Kill Me (9 page)

“Um, I don’t know. Sorry.” I scrubbed my face with a wet washcloth. Was something wrong with my eyes? I’d know it if I had Ebola, right?

“Paddle boats!” she said.

“Deal. Zoo, then paddle boats.” I promised and glanced at the clock. Bette was probably on the way and I had to reapply my makeup.

I could hear Quinn telling her father about the trip to Salisbury that I’d promised her. Quinn sounded excited. Pete, not so much. I was sure that the minute I hung up he’d find some way to belittle me to our daughter, like tell her not to get her hopes up.
You know how much mommy works. She might not be able to take you.

“Look honey, I’ve got to go. Mommy has a dinner meeting to get ready for.”

I was worried she’d be disappointed, but Quinn was still excited about the zoo and whatnot, so she simply said, “Okay, see you Saturday!” before hanging up on me.

We needed to have a little talk about telephone manners at some point. That would probably have to come after the
your-father’s-moving-out
talk. Sigh.

I opened the music folder on my phone and did as any depressed woman does in a time like that—I played a song to amplify the life-sucks attitude I’d adopted.
Jar of Hearts
began to play as I chucked the phone on the bed, checked my white sundress for any errant pink tears, and hurried to the bathroom to re-do my face.

More concealer under my eyes, a little loose-powder and a fresh smudge of eyeliner, and I was ready again.

The knock at my door seemed perfectly timed. I grabbed my phone and a small silver clutch, slipped on my silver and white sandals, and opened the door. I had been expecting Bette, but standing there in front of my opened door was the last person I expected to see.

“Oh, good! I got the right room. I was worried I’d transposed the numbers or something.” Cassidy, from SheRawks! said, sweeping into my room, her fiery locks bouncing about her face.

“I was on my way out, I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure how she’d gotten my room number or what she wanted, and I was feeling a little too scatter-brained to put on my business hat at the moment.

“Oh, crap. I should have called. I just wanted to let you know that I
know
, and I can help,” she said, fidgeting with her hands.

I must have looked as confused as I felt, because she continued.

“You know, with your gifts,” Cassidy said, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“I...I don’t know what you mean.” I said.

Cassidy drew closer to me, touching my arm. “I know you don’t. But I can help you understand.”

I believed that she meant well, but she was confusing the hell out of me. I didn’t have any gifts, at least not the kind she referred to.

Or did I? Some of the unexplained moments of the past few days popped into my head, but I pushed them away, not ready to consider what she was saying.

“Look, I really don’t know what you mean and my ride is going to be here any minute. Can we talk about this later?”

Disappointment flashed across her face, but Cassidy quickly covered it with a sincere smile. “Of course. Give me your phone.” Cassidy held out her hand and wiggled her finger-tips.

It felt a little odd, but I handed her my phone and waited while she played with it.

“Ok, I programmed my number. So call me when you’re ready, m’kay?”

“Sure,” I said, taking back my phone. “I’ll, uh, call you soon.”

Another knock sounded on my door. For some reason, I wasn’t keen on Bette meeting another one of my clients, albeit one who wanted to help me with my so-called gifts. Maybe it was another surprise visitor. One could hope, anyway.

I was half-right. When I answered the door, I didn’t find Bette waiting for me. Instead, it was the limo driver, Domino, and he didn’t look pleased to be sent for me.

I turned back to Cassidy. I had to get rid of her quickly, just in case things got weird with Domino again.

“Here’s my ride,” I said, ushering her out of the door. Purse and phone in hand, I pulled the door shut behind me. Domino waited silently, like a proper limo driver should, while I said goodbye to Cassidy. After promising to call her soon, she flitted down the hall.

Domino and I headed in the opposite direction in silence. Finally, in the service elevator, I worked up the nerve to say what was on my mind.

“Why don’t you like me?” I asked.

“You crazy. You the one who try to kill me, I should be asking you ‘dat question.” He wouldn’t look me in the eye. Instead, he pulled a flask from his pocket. I couldn’t help but notice how his hand shook as he pulled a swig of what smelled like bourbon. Was he really afraid of me?

“I didn’t...” I protested, my voice dying off. I wasn’t sure what I had planned on saying. I didn’t do anything, or I didn’t mean to do whatever in the hell it was that I’d done to him?

“Look, ‘is not personal. I’ve been with Elizabetta a long time and I don’t like seeing her take risks on your kind.” He said to the elevator door as he blotted his mouth with a blue silk handkerchief.

“What do you mean my kind? A woman? An American? That’s doesn’t make any sense.”

Domino tilted his face my way, keeping his eyes averted. “You have not a clue, do you? Well, tonight will be much fun.”

He was almost smiling, though I detected a hint of malice behind his words.

My stomach hardened into a knot and I wondered for the first time what Bette had in mind for tonight. I’d like to say that things couldn’t get any stranger, but even I knew better than that. Well, since I was already half-way to crazy, I might as well stay on for the full ride.

Chapter 10

Oh, bloody hell
—that was my first thought when the limo pulled into a crowded lot outside of a nondescript, windowless building. When I’d entered the limo back at the hotel, I’d been surprised to find the car empty. Bette was meeting me somewhere, but it wasn’t until Domino deposited me underneath a blinking pink sign that I understood just how wrong the night was going to go.

Aside from the buxom twenty-foot female silhouette, the words “Sweet Treat’s Strip Club” kind of gave it away. To quote Spike from
Buffy
, “Oh, bloody hell,” was the only thing appropriate to say.

A noisy little marching band of emotions headed my way. First, I was angry. Bette promised to answer my questions and I was willing to bet that little talking was ever accomplished in a place like this. Second, I was mortified. Married moms didn’t just waltz into strip clubs. It was insane! Third, I’ll admit, I was more than a little curious, though not enough to enter the building. Lastly, I was back to being pissed.

Bette had summoned me and Domino had dropped me off and left. I was standing outside, alone, in the parking lot of a seedy club where horny drunken men were probably lurking behind the nearest palm tree, just waiting for the best moment to pounce on defenseless little ol’ me.

Screw this, I thought. I’m a grown woman, with the same parts as the women inside shaking their moneymakers. What did I have to be scared or ashamed of? It’s not like I was going inside for my own pleasure. I just had to think of it like a business meeting, nothing more.

Mind made up, I put on my best nonchalant expression, drew in a deep breath of the humid Florida air, and headed into my very first strip club. Inside the door, almost blocking my path, was the check-in station manned by an attractive woman in a low-cut silver dress. She smiled pleasantly, and I hoped that I didn’t look too out of my league.

“Party of one?” she asked, looking up from her book- a weathered copy of The Scarlett Letter.

I supposed, whether incorrectly or not, that her book was a warning sign meant for me.

“No, I’m meeting someone. Uh, she’s already supposed to be here,” I said, scooting out of the way to let a handsome couple pass by on their way out the door.

“Oh, okay,” she said, “just sign in here and I’ll need to see some ID please. The cover’s five bucks.”

I signed the sheet she pushed toward me and handed over my license and the cover charge. I wondered briefly if I could write off the fee as a business expense. My company’s matronly accountant would probably have a heart attack. And if she didn’t, the news that I was a pervert would be all over the Shore by midday. In my hometown, the grapevine was more like a forest of kudzu vines—invasive, sturdy and hard to get rid of.

She finally gave my ID back, after a long time of comparing my picture to my actual face and back again. I had to give it to the place, the security was tight enough. The last time I’d been scrutinized this much was when I’d tried to buy a bottle of Boone’s on a dare when I was seventeen.

“Private rooms and restrooms to the left, bar and main stage to the right,” she offered, after looking up to find that I was still standing there like a lost child.

“Thanks, but, do you know where a woman name Bette might be? She’s tall, attractive and Italian if that helps?” I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe I’d get lucky. Or not.

“Sorry, try the main bar area first. If she’s not there, maybe get one of the girls to take you back into the private rooms.”

I nodded thanks, and skirted the counter, trying to remember which way the bar was. I guessed left, which wasn’t right. That just led me into a dark hall with heavily curtained doorways. Above the thump of music, I could make out a symphony or groans, sighs and hushed voices as I passed the private rooms. I kept going, for no better reason than to hide out in the bathroom for hours while I regained my nerve.

At the end of the hall, I shoved open the bathroom door and was surprised to find it clean and well lit. That made sense though, the dancers probably had their own bathrooms in the back, and since men made up the bulk of strip club visitors, the women’s bathroom surely got very little use. I crossed to the mirror and took stock of myself. I was wearing an outfit I’d picked out, meaning that I didn’t look half as good as I did when Bette dressed me.

My sundress was too long and my blazer practically screamed PTA volunteer. I looked fine for a dinner in an upscale restaurant, but here, in this den of flesh and fantasy I just looked absurd. I studied myself for a moment, before realizing with a few quick adjustments I could look at least a little less uptight. It was like what I did before a big meeting. Acclimate and reflect the people I had to win over. Walk a little in their shoes, so that I could fit in.

I pulled the thin, twisted silk scarf from around my neck and tied it around my waist. I hiked my skirt up, tucking it under the belt in a sort-of blousy way, until the length hung just above the knee. I unbuttoned my blazer and rolled up the sleeves into cuffs. I tugged my neck line down in the front to show a little cleavage. When the girls still looked rather sad, I adjusted the straps of my bra to hoist things up a little further.

I took stock of myself in the mirror again. It was better, but still not quite like I’d hoped. Stockings were the next to go, and I had to admit that my legs looked better without them. At least I’d worn a pair of killer turquoise heels. To finish out the transformation, I ran a little water over my hands and mussed up my hair, then applied my lipstick a little darker than I had earlier.

I felt modestly better, perhaps even borderline sexy.

I marched out of the bathroom and past the private rooms, trying really hard to ignore the flashes of skin and lustful sounds that escaped every time the curtains billowed out around me—which was another thing I ignored. Strobes flashed from the ceiling, beating with the pulse of music. Adele’s song
Rolling in the Deep
blared from the speakers, all rhythm and soul, and it was the perfect music for strutting. I felt like a force of nature and with every step my walk became more confident, cocky even. The beat of the song echoed through my body and I caught the irony immediately.

I was positive that I’d make a grand entrance into the bar area. Every eye would turn to stare, fog would unfurl around me and I’d pose against the doorway to give everybody a chance to drool over the goddess that was me.

Of course, that didn’t happen.

When I walked in, I was hardly noticed at all. I was the most dressed woman in the room, so I was practically a dude compared to the legs and asses that circulated the room like sharks in frenzy. Actually I was less than a dude. Men had penises and a wad of cash to shower on the ladies. So unless I looked like a needy, rich, lesbian, the women would probably pay me no mind whatsoever. And I didn’t look like a stripper, so the men would ignore me as well. Thank god for small miracles.

I quickly found the bar and bought myself some liquid courage. It hardly burned going down and I was disappointed that of all the times for me to not get tipsy on one drink, my body had chosen that moment to increase my liver function. Bloody hell.

“You know that won’t work anymore, right?” a voice said from over my shoulder.

Cassidy leaned over my arm, her blood red hair sweeping over my hand in a thick blanket of curls. She smiled coyly at me.

A half dozen curse words came to mind, but instead I said, “What are you doing here?”

So, I’d left my subtle skills back at the hotel. It had been a long day and I just couldn’t get my game face to stay put.

“Same as you,” she said.

“Business meeting?” I said with a little more ice in my voice than I’d meant.

Cassidy grinned wide, “Sure, we’ll go with that if you’d like.”

I felt like an ass, a naked-girl-loving ass. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Though, I really am looking for a client.”

“No worries. I’m here with Vera. She doesn’t like to troll alone. I guess you could say I’m her wing girl for the night.”

Great, it was bad enough running into Cassidy again after the way she’d shown up at my hotel claiming I had some sort of gifts, but I had to avoid Vera at all costs. She already thought wrong about me, plus she was technically a client. Mixing business with my personal life was something I tried very hard not to do.

I glanced in the direction Cassidy nodded, and spied Vera sitting back in a chair with her hands clasped behind her head, a deliriously happy smile upon her face. She was focused on a thick Latina in a sparkly pink g-string, I needn’t worry about her recognizing me at the bar twenty feet away, Vera only had eyes for her stripper. The dancer was straddling Vera’s legs, bending over to grab her own ankles.