The Art of Sin (12 page)

     This was good. He wanted the pain. He remembered the splint Geoff’s nurse had given him and knew he would never wear it. The pain would help him to forget about how much he wanted Al. He had to stop thinking about their kiss, the way she had felt in his arms, and the smell of lavender in her hair. The pain would also help him to stay angry. When he was angry, he could think clearly, and try to figure out some way to win her away from that asshole, Geoff.

     As he walked along the battered sidewalks of the French Quarter, Grady distracted his weary mind with the tourists surrounding him. Young and old wandered the streets, carrying drinks or maps of the city in their hands. Their faces were filled with enthusiasm for the eclectic Creole cottages, and Grady found some reassurance in their presence. Thankfully, the entire world was not as shady as the one in which he existed. It was good to know that decency still thrived, even if it was tainted with a touch of sin.

     Not really heading in any particular direction, Grady soon found his trek taking him right past the front of his club. Looking up at the faded posters of men in come-hither poses, Grady figured this was as good a place as any to drink. At least he would not have to stumble too far to get ready for his show.

     Inside, the club was empty. The tables were still stacked with chairs and bright lights shone down on the usually darkened pit area. Grady carried his bags to the bar and had a seat on a worn wooden stool.

     Nick Davies was stocking glasses on a rack behind the bar when he saw Grady enter the club. His tall, agile figure strolled up to him.

     “You’re early,” Nick said, looking over Grady with weary eyes.

     Grady dropped his bags on the floor beside his stool. “Too early for a drink?”

     “Matt would shit if he knew you were here to drink his booze.”

     Grady rubbed his face with his left hand. “I just need a quiet place to drink.”

     Nick nodded. “One of those days, huh?” After setting an empty glass on the bar before Grady, he inquired, “What’ll ya have?”

     “Bourbon. Neat, no ice … and keep ‘em coming.”

     Nick turned to the bottle display behind him and selected a bottle of Jim Beam. “Here, this one hasn’t been watered down yet.” He plunked the bottle on the bar beside the empty glass.

     “Thanks, Nick.” Grady reached for the bottle and unscrewed the cap.

     The bartender picked up an empty crate that had held clean glasses and nodded to Grady. “Just put it back behind the bar when you’re done. I’ve got to go in the back and check the inventory.”

     “Sure thing,” Grady assured him, pouring the light amber liquid into his glass.

     Nick shook his head as Grady filled the glass to the rim. “Man, you’re gonna be a lot of fun on stage tonight. Just don’t tell Matt where you got the booze. I need my job.” He then headed to the door in the wall at the end of the bar.

     Grady slapped the bottle down on the bar when he heard the door behind the bar close. Lifting his glass to his lips, he reveled in the quiet around him. The first sip of the warm liquid burned his throat, but Grady ignored the discomfort and quickly shot back three long, deep gulps of bourbon. As the warmth of the alcohol hit his belly, he sighed with pleasure and put the glass down on the bar with a dull thud.

     Not two minutes later, he heard the entrance door of the establishment bang closed. Grady careened his head around to see who would be coming in at this early hour. His gut twisted when he saw the imposing figure of a man with black, short-cropped hair, and a lean, muscular body. He confidently strode up to the bar, and it was then that Grady saw the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

     “Doug?” Grady stood from his bar stool. “What in the hell are you doing here?” He pointed at the gun. “What is that for?”

     Doug’s frantic black eyes stared into Grady’s face. “Where is that son of a bitch? I’m going to kill him.”
     Grady stood before Doug and grabbed his arms, holding him in place by the bar. “What’s going on? Who are you going to kill?”

     “Matt,” Doug growled. “He beat the shit out of Beverly last night. She just called me from the hospital. She told him she wanted out of the marriage, and Matt went ballistic.” Doug’s panic-stricken eyes ripped into Grady. “I can’t let him get away with this. He can’t keep her.”

     The alcohol in Grady’s stomach churned. He needed to get Doug out of the bar before Matt found him and the situation got out of hand.

     “Come on.” Grady let go of Doug. He picked up the bottle of Jim Beam and shoved it into Doug’s chest. “Take this. We need to get you the hell out of here.”

     “I need to settle this with him,” Doug bellowed, gripping the bottle.

     “Bullshit.” Grady picked up his bags from the floor. “What in the hell do you think is going to happen to you if you shoot Matt? You think you’re going to be able to help Beverly from prison?” He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and picked up the garment bag with his left hand. Turning Doug back toward the entrance, he shoved him forward.

     “Where are we going, Grady?”

     “To get you good and drunk. You’ll be less likely to kill anyone then, and if you did get a chance to fire that damn gun, you’d probably miss.”

     “I need to go to the hospital and see Beverly,” Doug argued.

     “Right after you calm down and think about the situation.” Grady kept pushing him toward the club door. “You need to let the police handle things with Beverly. She can file charges against Matt and—”

     Doug abruptly faced him. “She’s not filing charges. She told the staff in the emergency room that she fell down the stairs.”

     “Why?” Grady asked, confused.

     “She’s afraid. Matt’s been in bed with the local Mafia for years. How do you think he got the money to open this place and all of his other clubs?”

     “What do you have … a death wish? How could you be stupid enough to get involved with his wife?” Grady shouted and wrenched the gun from Doug’s waistband. Grady checked the safety on the revolver, a .38 lightweight Ruger. “You’re lucky all he did was blackball you when he found out you were sleeping with her.” He dropped the garment bag to the floor and slipped the duffel bag from his shoulder.

     “How did you know about that?” Doug demanded.

     Grady shoved the gun into his duffel bag. “Everyone knows about it, Doug. I heard it from a guy in this club.” Grady picked up his bags and pushed Doug back toward the door. “When I met Beverly the other day, I guessed your Beverly and Matt’s wife were one and the same.” He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder.

     When they reached the entrance to the club, Doug slapped the heavy door open and bolted outside. Once they were on the sidewalk, Doug said, “She never told me she met you.”

     Grady recalled the way Beverly had made her intentions known that night in his dressing room. He reasoned Doug was just another in a long line of men she had lined up to use against her husband. Beverly had no intention of leaving the life of luxury she had with Matt Harrison.        

     “Yeah, well, it must have slipped her mind.” Grady motioned in the direction of Esplanade Avenue. “Let’s get you back to the house and then we can both put a dent in that bottle.” He nodded to the bottle of Jim Beam in Doug’s hands.

     Doug thumbed the club entrance behind him. “What about your show?”

     “Fuck it,” Grady growled. “I’d rather get drunk.”

Chapter 10

     The light from the streetlamps was shining in through the french windows facing Esplanade Avenue, as Grady and Doug sat at opposite ends of Grady’s brown sofa. On the coffee table was a nearly empty bottle of Jim Beam and two old-fashioned glasses, each with a sliver of bourbon left in them. 

     “Shit,” Doug mumbled, leaning over and grabbing his head. “The room won’t stop spinning.”

     “Serves you right, you dumb son of a bitch. Where on earth did you get a gun?”

     Doug sat back and rubbed his hands over his rugged features. “Bev got it for me about a year ago. She was afraid for me coming home late at night from Pat O’s.”

     “I heard Matt walked in on the two of you and that was when he had you blackballed.”

    Doug slapped his hands down on his thighs. “Yeah, fucker was supposed to be at his club, but came home early. We almost killed each other then, except Bev broke it up by putting a gun in Matt’s face. She told him if he ever touched me, she would kill him.”

     “The lady’s got balls,” Grady conceded.

     “I should have walked away then … hell, I did walk away because I knew I didn’t need that kind of shit in my life. After that, she came to Pat O’s and found me. We started finding places to meet, trying to keep it real quiet.” Doug let out a long, frustrated breath. “I’ve walked away so many times from that woman, but I’ll be damned if I don’t keep going back. There’s just something about her I can’t get out of my system.”

     Grady sat back and combed his hand through his short-cropped, hair. “You do realize you need to end it. She’s married and she won’t leave him for you.”

     “I used to think that, but lately things have changed. She’s been talking about the two of us being together. She’s tired of putting up with Matt’s affairs.”

     “He gets his but doesn’t want his wife to get hers, is that it?”

     “Not quite.” Doug shook his head. “Matt’s affairs aren’t with other women, they’re with men. That’s why he has gone over to the male clubs … easier to meet men that way.”

     A wave of revulsion shrunk Grady’s stomach. “I got the impression he didn’t like gay dancers.”

     “Matt Harrison doesn’t want anyone to know about his preference for boys. Bev told me she discovered the marriage was a sham right from the honeymoon.”

     “What about the kids?”                   

     “Dumb luck,” Doug reasoned. “Bev told me the kids were the result of the few times they did have sex.”

     “So why is he fighting to keep her?”

     Doug reached across to the coffee table and picked up his nearly empty glass. He lifted the glass to his lips and drained the last dregs of bourbon from it. “Matt Harrison is a very proud man, who doesn’t let people walk away from him. He would kill Bev before he let her go.” He gently replaced the glass on the coffee table. “She knows that, but I think she’s ready to call his bluff.”

     “Do you think he’s bluffing?”

     Doug rested his head against the back of the sofa. “I wish I knew.” He folded his arms across his chest, closed his eyes, and a few seconds later, he began snoring.

     Grady listened to the rhythmic, hoarse noises coming from Doug. Convinced the man was safe where he was until dawn, Grady stood from the sofa. When he rose to his feet he wobbled slightly. The numerous glasses of Jim Beam he had downed to keep up with Doug quickly hit him. Remembering the gun, he went to his duffel bag by the door. After checking to make sure the gun was still there, he pulled out his black iPhone. There were four messages on his phone from the club, probably wondering where he was. The last voice mail sounded like it was from an angry Matt Harrison, threatening to fire his ass unless he showed up.

     Shrugging off the threat, he dropped the phone on top of the duffel bag. “Let him fire me. What do I care?”

     Grady was surprised by his reaction. This was a new experience for him, not caring about his job. For four years he had shown up for every performance, despite flu, hangovers, or no sleep. In a matter of days, he had lost interest in all the things he had once thought important. Grady knew why he had lost his motivation; or more to the point, he knew who had taken it away from him.

     Furious that he had let another woman put a stranglehold on his life, Grady stumbled toward the front door of his apartment. He wanted to yell at her, tell her what she had done to him, or at least make her feel guilty for screwing up his livelihood. Driven on more by Jim Beam than sense, he somehow found his way up the dark oak stairs to her apartment door.

     At first, he lightly tapped on the heavy cypress door, secretly hoping that she would not answer. With every knock of his fist against the wood, his determination to see her escalated. He was still pounding against the door when it finally flew open.

     Al was standing in the doorway, wearing only a short T-shirt and lit from behind by the streetlamps beyond her living room windows. As the silhouette of her figure shone through her flimsy nightshirt, Grady wanted to groan out loud with longing.

     “What in the hell are you doing?” she shouted.

     “I just wanted to tell you ….” His eyes swept over her body, and he lost his train of thought.

     “Are you drunk?”

     He nodded. “Absolutely.”

     “Grady, it’s one o’clock in the morning, and I have got an early case. Do you want to tell me why you’re banging on my door in the middle of the goddamned night?”

     He smirked. “Did I break one of your rules?”

     “Go to bed and sleep it off.”

     She was about to slam the door on him when Grady placed his foot in the threshold.

     She glared down at his foot. “What is your problem?”

     “My problem? You want to know what my problem is … it’s you.” He pointed at her. “You, with all your rules, your lofty values, and your condescending eyes. I actually thought you were better than me, you know that? I thought there was no way a woman like that would ever want me. Then I met your boyfriend … the illustrious—and very married—Doctor Geoff, and I realized you’re just like me. You’re afraid of letting someone into your life. You’d rather stay with that pompous peacock—who will never love you—and avoid getting involved with someone who could give you everything you ever wanted, if you would only give him a chance. I know. I’m just like you. I was fine until I came here and met you.”

     Al leaned against her door. “Grady, you’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying.”

     “Yes, I do. If I was sober, I couldn’t say any of this shit.”

     She smiled at him, and Grady’s heart stilled. “Perhaps we should have this conversation when you’re sober.”

     Seeing the doorway spinning before him, he reached for the frame. “Good idea.” He then stumbled backward.

     Al giggled at him. “You’re cute when you’re drunk.”

     Grady tried like hell to stay upright. “I’m glad you think so.”

     “Don’t fall down stairs on the way back to your apartment,” she suggested.

     “We’re gonna talk about this tomorrow, right?” 

     “If you can remember that we even had this conversation, then yes, we can talk about it tomorrow.”

     “Good.” Grady removed his foot from the doorway. “Because you and me … we would be good together. I think we should go out on a date. Anywhere you want.”

     “Good night, Grady.” She quietly shut the front door.

     When he finally made it back into his apartment, Grady made sure Doug was still asleep on the sofa. Retreating to his bedroom, he sat down on his bed and attempted to undress. He had only pulled off his right tennis shoe when everything began to spin. Before he could reach for his left shoe, Grady passed out.

*     *     *

     He was dreaming of sinking beneath a wave of hot, dry sand in the desert when the sound of his own snoring startled Grady awake. He opened his eyes. The light filtering through the window next to his bed caused an intense pain in his eyeballs. Slapping his right hand over his eyes, Grady yelped as a shooting pain came from his broken pinkie. He rolled over to his side just as a coughing fit overtook him. When the painful pounding in his head began, Grady silently vowed to never drink again.

     Soon, pictures from the night before began to appear in his fuzzy mind. He saw Doug and a bottle of Jim Beam, and recalled something about messages on his phone about missing his performance at the club. An image of Al in a flimsy T-shirt standing in her doorway made him bolt upright in the bed.

     “Shit,” he moaned, grabbing his head. 

     Stumbling out of bed, Grady realized he still had on his clothes and one tennis shoe on his left foot. He made his way to the bathroom and immediately gulped back some water to relieve the horrible dryness in his mouth. He ran his hand over his five o’clock shadow, gazed in the mirror above the vanity, and instantly regretted taking in his reflection. He looked as bad as he felt.

     Remembering Doug on his sofa, Grady went to his open bedroom door and peered into the living room. Thankfully, Doug was still there, in almost the same position he had left him in the night before. Satisfied that Doug was not going anywhere for a while, Grady went back to his bed and sat down. He carefully pulled off his left tennis shoe and T-shirt, while trying to keep from using his swollen pinkie. When he stood from the bed, a brief wave of nausea hit him and then he staggered toward the bathroom.

     “First, a shower, and then I’ll deal with Doug.”

*     *     *

     Twenty minutes later he was dressed in a clean T-shirt and jeans. Pushing back his damp blond hair, he kicked the sofa.

     “Hey, Doug, get up.”

     Doug’s dark eyes opened and then he cried out when he saw the sunlight streaming in through the french windows.

     “Are you kidding me?” Doug covered his eyes. Then he cradled his head. “Aww, shit,” he groaned.    

     Grady trudged into the kitchen. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

     Doug sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. “Remind me never to get drunk on bourbon again.” 

     Grady went to the cabinet above the oven and reached for the jar of instant coffee he had purchased the day before at the convenience store down the street.

     Doug got up from the sofa and wobbled toward the kitchen. “Instant? Is that the best you’ve got?” he asked, propping his body up against the counter.

     “What’s wrong with instant?”

     Doug pointed to the coffee jar. “That will only make things worse, trust me. I’m going to go to my apartment, throw up, and take a shower. Then we’ll go to Café Du Monde and get some real coffee.”

     Grady put the jar of instant coffee down on the countertop. “I’ll drive us there. I don’t think we’re in any shape to walk.”

     “Good idea. While I’m gone, you can be looking for my gun.”

     Grady was momentarily entertained by the way Doug weaved his way toward the apartment door. “I’ll hold on to the gun for a while … at least until you sober up.”

     At the door, Doug faced Grady. “I still want to kill the son of a bitch, you know that?”

     “I know, but after we have our coffee, let’s try to think of another way you can settle the situation … without bloodshed.”

     After a few seconds of struggling with the doorknob, Doug opened the heavy cypress door. “Lucky for you, I’m too hung over to argue.” He stepped into the hall and quietly shut the door behind him.

    Grady tried to prop up his aching body against the kitchen counter. He hoped a couple of cups of coffee and a long talk would help Doug get over his bloodlust.

    Spotting his garment and duffel bags on the floor by his door, he remembered the gun. He rummaged through his duffel bag until he found the revolver. Flipping open the chamber, Grady removed the bullets. At least if Doug did find it, he could not use it without bullets. Tossing the bullets and gun back into his duffel bag, Grady then carried his bags to his bed.

     After removing his costumes from the garment bag and hanging them in his closet, Grady questioned whether he still had a job after missing his show the night before. Thoughts of unemployment filled his head, but he didn’t care anymore if he lost his only source of income. He had saved a good portion of what he made and figured he had a year before things got bad. Perhaps it was time to start looking for a new career. Grady thought it odd how much his mindset had changed. Prior to coming to New Orleans, he had never seriously considered getting out of the business. After meeting Al, he wanted nothing more than a fresh start.

     But does she want a fresh start with you? After the shit you pulled last night?

     He labored to remember bits and pieces of what he had said to her during his drunken tirade. Grady felt foolish, but then again, he was relieved. Under the influence of alcohol, he had finally disclosed some of the things he had never found the courage to say sober.  Al’s reaction to him the next time they saw each other would let him know where he stood. He just hoped that he still had a chance, because kissing her was the only good thing that had happened to him in a really long time.