“That's funny,” he went on. “I've been looking for Denise, too.” He leaned closer to me. “Maybe we can help each other out.” He smiled and his eyes were hooded. “Two people, looking to help Denise stay safe.”
I pushed air into my lungs. “I wasn't aware that you were concerned for Denise's safety,” I said. “I was thinking it was maybe the opposite way around.”
He laughed but let it die in his throat. “And so you were going to come all the way down here, with your midget dog and your crazy old lady, to save my wife from me?”
“Something like that,” I answered.
He laughed again, this time letting the sound echo through the empty pool terrace.
“Either you have an inflated idea of your own capabilities or you've seriously underestimated mine.” The thick lidded eyes widened for a moment, glaring, but the smile never left his lips. He reached across the table in one flash of movement and gripped my wrist. “I need to find Denise,” he whispered harshly. “She has something that belongs to me.”
“And what would that be?” I asked, not letting him know that his grasp was tight, painful.
“She knows,” he answered. His mood suddenly changed, and he became the man from the dock, the one who'd cared for Fluffy. “Sierra, I don't want to hurt Denise.” His eyes were sorrowful pools. “In some ways your friend Denise is a child. She lashes out when she's hurt. That's what she's doing now.” His grip relaxed momentarily, then tightened until I gasped. “You tell her I think she's being very stupid. She knows I won't tolerate stupidity, even from her.”
It was like he'd forgotten I was there. His eyes burned past me, his fingers bit into my wrist. He was thinking about Denise. A door from the hotel swung open and a woman laughed as she stepped out onto the concrete walkway. A man's voice teased as the couple walked toward the pool. Leon snapped back into awareness and stared at me.
“Sierra, I'm sorry,” he murmured. “She brings out the worst in me. We do that to each other.”
For a moment he seemed wistful. I thought about Denise, sitting on the barstool, telling me about how Leon beat her and threatened her. The Denise I knew didn't love Leon. She feared him. I looked over at Leon. Was this his way of throwing me off track? For all I knew, Denise was locked away some-where or dead. But a sneaking little voice was beginning to gnaw away at me. What if Denise really did have something that belonged to Leon? What if she was conning me and Leon both?
Leon watched the couple wandering by the edge of the pool, then he leaned very close to me.
“Sierra,” he said, “I'm going to give you a number to call if you hear from Denise. Call collect.”
“Oh yeah, right.” I sneered. “Like I'd tell you if I heard from her.”
Leon's voice was pure menace. “I'll know if she contacts you. I'll find out eventually. You can circumvent a lot of pain to yourself and your family if you get in touch with me as soon as she calls.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he gripped my wrist, flipping my hand over to expose my palm. In his other hand, he held his glowing cigarette, bringing it so close to my skin that I could feel the heat.
“Don't try to fool me,” he said. “You're afraid of me, and that's a good thing. That's self-preservation.”
“I'm not afraid of you,” I said loudly. The couple by the pool looked in our direction. They were too far away to hear what I'd said, but close enough to catch the tone.
“Then you've made a serious mistake,” he whispered. He stood up and dropped a thin white business card on the table. A phone number was printed on it, nothing else. In an instant he had vanished, walking back through the darkness, toward the hotel lobby. A car started and pulled away. Leon Corvase was gone.
I was shaking too badly to move. I sat massaging my wrist and waiting for my knees to feel strong enough to support my legs. My gut was telling me that Leon Corvase wanted to find Denise as badly as I did. But then, my gut told me to come to Fort Lauderdale and look for Denise. Some instinct. I'd only caused more trouble for myself and Denise. On top of it, I had a mobster dope dealer threatening my “family,” Raydean and Fluffy. Some help to Denise I was turning out to be.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Raydean didn't ask questions when I came back up to the room and told her I'd decided that she was right, we needed to go back home to Panama City. She nodded, half hearing me, half watching her beloved Braves. Maddux had given up three runs, and Raydean was yelling at the manager, Bobby Cox.
“Hell, you knock-kneed tree toad,” she ranted at the TV, “I could do better than you. Can't you see the boy's tired? Hell, he's thrown ninety pitches already. Take him out!” Moon Pie wrappers littered the bed where Raydean and Fluffy lay. Fluffy was sitting up next to Raydean, her eyes bulging and her tiny body quivering. Either Fluffy felt as Raydean did about Bobby Cox, or Raydean had O.D.'d Fluffy on sugar. I voted for the latter.
When I emerged from the bathroom, ready for bed, I found Raydean and Fluffy sound asleep, Greg Maddux still on the mound for Atlanta, and Bobby Cox phoning the dugout. I pulled back the covers on the other double bed and crawled between the sheets. I aimed the remote at the TV and sent Bobby and the Braves to the showers. Tomorrow meant a long, hot drive home, but even that was preferable to Leon Corvase and Fort Lauderdale.
Fifteen
“You coulda left a note, Sierra.” Bruno was angry. He stood on my doorstep, his bull neck pulsing with emotion and steroids. “We were all worried sick about you, and Big Ed took it personal when you disappeared on his watch. He felt responsible, Sierra. You coulda thought about what you were putting us through.”
I hung my head and looked at Bruno's pointy-toed cowboy boots. He was right. I'd rushed off, like it was some big game and I was the leader. I wasn't used to accounting for myself, not since I'd left Philly.
“Aw, Bruno, I'm sorry,” I muttered. I felt like I was in front of Sister Mary Margaret, my second-grade teacher. “I guess I got ahead of myself.”
Bruno softened a bit. “Well, it's all right,” he said. “Now that we know you're okay.” He shifted from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable. “Marla ain't gonna be so happy you're lookin' good again.”
We were getting to the heart of the message. Marla. I could feel my heart starting to race and my stomach tighten. Marla hadn't been sitting still while I'd been gone, I was sure of that.
“What about Marla?” I asked.
“She's got this new act,” he began. “She's doing a tribute to our men in uniform.”
“Aw, that's lame,” I said. “Marla's done that before. She's trying to suck in all the boys at Tyndall. Those boys can't afford the Tiffany. A few'll come in, but the rest'll end up down at the Golden Nugget.”
Bruno shook his head. “Nah, Sierra,” he said, “this time it's different. She got Big Ed to rig up this apparatus that makes her fly.”
Immediately I started to picture Marla, her big boobs hanging like watermelons as she careened out over the audience, singing in her squeaky off-key voice “God Bless America.” Big Ed, nice guy that he was, couldn't have rigged any device that could make Marla fly gracefully across the runway. It was impossible. Even if he had, Marla didn't have the natural wherewithal to pull it off.
“No big deal, Bruno,” I scoffed.
“No, Sierra, it is a big deal. She made it all fancy, with a silver sequin costume made up to look like a B-52 bomber. She even got silver wings on her arms. The guys love it, especially when she grabs her tits and yells, âBombs away, boys!' I'm telling you, honey, they're flocking like bees. Vincent said the door was up five hundred bucks last night.” Bruno didn't look any too happy.
“So? That's great, isn't it?” Bruno didn't need to see me sweat.
“No, it's not great. Them Air Force boys get to drinking, then they start fighting. Then I gotta break it all up. It's a pain in the ass, Sierra. The Tiffany don't cater to that crowd. If she keeps this up, the regulars will stop coming in.”
“Bruno, take it easy,” I said. “I'm coming back tomorrow.”
“You are?” He looked uncertain. “How're you gonna do that?”
“Bruno, I'm fine, really. Tell Vincent I said to make sure my spot's open because I'll be there.”
I'll admit I was feeling a little nervous, but Marla was going to eventually screw it up, it was her nature. She wouldn't need my help to topple, but nonetheless, I shouldn't take chances. I'd been out long enough. It was time to make my return, and it better start off with a bang.
Sixteen
The house lights dropped. The spots panned the audience briefly, more a product of Rusty's ineptitude than intention, then crossed together to form a slender pool of light in center stage. The fog machine I'd rented for my big comeback belched a low gray cloud across the runway.
Out in the house, the crowd was noisier than usual. Marla's fans were ready for action and stoking their libidos with alcohol. I stood behind the curtain, waiting. The music began. Tracy Chapman's throaty voice undulated over the crowd, signaling that the headliner was about to make her appearance.
I stepped out of the fog wearing a strapless black velvet sheath. The skirt was slit to my thigh on either side, and five-inch stiletto heels stretched my legs to infinity. I wore black satin gloves up to my elbows and a rhinestone dog collar necklace, and I had piled my blond hair high up on my head. If you can't dazzle them with silver sequins and B-52s, give them the real thing.
I moved forward, stepping out of the fog and onto the runway, letting the music guide my movements. I swayed, slowly, running my satin-sheathed fingers up my torso, bringing them up until they cradled my breasts, pushing them forward like an offering. The room had come to a complete standstill and the only sound was Tracy Chapman's smoky voice, echoing through the night.
I slowly stripped off each glove, tossing them to the quiet servicemen who knelt almost reverentially in front of the runway. Then I reached back to undo the zipper of my gown, letting it fall in a puddle around my high heels. There was a collective sigh, and I knew every man in the room was mine.
Instead of going for the thigh-high black fishnets, I let my hands wander slowly up my neck, up until I reached the pin holding up my hair. Men were slowly moving toward the stage, as if drawn like lemmings by an unstoppable force. Their eyes were pleading. Take it down, they begged silently. Men are such babies, I thought.
Habit led me to glance over at the bar, looking for Denise. Frankie and Rambo were sitting there watching. Rambo stuck his boot out when he saw me looking and made a kicking motion. I ignored the asshole and turned my attention to behind the bar, where a newcomer stood wiping it down. Mechanically, I reached for one of the hooks holding up a fishnet stocking. Fucking Vincent, I thought. That was loyalty for you. Denise had been gone what, a week? Already he'd replaced her.
Now her replacement was watching me. He stood behind the bar, a tall, lanky man in a Stetson. His face was thin and full of angles. Vincent must've hired a token cowboy. The bartender smiled, a slow, easy, knowing grin, and I looked away. Smart-ass cowboy.
I ran my stocking between my legs and tossed it out to a businessman at one of the front tables. He caught it, grinned, and walked up to the edge of the runway holding a twenty-dollar bill. The room was heating up. I saw Bruno and Big Ed move protectively forward as I started to unhook my bra. The airmen were in for a surprise if they tried getting out of hand. There was always one, but Bruno'd snarl at him and it'd be over before it really started.
Rusty, the stage manager, was standing by the fog machine, waiting for the grand finale. I tossed my bra in his direction and strutted forward down the runway. This is always my favorite part, right close to the end, when the tension and the testosterone are mounting and I'm the one in charge.
I reached the end of the runway and stood there, massaging the tips of my nipples until they stood up stiff and hard. There wasn't a dry seat in the house. Then with one hand I snatched at my breakaway panties, and with the other I dropped the little smoke bomb my friend Ernie at the magic shop had given me. There was a moan from the audience and I'd disappeared.
Vincent was backstage when I walked off. He handed me my silk kimono and he was smiling.
“You came back in a big way,” he said. He wasn't gonna be pissed that I'd disappeared on him. His headliner was back and the bucks were rolling in. Out in the house I could hear the dull roar of the crowd, still clamoring for more Sierra.
“So, who's the asshole in the cowboy hat you got out front?” I asked.
Vincent didn't flinch. “That's Lyle. He's from Texas.”
“No, I wouldn't have guessed.”
Vincent knew we were going to have a problem. His dark glasses could hide his twitching eye, but they couldn't hide the way he clenched his jaw.
“What about Denise?” I asked. “We just going to forget about her and hire Roy Rogers?”
We were drawing a little audience. The girls getting ready to go on couldn't quite pretend they weren't listening. Rusty stood just behind Vincent, to his left. He was openly listening, forgetting all about the next act.
“Sierra,” Vincent huffed, “I run a business. That girl's been gone a week. She ain't called. The police ain't worried about her. It's the general opinion that Denise don't want to be found. What else can I do? I covered for her with the backups as long as I could, but I need someone here full time to cover her shift.”
I didn't answer him. I whirled around and headed off for the dressing room. Why did I think anybody around here gave a shit, anyway? I knew Vincent was only doing what he had to do, but still it felt wrong, unfair.