buster. They usually come together.”

  “Buster?” Syd asked.

  “Buster Cherry. Mandy’s better half.”

  “Better half?” Syd was dumbfounded. She looked at Buster more closely. Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Winston Churchill on a cracker—that’s Muriel Green.

  “Thanks.” She looked at her companion again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”

  “Crystal Titz,” he said, presenting a meaty hand. Syd gave it a warm squeeze. Crystal smelled like he had been dipped in a vat of Shalimar. “Tell me something, Sandra Dee.” He looked her up and down. “What’s a tasty morsel like you doing down here all by your lonesome? I’d think you’d find the upstairs crowd more to your liking tonight. Unless,” he added with a head nod toward Tom and Muriel, “you’re looking to take a walk on the wild side?”

  “Oh . . . no. Really. I’m not here alone,” Syd explained. “My girlfriend is upstairs. I just saw Amanda there, and thought I recognized her from someplace else.”

  “You want me to introduce you?” Crystal offered.

  “No . . . that’s okay. I don’t think Amanda
would be very happy to see me, and I don’t want to make a scene or ruin his . . . their . . . evening. It was just such a shock to see him so . . . dressed up.”

  “Right. I get it.” Crystal waved a bejeweled hand. “Okay doll face. Enjoy the freak show.” He started to walk off, but Syd stopped him.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Sure, doll.” He hovered there, towering over her on three-inch heels.

  “Do I really look like Sandra Dee?”

  “Honey.” He rolled his eyes. “Seriously?” He patted her on the shoulder. “All you’re missing is a beach ball, a crooner, and a bottle of pills.”

  Syd sighed. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Hang on a minute, doll face. In this crowd, I can’t give you a higher compliment than that.”

  Syd smiled at him. “I guess that’s something.”

  “Trust me.” Crystal straightened Syd’s strand of pearls. “Your girlfriend is one lucky prom queen.”

  “I hope so.” Syd shook her head. “I don’t think she’s very happy with me at the moment.”

  “Why not?”

  Syd held up Maddie’s cell phone. “I came down here to sneak a photo of Amanda, but now it doesn’t feel like the right thing to do.”

  Crystal looked down at the cell phone, then back at Syd.

  “Well,” he said, taking the phone out of her hand, “it’s like Sister Mary Ignatius always taught us—sins of o-mission are only half as bad as sins of co-mission”

  Before Syd could reply, he turned to Tom and Muriel and snapped off half-a-dozen frames. With the ambient light show going on all around them, no one even noticed the camera flashes. When he finished, he handed the phone back to Syd.

  “Tell your girlfriend that these are compliments of Crystal Titz—a.k.a. Larry Kozlowski.”

  Syd was dumfounded, but Crystal was now watching something going on over her shoulder.

  “Don’t look now, doll face,” he whispered. “Here comes Katharine Hepburn.”

  Syd turned around, expecting to see another drag queen, but instead saw Maddie threading her way through the crowd toward them. “No.” She turned back to face Crystal. “That’s my . . .” But she was alone.

  Crystal had disappeared into the crowd.

  Maddie had now reached her side.

  “Come on, honey,” she urged. “Let’s get out of here.” She looked around. “I’ve already had my boobs pinched three times.” She looked down at her chest. “Do these really look fake?”

  Syd stared at her with wonder. “This has to be the best date I’ve ever had.”

  Maddie gave her a shy smile. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Syd leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Really.”

  “Good, cause it ain’t over yet.” Maddie winked at her and squeezed her hand. “You wanna go back upstairs and eat some wings?”

  Syd handed Maddie her cell phone. “More than anything.”

  BACK AT THE Dunhill, Syd and Maddie relaxed in a pair of oversized white hotel robes. When they finally got back from Hartigan’s—a ten minute cab ride that ended up taking more than forty-five minutes because of all the street revelers—they decided that a hot, soaking bath in the lavish, en suite garden tub was just what they needed. Everything was perfect, except for the fact that the bottle of wine they’d ordered an hour ago still had not materialized. Maddie was about ready to get dressed and go downstairs to retrieve it herself.

  “Let me give room service another call.” She picked up the phone and punched in the numbers. “Hello,” she said when the call was answered. “I’m in room 814, and I’m curious about when our wine order might be here?”

  There was a loud knock at the door.

  “Oh, never mind,” Maddie said into the phone. “I think it just arrived. Thank you.” She hung up.

  “Well, finally,” Syd said with a yawn. “Maybe we should just tell them to forget about it.”

  Maddie was already halfway to the door.

  “No way. After the day we’ve had, we deserve to have one thing go right.”

  Maddie opened the door, expecting to see a room service attendant, and was surprised to be staring into the smiling face of Lu Ferrigno.

  “Hi there,” Lu said. She held a tray containing a bottle of Courtney Benham Vin d’Eliza and two glasses. “Sorry for the delay on this. Things are still pretty nuts downstairs.”

  It was clear to Maddie that Lu wasn’t missing much of her ensemble. She resisted an impulse to pull the robe tighter across her chest.

  “Hello, Lu,” she said. “This seems a little beyond the call of duty for you.” She stepped back so Lu could enter their room.

  “Oh, not at all.” Lu stepped inside and waved at Syd, who was busy rearranging herself on one of the two queen-sized beds. “We perform all kinds of special services for our guests here at The Dunhill.”

  “No doubt,” Syd muttered from the bed.

  Maddie shot her a dirty look.

  Lu walked to a small table and deposited her tray. “I’m actually going off duty, but I volunteered to run this up here so I could check in on you two and see how the rest of your evening went. Did you have a good time at the pub?”

  Maddie deliberated about how to respond. “It was certainly . . . educational.”

  Lu nodded with enthusiasm. “They usually have a pretty good crowd on Friday nights. Lots of out-of-towners.”

  Syd laughed. “You can say that again.”

  Maddie glared at her.

  “Well?” She shrugged. “Am I wrong?”

  Maddie ignored her. “Thanks for bringing this up, Lu.” She looked over the items on the tray. “Is there a ticket for me to sign?”

  “Oh, no, Dr. Stevenson.” Lu gave her a bright smile. “This one is on the house.”

  Maddie was surprised. “Why?”

  “We like to treat our special guests like family.”

  There was something about the way Lu said “family” that made Maddie uncomfortable. She glanced at Syd for help.

  “Oh, don’t look at me, Miss Jean Brodie,” she said. “I’m just sitting here minding my own business.”

  Maddie rolled her eyes. She turned back toward Lu, who was busy staring at something fascinating on the front of her robe. Maddie glanced down to discover that her neckline had gaped open, revealing a tad too much real estate. She sighed and cinched it closed.

  “Thanks, Lu,” she said. “You’ve been more than helpful.”

  Lu gave no indication that she was eager to leave. “Would you like me to open that for you?”

  “No thanks,” Maddie said. “I can handle it.”

  “It’s really no trouble.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I can take care of it.”

  “I have my own opener right here.” Lu held up a shiny black bar tool with an orange Harley-Davidson logo on it.

  “Thank you. But I travel with one of my own.”

  Lu looked impressed. “Big wine drinkers, huh?”

  “Some people seem to think so.”

  “Guess I sent you to the wrong kind of place, then—didn’t I?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Maddie said. “The wings were great.”

  “Hot and spicy,” Lu agreed. “Just the way I like ’em.”

  Syd chuckled.

  “And you can’t ever eat just one,” Lu added.

  Maddie chewed the inside of her cheek. “Thanks again, Lu. But it’s late, and you’re off duty. We don’t want to take up any more of your time.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me, Dr. Stevenson. I can go all night.”

  “I’m sure you can, Lu. But I’m older and more worn down, and right now, I just want to relax with a glass of wine and then fall into bed.”

  Lu glanced behind Maddie at Syd. She leaned toward Maddie and lowered her voice. “Can’t say I blame you for that.”

  Maddie was pretty certain that she must have reacquired that French fry missing from her Happy Meal, because none of what Lu appeared to a
ngling for was lost on her. And her threshold for being amused by it was starting to diminish. She opened her mouth to say as much when she heard movement behind her.