by W E DeVore
Ben laughed and walked to the table. He set down the two paper bags he was holding, reaching into one to pull out a six-pack of beer. “This what you’re looking for? Thought you might be hurting a little. I can make you a Bloody Mary, too, if you want.”
She gratefully accepted the beer and shook her head. “This will be fine. Thanks.”
“You found an escort for your little strip club investigation, yet?” he asked, unpacking the paper-wrapped sandwiches and setting them on the table.
“No.” Q sat down and popped the tab on her beer. She took a long drink and rested the cool can on her pounding temple.
“Hope you wanted debris, ‘cause that’s how I ordered it.” He handed her the paper tube and sat down across from her.
She nodded and quickly tore into the paper to reveal the slightly soggy ambrosia of a roast beef po’ boy. She reached for the hot sauce and quickly doused the end of her sandwich before taking a very large bite. She closed her eyes and chewed with pleasure, enjoying the warm juice sliding down her fingers. She swallowed and set her sandwich down to lick the liquid off her wrists.
Ben gazed at her in either fascination or disgust, she couldn’t really tell which.
“What?” she said, around her mouthful of food.
He smiled and shook his head, before diving into his own lunch. “Nothing.”
Q took another hot sauce drenched, larger-than-ladylike bite. “Tom won’t come with me tonight. Camilla’s not speaking to either of us and he thinks it’ll make it worse. Charlie’s refusing to pick up his phone, I sent him a text… never thought I’d have so much trouble getting any of the Beasts to a strip club.” She chewed for a second before asking, “Don’t suppose you would come?”
Ben swallowed his bite and stood up to grab the paper towels on the counter behind her. “Sorry, darlin’, that night I drove out to see you is the first time in eight years I’ve left the Cove before closing on a Saturday night; and that was mostly business.”
He handed her a paper towel and sat back down with one of his own.
She finally felt her hangover abating as she took another sip of beer. “Business, huh?”
“I said ‘mostly.'” Ben winked at her.
“You need a manager or something, so you can take a night off every once in a while.”
“Josh is the manager,” he corrected, taking another bite.
“I thought he was your bouncer?”
“That too,” he said, pausing until he finished his bite. “We worked together at this club in the Quarter years ago. He came with me when I started the Cove. I try to keep the staff tight, so we all make more money, but that means I’ve got to work too.” He shrugged and gestured to his surroundings. “It’s worth it though.”
Q’s phone beeped and she immediately picked it up to read the new text message:
fine but ur buying me a lap dance. bring ones. ur putting all the tips in the thongs. see you at 8 – ur place
She shook her head. “Charlie’s revenge.”
Ben looked quizzically at her and she read him the text message. Once he stopped laughing, he said, “Might be worth hiring an extra bartender for the night, just so I can watch.”
Q threw her used napkin at him. “Fuck off.”
“Just remember that they can touch you, but you can’t touch them,” he jeered.
“I hate you.”
“Now is that any way to talk to the man who brings you po’ boys and beer for your hangover?” he feigned.
She put her head down on the table. “I need a nap.”
“My bed is at your disposal,” Ben said, taking a final bite before pushing what was left of his sandwich away.
“You mind running me home? I’d really like to climb into my own bed.” Q was decidedly tired of Ben’s house creaking at her, too tired to even pick up her head. She halfway looked up and quickly added, “Not necessarily alone, I could use a shoulder to sleep on.” She smiled at him before putting her head, face down, back on the table.
Ben looked at his watch. “Well then, my driving services and my shoulder are at your disposal for the next three hours, then I’ve got to go earn a living.”
~~~
Q woke up and stretched, reaching for Ben. She opened her eyes and realized she was alone. The last dregs of evening light dimly lit her apartment. She glanced over at the clock on her nightstand: 7:32pm.
“Shit.”
She climbed out of bed and went to the kitchen to get some water. She was halfway through her second glass when she noticed a piece of staff paper on her piano with a giant ‘Q’ scrawled on top.
Ben’s precise, square print read:
Had to get on to the Cove and didn’t want to wake you up. Please be careful tonight and call me when you get home. Love you - BJB.
She kissed the note and headed to the bathroom before Charlie’s imminent arrival. After a much too brief shower, she hastily pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She was reaching for her Converse when Charlie knocked on her door. Q opened the door for him and immediately sat down on the piano bench to put on her shoes.
Charlie strode into the room carrying his guitar case and a small practice amp. He was dressed in his standard uniform: jeans, combat boots, and a black button-down shirt. His hair was neatly tied into a French braid that hung past the middle of his back. He set down the amp and the case and took a quick appraisal of Q.
“I ain’t going out with you looking like that. You look like a twelve-year-old boy,” he said bluntly.
Q looked down at herself: gray Soilent Green baby doll, jeans, and Converse. “What? I always dress this way.”
“Yeah, and you always look like a twelve-year-old boy. I’d say ten, except for your strange collection of death metal t-shirts.” He looked around for an outlet and plugged in his amp.
“I’m not dressed any different than you,” she said defensively.
He set his guitar case down next to the piano and opened it. “Yeah, but unlike you, I was once a twelve-year-old boy, so I’m allowed.” He winked up at her sideways. “At least put on that sparkly thing you wore to the Hammond gig and some shoes that look like they might have been made for a woman.”
Q sighed and went to go change. She heard Charlie plug in his guitar and start to tune it. She came back around the corner with Soilent Green replaced by silver sparkles and Converse replaced with heeled boots.
She did a quick turn. “Better?”
He looked up briefly. “Marginally. I guess it’ll have to do. Can’t you put on some jewelry or something?”
She groaned in frustration and went to her nightstand to retrieve a pair of earrings and a large silver bracelet for each wrist.
“Happy now?” she asked as she reentered the main room, not really caring one way or the other if Charlie was pleased with her appearance.
“Put on a necklace and you’ll actually look like a girl.” He was clearly messing with her and enjoying her changing her appearance to suit his tastes.
She took a chair from the bistro table in her kitchen and straddled it, facing Charlie where he sat on her piano bench.
“Too bad. I don’t like things around my neck. No necklaces. No scarves. Not negotiable. What’s with the guitar?” she asked.
“I’ve been thinkin’. As long as we don’t have any gigs, this might be a good time for us to work on some new jams.”
“What kind of new jams?” she asked, relieved that she wasn’t going to get a lecture about Pete and her inability to get him to turn himself in.
“You sold me a line of bullshit when you convinced me to join The Beasts. We were gonna turn the New Orleans scene on its ear, remember?”
Q smiled. She did remember. She had found solace in playing the blues after her attack. She learned every note Professor Longhair and Dr. John ever played, before moving on to Nina Simone and Katie Webster. Somewhere along the way, Pete had joined her and they’d found Tom.
That’s when Charlie had found them. The plan was simple:
take traditional New Orleans blues and fuse it with the sludgy sultriness of the Metairie metal scene that Q had been enamored with as a teenager. The problem they encountered almost immediately was that they were all too good at playing the traditional style that every party planner in the city would pay top dollar for, and all of them hated having a day job. Soon, they gave up on being creative and focused on creating a profitable business that would provide for the four of them.
“Money’s a bitch. What can I say?” Q shrugged.
“Well, since we don’t have none of that for the foreseeable future, let’s give it a shot now. You remember that song we wrote when we first started jamming?” Charlie asked, absent-mindedly strumming his guitar.
She started humming wordlessly and he started to play. The words slowly formed in her mind as she remembered the lyrics.
I awoke drunk today
I must have dreamt of you
These silent, stolen moments
Are nothing new
Self-denial is my best talent
It drains the ocean of my need
I broke his chains that broke my will
My victory cry was my defeat
I took my revenge out on you
When he tore me down from the inside
But better the killer I knew
Add me to your collection of sighs.
Q stopped singing and Charlie stopped playing.
“Yeah,” he whispered, smiling. “I knew you were something else right then.” He took a deep breath and clapped his hand on her shoulder, standing up. “A giant pain in the ass. But something else.”
“You’re a good man, Charlie Bourdel,” she said.
“Don’t let that get out.” He winked. “We’ll start working on the new sound at practice on Tuesday. See how it plays out.” He set his guitar in the empty guitar stand near the bar. “Mind bringing these to the shed with you this week? I don’t want to leave ‘em in my truck while we’re watching titty dancers.”
“That’s fine. But we should just take a cab, Charlie. Parking will be a nightmare,” Q said, grabbing her and Pete’s keys and stuffing them into her purse.
“Q, if you don’t try for princess parking, you’ll never get it.” Charlie folded his arms and nodded his head impatiently at the door.
“Words to live by, Charlie. Words to live by.”
~~~
The Dollhouse was situated in what Q affectionately referred to as ‘stripper row’ on Bourbon. For two solid blocks, you could not throw a rock without hitting the entrance to a club featuring some kind of exotic dancing. She passed Pete’s keys to Charlie when they reached the glossy black door. They entered a remarkably brightly lit foyer. The walls were covered in what looked like crushed black velvet and the black faux marble floor was polished to a high shine. The mountain-sized man behind the front desk greeted them with a deep, “Welcome to the Dollhouse.”
Charlie flashed the VIP fob on the keychain and the man continued, “Very good, sir. Name?”
Charlie glanced sideways at Q. She slipped her arm through Charlie’s and lisped in a voice much lighter than her own, “Fontain, Peter.”
The bouncer began typing into the computer and suddenly froze. Q leaned on the desk and said in a pouty voice, “Oh, not that one that’s been all over the news. That weirdo with all the piercings?” She smiled sweetly. “Can you imagine my handsome man sharing a name with an ugly ginger with corn rows?”
She wrapped her arm around Charlie’s shoulders and her body around Charlie who nodded at the bouncer. “It’s been fuckin’ aggravating, man. You should’ve seen ‘em at the DMV the other day.”
Mollified, the man-mountain finished typing and said, “Welcome back, Mr. Fontain. Looks like you have a free dance available, would you like to use it?”
Before Charlie could answer, Q batted her eyes and asked, “Peter won’t tell me. What all do you get for being a VIP at The Dollhouse?”
He glanced at Charlie for permission. Charlie winked and said, “Go on and tell her. She’s a freak. This stuff turns her on.”
He slid his hand down until it was squarely on Q’s ass, squeezing tightly once it was dead center and didn’t let go. Q fought her desire to headbutt Charlie in the nose and continued to smile sweetly.
The bouncer nodded appreciatively, “Lucky man. Wish my girl was like that.” He turned to Q and said, “Not much, baby, just free admission and half dozen free lap dances. Your man has one left.”
She bit Charlie’s earlobe roughly enough to make him flinch and purred, “Naughty boy.”
Charlie instantly slid his hand up to a more respectable location on Q’s waist. “I think I will use that last one tonight.”
The man winked at him again and handed him a black plastic card that read ‘VIP’ in bold, pink letters. Q and Charlie walked through the double black doors and into The Dollhouse.
They were instantly overwhelmed by the incessant pounding of Nine Inch Nails. The main room was a large square with a bar positioned on either stage. The main stage jutted out like a runway down the center of the room, ending at a twenty-five-foot pole. Smaller stages flanked the main thoroughfare, each with their own smudged pole and companion dancer in some state of acrobatic accomplishment.
Q walked to the bar at the right and ordered a club soda and a whiskey. The bikini-clad woman behind it said, “Cold drinks are the same price as alcohol, you may as well get a real drink.”
She shook her head. “It’s alright. I fell into a bottle of vodka last night and had to drink my way out.”
The bartender laughed and handed her the drinks. As Q was paying the outrageous sum she was just charged, she leaned in, “Look. I’m trying to find someone who was friends with Veronica Denton.” When the bartender gave her a horrified look, she quickly added, “I’m her roommate. I have all her things and I don’t know what to do with them. I thought maybe she had a friend here who might want them or something. I don’t even know if I should try to find her family or what…” Q feigned tears, letting her voice break and trail off.
The bartender nodded and said, “We’re all broken up about Ronnie, too. What a terrible thing.” She paused and then continued, “I thought Ronnie lived with her boyfriend, the one that…you know…did it.”
Q nodded. “It gets worse. I lived with both of them. We shared a two-bedroom in the Bywater. Can you imagine? I fucking shared a bathroom with that murdering freak.”
The lie took and the bartender said, “That’s awful, baby. I’m real sorry. Look, she kinda kept to herself, but Jessica was her best friend here. You might talk to her.” She pointed at the woman doing acrobatic maneuvers on the pole in the middle of the room. “I’ll have her come over after her set.”
Q said her thanks and found Charlie sitting in a leather chair next to a low table. She sat down in the chair next to him, and handed him his drink. She pointed out Jessica and said, “That’s Ronnie’s friend. They’re going to send her over when she’s done.”
“Must be my lucky night,” Charlie leered.
“You’re a pig,” Q stated and sat back with her own drink, the fizzy liquid soothing her nervous, hung-over stomach.
They sat and took in their surroundings. Q hadn’t been inside a strip club since Tom’s bachelor party. She tried to keep her focus on the dancers and not look at any of the men ogling at them. Charlie, on the hand, seemed to be inhabiting his natural environment. He stared at the woman the bartender had identified as Jessica, with a lurid appreciation that turned Q’s stomach.
When Jessica finished her routine, a large man walked to the edge of the stage and helped her down. He spoke into her ear. She glanced their way and nodded before striding towards them in her impossibly high, gold heels, wearing a matching gold thong and nothing else. From what Q could see, she was the polar opposite of Ronnie – confidence and maturity flowed around her as much as her mane of long, dark hair.
Jessica sat down on the arm of Charlie’s chair. “Which one of you is Ronnie’s
roommate?”
Q raised her hand. “Me, I’m Clementine, this is my boyfriend, Charlie.”
“You’re a fucking liar.” Jessica crossed her legs and looked coolly from Q to Charlie. “You’re in that band with that motherfucker. Ronnie showed me pictures on Facebook. What the fuck do you want?”
Q leaned forward. “Please, I’m just trying to figure out what Ronnie was doing at the Multers’ party. How she got on the guest list. Pete didn’t know and it might help find who did this.”
Jessica looked away for a second and then stared back at her. “They already found who did this and he’s skipped town. Why don’t you go look for your asshole friend instead of wasting my time?”
Q pleaded, “Please. I’ve known Pete my entire life. He couldn’t have done this. I just want to know how Ronnie got on that guest list, then we’ll leave you be.”
“Fine. Ronnie and me were both on that list. Marianne Multer hired us.”
“Hired you? For what?” Q asked.
“Afterparty. Marianne likes to throw her little ‘girl talk’ after parties. She hires a couple of girls to blend into the party as guests and then get the ball rolling.”
Charlie chimed in, “Get the ball rolling for what?”
Jessica glanced down at him and said. “Uh-uh. You wanted to know why we were there. That’s why we were there.”
“Didn’t you get worried when Ronnie didn’t come to the after party?” Q asked.
“No party. Ronnie was high as a fucking kite. She was throwing herself at the Senator, being super flirty and flat out crazy. They even left together for a while. When he came back, he said something to Marianne and she told me the deal was off. Our ‘services were no longer required.’” She made air quotes with her hands. “We were welcome to stay at the Cove, but we weren’t going back to Baton Rouge with them and we weren’t getting paid.” Jessica’s crossed leg began to swing nervously.
“What did you do?” Q asked.
“I looked around for Ronnie, but I couldn’t find her. I was pissed because I figured the Senator had told his wife how fucked up she was, and that cost us the gig. So, I left.” Jessica looked down before saying, “If I had just found her, she wouldn’t have been killed.” She paused before abruptly standing up. “Now, unless one of you wants a lap dance, I’ve got to get back to work.”