The Secret Life of Anna Blanc (36 page)

Anna glued her chin to her chest, letting her curls drape the sides of her face. “No. I'm new.”

“Hey! Look at me when I'm talking to you.” Snow stepped back so he could grip her head with two hands and tried to force it around. She resisted, keeping her nose to the door, but her jig was up. As her neck gave way to his force, she heard a twang, like the time she'd run into a flagpole.

Snow yowled. He grabbed his neck and bent over, protecting his head with his elbows. Big Cindy stood behind him with an iron poker. She yanked Anna by the arm and dragged her around the corner, down the stairs to the second level.

The girls slipped into an empty room and leaned against the wall to breathe. Anna glanced at Big Cindy and then at the poker.

“Lulu's room's got a fireplace,” Big Cindy said. “You should see it. It's got a bear skin rug and a canopy bed…”

“Thanks.”

Big Cindy grinned. She took out a linen handkerchief, spit on it, and began to wipe the wayward rouge from Anna's cheek. “Snow's gonna be mad. But we'll just say Douglas Doogan did it. He'll thank us.” She giggled.

Anna looked about the room. The wallpaper had fuzzy
fleur de leis
. Drapes in toreador red hung across a window that opened over the party below.

The lights went out. A moment later, the lights went back on and the party continued. Anna walked to the window, pulled aside the curtains, and looked down. “What was that?”

“Oh, that's the mystery man.” Big Cindy put on a whisper. “He likes to keep his visits secret.”

“I would think they'd all like to keep their visits secret.”

Big Cindy shook her head. “Naw. Most of 'em are proud to be here. Plus, the mystery man pays extra.”

“Surely the girls know who he is.”

“Names, na uh. We know what they feel like, you know—if he has a mustache, or if he's real skinny.” Big Cindy put a hand up and poked at her curls.

“There's more than one? How many are there?” Anna realized she was sitting on the bed. She quickly leapt up, brushing off her bottom.

Big Cindy shrugged. “It's hard to keep track.”

“Can I get a list of…physical characteristics?”

“Are you crazy? Lulu would skin me alive. She won't give up her mystery men. It ain't right. Besides…” Big Cindy raised her eyebrows. “They're money bags.”

She scooted to the door. “I think it's safe, now.” She raised her hands gracefully above her head and waltzed into the hall.

Anna followed. “Can I go with the mystery man?”

Madam Lulu loitered nearby, leaning over the rail. She smoked a cigar, a ratty green cape draped over her arm. When she saw Anna, she drawled, “I've been lookin' for you.”

“Aimee wants to meet the mystery man,” Big Cindy said.

Madam Lulu frowned. “No. Anyway, he's not your man.”

“But how do you know?” Anna asked.

“I know.” Madam Lulu handed Anna the cape. “We're going to visit Monique. Miracle of miracles. I convinced the bitch to let you in.”

Big Cindy giggled. “I bet that took a lot of dog biscuits.”

“Nope. The first girl killed in January worked at the Poodle Dog. She wore a white dress, blue garters, and had a sixpence in her shoe.”

Anna and Madam Lulu slipped down New High Street. Lulu's ratty green cape covered Anna from neck to toe, except for the moth holes. Outside a beer mill, she saw Tilly lurking with his camera, probably hoping to snap compromising photos of someone, like he had done to Anna. She shrunk into her cape.

They arrived at the back door of the Poodle Dog and knocked. Monique opened the door in a stunning
robe de soiree
with an empire waist, a cut velvet overgown, and a three-foot train. Her hat had black feathers that looked like horns. Anna eyed the gown appreciatively but frowned at the hat.

Monique gave Anna a scornful once over. “This is your detective?”

“That's her,” Madam Lulu said.

Monique made a face. “
Mon Dieu
! She can't come in like that. My girls are courtesans! She looks like a licentious clown.”

Anna took off the cape, displaying the slippery red costume that hit just above her knees. Monique groaned.

Madam Lulu clicked her tongue. “Yeah. I was gonna ask if she could borrow somethin'.”

Monique gave a big, French sigh of disgust. Anna was too distracted to be insulted. She looked past Monique into the parlor where a group of men—men she knew—played cards. An unjustly beautiful woman, in an evening gown that could almost be from the House of Doucet, smoothly lit a man's cigar.

The burning stick rested between familiar lips, beautiful lips that she had wanted to kiss. The lips belonged to Edgar Wright.

Anna squinted in confusion, not trusting her eyes. It took a
moment to believe them. Her fiancé,
her
Edgar, was welcoming the attentions of a whore in front of Mayor Smucker and a parlor full of her father's business associates. Edgar was betraying her. In public.

The unjustly beautiful woman made a quip stolen from Oscar Wilde, and the men surrounding her laughed. She laid a hand on Edgar's shoulder, put her lips to his ear, and whispered. He smiled and whispered back.

Anna saw red. She forgot about murder, forgot about her cover, and shoved past Monique.

Monique barked, “Stop!”

Anna flew through the elegant parlor like a cardinal protecting her nest. She spooked the elegant woman and landed before Edgar, hands on hips. Edgar gave the pretty little misfit an amused, indulgent smile. “Well, hello there.”

Anna's lip curled up. “Hello, Edgar.”

Though he hadn't known the painted face, he knew the voice. Anna and Edgar locked eyes. He spoke the words slowly. “My God.”

Anna cocked her arm and punched him in the eye. What she lacked in technique, she made up for with temper. The blow knocked the cigar from his lips and onto the rug, spraying the fancy whore with ash. The mayor and the businessmen burst into laughter, as if the little tart's jealous rage and Edgar's predicament was somehow charming.

In the doorway, Monique put fingers to her temples. She hissed at Madam Lulu. “
Mon Dieu
! You bring me a romantic fool who strikes my customers?”

“Yeah. That didn't work out,” Madam Lulu said.

Anna bolted for the foyer, past Monique, and out the door. Anger and the enormity of it swallowed her. She could never marry a man who slept with brothel girls, but that point was moot. Not even Heathcliff would espouse his Cathy if he'd found her in a brothel dressed like a whore. They had each crossed a line and could never go back. There would be no wedding. She would never forgive Edgar for betraying her. Never.

Monique called to Anna, who was flying across the back lawn. “You stupid girl! He comes for business. Only business!” Monique spewed a string of sharp words in French.

Madam Lulu put hands on hips and whined in a Parisian accent. “
Mon dieu
!” She picked up her skirts and ran after Anna. “Hey princess! Wait for me!”

Anna flew through back yards and alleys. On the street, her outfit would get her vagged. She slowed to a walk as she approached Canary Cottage, hyperventilating from the shock. The backyard had an outhouse, and a tatty lawn with lots of brown spots. A rainbow of colorful drawers fluttered on a clothesline in the moonlight. Anna held onto the metal laundry pole and leaned a hand on her knee, gulping empty, shallow breaths. Madam Lulu skid into the yard like a hippo on roller skates. “I'm guessing the wedding's off.”

Anna gasped. “My whole life is off.”

“Oh. You think he's gonna tell all the society people you was in the brothel and they'll kick you out of their little club?”

Anna shook her head vigorously. “No. He's too much of a gentleman. And besides, it wouldn't reflect well on him.”

“What then?” Madam Lulu asked. “Those other men didn't see you. They saw a feisty little whore with a crush on one of her customers. It ain't the first time.”

“It isn't only that,” Anna said. “Father and Edgar are business partners. Without Edgar, our bank is in trouble. And father owes Edgar a tremendous lot of money. He can't pay it back. No one's going to marry me now—not with a scandalous elopement, a broken engagement, and no fortune.”

Madam Lulu looked her up and down. “Oh, I don't know. You got other assets.”

“I'll die father's prisoner in some poor house! Or, worse yet…” Anna's words came out like a sob. “I'll have to become a nun!”

Madam Lulu grunted. “I never thought Edgar Wright was good for Anna Holmes or Anna Blanc.”

“I used to think Edgar was very good for me. I thought he was a good man.” Anna looked up and searched Madam Lulu's eyes. “Could Monique be telling the truth? Could it be that he was only there for business?”

Madam Lulu shrugged. “Lots of business is conducted in brothels.”

Anna put her head in her hands and moaned. “You mean, he's innocent?” She looked up quickly, eyes wide. “Does my father go to the Poodle Dog?”

“Like I said, lots of business is conducted in brothels.”

Anna squeaked in distress. She wondered if she knew anything at all about the world. “I'm such a fool. I've ruined my life. I risked my cover. If only I'd been more measured.”

Madam Lulu reached into her cleavage for a cigar and chewed the end off. She lit it. “Princess, you ruined this life. You'll find another one.”

Anna's lower lip trembled. “My old life was boring, but this will be worse. We'll have to sell the house and live in a shack that I'll likely have to build myself. I won't be allowed to leave our shanty. Old friends will bring me charity hams and gossip about how I couldn't keep a man.”

Madam Lulu drew in a long breath from the cigar and let the smoke slip between a gap in her front teeth. “I heard you had something going with Joe Singer.”

Anna's head snapped up. She looked at Madam Lulu for a long second. A madam was an excellent confessor when no priest was at hand, perhaps better than a priest, as they held to the same code of secrecy, assigned no penance, and were less likely to judge. Anna sighed with her whole body. “I like him intensely. But I doubt he'll ever speak to me again.”

Madam Lulu chuckled. “Hmm. What'd ya do?”

Anna's voice went squeaky and high. She wrung a handful of her silky gown. “I killed Eve. It's my fault she's dead.”

“You screwed her good, but I wouldn't go that far.”

Madam Lulu took out a second cigar, bit off the end and lit it. She handed it to Anna, who mindlessly inhaled and coughed.

“He used to kiss me when we were working undercover. It was part of the job, but I could tell he didn't mind.”

Madam Lulu raised one eyebrow. “I thought it was the other way around.”

Anna fumbled her cigar and it rolled into the grass. She flushed. “What do you mean?”

Madam Lulu picked up the cigar, snuffing it out on the metal pole. “I thought you kissed him and you didn't mind.”

Anna searched Madam Lulu's face with suspicious eyes. “How would you know that?”

“I know everything.”

“Well, you're wrong. It was he that kissed me. The first time, anyhow. And I showed him just how much I minded.”

Madam Lulu puffed away. “Uh huh.” She handed Anna the snuffed out cigar. Anna stuck it down her cleavage.

“I suppose that the second time,
I
kissed him. Very thoroughly.” She sighed. “And the third time. We were extremely thorough. I only ever kissed him for police purposes, you understand.”

“Uh huh.” Madam Lulu leaned against the pole.

“But by the third time I was lost—hopelessly liking him intensely.” Anna straightened. “But one can't trust passion. Luckily, I knew better than to let feelings rule my heart.”

Madam Lulu blew out a big cloud of smoke. “That's stupid.”

Anna frowned.

The women's conversation floated through the cut-out moon on the outhouse door. The occupant, relieving himself of his whiskey, heard every word. Detective Snow, his head still throbbing, finally placed Anna's voice and strained to make sense of it. Matron Holmes was at Canary Cottage confiding in Madam Lulu about screwing Joe Singer.
Matron Holmes was married—the LAPD required it. She was also engaged to a man named Edgar Wright and went by the name of Anna Blanc.

He peeked through the moon and caught a glimpse of Anna in her little red gown. She was the whore he was trying to screw when he got bashed on the head. She was three people having love affairs with three different men and selling her body on the side.

What a crazy, floozy bitch. She'd done a good job of keeping it a secret. He rubbed the bump on his head and sniggered. He'd be happy to spread the word.