Devil take me down, p.4
Devil Take Me Down, page 4
part #2 of Clementine Toledano Mystery Series
Q stood up and stretched her arms outward. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the apocalypse is nigh. Charlie Bourdel has tired of the topic of pussy."
"Not pussy, Q,” Charlie corrected. “Just stop calling my favorite thing, 'carrots.' I fucking hate carrots."
~~~
From the darkness, two dancers descended on aerial silk to swing around Charlie, standing on Max's pedestal as it rose up off the stage. His trumpet glittered in the spot light.
Q sang from the piano:
The angel kissed me to stop my breath,
To stop this secret, silent death.
You were the one, who whispered 'hush',
You were the one, my secret crush
Forbidden is the sweetest treat
Hunted and hidden when we meet
In your arms, angels sigh
In your arms, a god would cry
I'm gonna build me a man
Gonna build me a man to replace this lie,
build me a man who could be mine
JJ's bass line was hypnotic and the dancers spun in a slow rhythm around Charlie. He slowly brought his trumpet to his lips and breathed out a melody that would seduce an angel away from heaven. Long, gentle notes lilted over the crowd, mesmerizing everybody in the room.
Guitar-god, my ass.
Charlie was a thorn in Q’s side most days, but when he blew a perfect trumpet solo, all was forgiven. Somewhere inside, she knew a seed of decency lived within him. Nothing that beautiful could come out of someone so seemingly loathsome.
As the last notes of Charlie’s other-worldly trumpet solo hung in the air, the audience took a collective breath before rising to their feet in a standing ovation.
Charlie tipped his hat at Q and jumped down from his pedestal landing hard on both feet. He gestured to Q, who, in turn, stood up and took a little bow before waving at Jessica and girls to come on stage. The thunderous applause continued long after they exited the stage. Tom shoved Q back on stage.
“Come on, Q. Give ‘em a little lagniappe.”
Q shrugged and walked over to the piano. The crowd settled down. She began playing, slowly, plaintively.
I try to think that love's not around
But it's uncomfortably near
My old heart ain't gaining no ground
Because my angel eyes ain't here
Angel eyes, that old devil sent
They glow unbearably bright
Need I say that my love's misspent
Misspent with angel eyes tonight
As she sang through the remaining verses, she was conscious of the hush that had fallen over the crowd. When she reached the final verse, she paused and winked at Max, who was sitting at the lighting console next to her least favorite bleach blonde sound man. As the lights faded into darkness, she sang:
Excuse me while I disappear
The stage went black and Q enjoyed the sound of three hundred and fifty women simultaneously holding their breath for a microsecond as the last vibrations of the sound board quivered up through the piano keys and into her fingertips. When the applause finally subsided, Q walked off stage and was greeted by handshakes and hugs from dozens of strangers. She made her way through the crowd until she was stopped by a large, masculine arm draping itself around her shoulders.
Hot breath purred heavily accented English into her ear, "Aren't you going to say 'hello', beautiful girl?"
Urian Galanos. Probable descendent of some Greek god or goddess and definite New Orleans underworld lowlife. Urian was a drug dealer, bookie, and the proverbial bad penny in Q's life.
"Urian. Hello. What brings you out to a burlesque show during gay Mardi Gras? Did you finally come out of the closet? They say the most homophobic people are the most likely to be gay,” she said sweetly.
Urian leered and brought her palm to his lips. "I had hoped that you would be wearing less clothing this evening."
Q snatched her hand away and extracted herself from Urian's grasp, attempting her getaway. "Disgusting as usual to see you, Urian. Now if you’ll excuse me..."
Urian's arm reattached itself to her shoulders and guided her to a nearby table. Two dark-haired women sat in intimate conversation, the younger of the two turned to greet them. "Uri, Maggie is going to join us this evening."
Without removing his left arm from Q's shoulders, Urian reached for Maggie's hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. "Lovely to meet you, Maggie."
Turning to his apparent companion, he said, "Karen, darling, this is Q. Q, this is my fiancé, Karen."
Q's jaw dropped open.
"Your fiancé," she said, nonplussed. "Your fiancé," she repeated in wonder.
She turned to Karen. "You're his fiancé. You're going to marry him?" she asked incredulously.
Karen giggled. "That's the idea."
Urian whispered into Q's ear, "You could still change my mind. I see your Mr. Bordelon still hasn’t put a ring on that lovely finger."
"And you could fuck right off." Q pushed Urian away. "Nice to meet you, Karen. Good luck with...whatever this is," she said, vaguely gesturing to the three of them.
"Uri...don't let her go, we haven't asked her yet," Karen called.
Urian snapped his fingers, "I nearly forgot. Beautiful girl, Karen would like your little show to perform at our wedding reception."
Karen grinned and nodded. "You see, I'm bi and most are my friends are gay and well, Uri's friends are all..."
"Criminals?" Q suggested.
"Men who like women with asses like yours," Urian corrected.
"So we thought it would be fun to have a burlesque show at the reception.... or rather, have the reception here and have the burlesque as a surprise," Karen said.
"How untraditional." Q replied, still struggling to grasp the fact that a seemingly normal human being liked Urian, let alone loved him enough to marry him.
Karen's hand slid up Maggie's thigh, "We're not exactly going to have a traditional marriage."
"I can see that." Q said, feeling increasingly awkward as her staid, Southern upbringing bubbled up to the surface.
"Anyway, would you?" Karen asked.
Q ran a brief cost-benefit analysis in her mind before finally shrugging with a reply. "Sure, why not. Get with Susan or Laura, they own the club. Book it and we'll play."
She fished a business card out of her back pocket and handed it to Urian. "I know I'm going to regret this, but here. Call me with the date and I'll get you the contract. It's twelve grand. I know you have that."
Urian had extorted that and more from QT and the Beasts' former bass player, and Q's childhood friend, Pete Fontain over the years, between his bad bets and even worse drug habit. Q was willing to quadruple their normal wedding fee for old time's sake.
"No discount for old friends?" Urian smirked.
"I've told you before, Urian, we're not friends," Q turned and walked away.
Urian called after her, "That's because you have terrible taste in friends."
Q flipped him off over her shoulder. In her haste to escape Urian, she’d failed to keep an eye out for Michael Lopez in order to avoid him. So, naturally she crashed right into him.
Nicely done, Clementine.
"I really wish we could be friends," Michael said without any preamble.
Q gazed heavenward for assistance and muttered, “Why does every creep in this Parish want to be my fucking friend?”
She put her hands on her hips. "Michael, just what is it about me that you find so fascinating that you'd like us to be friends? What exactly is this bond you think we have that should tie us together in any which way?"
"Well, we both knew Niko," he said meekly.
"We both knew a psychopath...sociopath," Q corrected herself. "Regardless, a criminally insane common acquaintance isn't really a basis for a lasting friendship, in my mind. Tell me, Michael. Did you know that Niko killed people for money?" Q asked with pointed interest.
Michael gasped, "No, of course I didn't! Is that what you think?"
"I don't really know what to think. You turn up out of the blue and start poking around, asking questions about Niko. Then you follow me through the Quarter and halfway down Canal. What kind of conclusions do you think I might come to?” she said, her voice raising in anger.
“I felt bad. I wanted to apologize and, frankly, get away from Tom and Charlie. They were kind of scary. Honestly, I didn’t know that he, you know …” he raised is eyebrows, motioning for her to fill in the blank.
“Killed an innocent girl, nearly bludgeoned the man I love to death, and then tried to beat me to death…is that what you didn’t know?” Q asked coolly.
“I swear on my mother’s grave; I didn’t know…any of it.” Michael paused. “Look, I’m planning on sticking around. That other gig I mentioned? It’s a really big one.” He looked around before continuing, “It’s the Nine Circles Ball. My shot to get on the road with a major act, you know? Maybe even with Derek Sharp. I’ll be here through Halloween at least.”
“Congrats. I don’t exactly run in the same circles as the Sharpies. So, I’m sure we don’t have to worry about running into one another.”
She started to walk away. Michael reached for her arm and looked around again before leaning in conspiratorially.
“Look,” he said, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but you’re on the short list, so I’d really like us to find a way to get along. I don’t want to lose this gig.”
“The short list for what?” she asked, annoyed.
“To front the Rebel Angels,” he whispered, his voice tinged with a level of excitement that Q didn’t quite understand.
Derek Sharp was a three-thousand-pound shark in a New Orleans-sized goldfish bowl with four platinum albums and a star on a sidewalk somewhere in that other L.A. on the west coast. After relocating to New Orleans with his band, Dark Harm, post-Katrina, he founded an annual event: The Nine Circles Ball. A house of horrors he claimed to be an ‘art installation’ that was closer to a two-day party from Devil’s Night through Halloween, guiding its guests through the nine circles of hell. The entire event was backed by a soundtrack written by him and played by a cherry-picked house band of local musicians, called the Rebel Angels.
That Derek Sharp had even heard of QT and the Beasts, let alone Q herself, came as enough of a surprise that Q didn’t buy it.
“And what makes you think I’d accept such an offer?” Q asked.
“It’s Derek Sharp. Dark Harm. It’s a chance to be discovered,” he said emphatically.
Q spread her arms wide, gesturing to the crowd around her. “I’ve already been discovered, Michael. This is as big as I hope to get. You know what the shelf life is on a thirty-four-year-old, female musician anywhere outside of New Orleans?”
Michael started to protest, but she held her out hand, “Best of luck to you, Michael. Seriously. But stay the fuck away from me. Any friend of Niko’s isn’t one of mine.”
He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “What if you get the gig?”
She took sympathy on him and replied sincerely, “That’s not going to happen. But, in the unlikely event that it does, I won’t ruin it for you. Just because we’re not friends, doesn't mean I plan on making you an enemy.”
~~~
It was well past four in morning when Q finally climbed the porch and let herself into Ben's house.
She corrected herself. “Our house.”
The lights were off and Ben's Audi was still absent from the driveway. Q was expecting both. Ben had secured a reunion of the 1970s funk super-group, The Soul Queens, for a one night only performance. The tickets had sold out a month ago.
Even though she was still wired from the gig, Q didn't feel like going from one party to another. She disabled the alarm and immediately re-enabled it, locking the door behind her.
She flipped on a few lights as she strode to the kitchen to find something to eat. Digging through the refrigerator, she pulled out a container of cold jambalaya and grabbed a fork from a drawer.
Q set down her food on the cocktail table in front of the sofa and went to the bar to fix herself a coconut rum and lime. After Q's father had retired to Grand Cayman, care packages of Caribbean rum came as he discovered new drinks and new distillers.
She had just settled into her food and a bad Lifetime movie about adoption or adultery, she hadn't quite figured out which one it was yet, when she heard Ben's car pull into the driveway.
"Sorry, it was this or Bible study. How was the show?" Q called over her shoulder when she heard him reset the alarm.
Ben stormed into the room and went to the bar to pour himself a glass of wine without responding.
Q took a bite and waited for him to say something. When that didn't happen, she said in a passable Ben impression that still paled in comparison to any one of Ben’s four sisters’ ability, "The show was great, darlin', thanks for asking. How was your gig tonight?"
Ben sat down next to her on the sofa and reached for the container of jambalaya. She relinquished it. He ate silently for a few minutes.
"Well, since you asked, baby, the gig was great. The Burlesque has a new following with the L’s of the LGBTQ community. QT and the Beasts booked not one, but two, gay weddings, including - wait for it - the marriage of Urian Galanos and his Stockholm syndrome-stricken fiancé.” Q paused, waiting for Ben to react. When he didn’t, she continued, “Alright, you got me, Urian’s wedding isn’t exactly a gay wedding, more like gay-adjacent. His fiancé’s bi. He’s conned some poor woman into thinking he’s a human being and not a reptile, can you believe that?" Q asked, cheerfully.
Ben looked at her, clearly unamused.
"You gonna tell me who kicked your puppy or do I need to keep sitting here talking to myself. Don't get me wrong, I know I've had some practice since the whole Niko thing, but even figments of my PTSD imagination have the good manners to talk back,” she teased, waiting for a smile that didn’t come.
Ben handed her back the food, reached for her foot, and began to massage her arch. He took a deep breath and exhaled before smiling softly at her. "I'm sorry, Clementine, but tonight was a disaster. I just need a minute."
"It can't be as bad as all that. What happened? One of the Soul Queens cancel or something?" she asked, concerned.
"No, but they weren't exactly on this planet." He leaned back into the couch, shaking his head.
"Nice." Q reached for the jambalaya and resumed eating.
"The crowd loved it,” he continued. “They rambled on more than a bit. At one point JoJo started singing Judy Garland tunes for absolutely no reason that I could figure, but even that wouldn't have been so bad if we weren't so understaffed."
Ben took a long sip of wine.
"Why's that?" she asked.
"Well, JoJo kept running her mouth, so people kept running for drinks. Great for business, but fucking Beth was a no show again. Just a text. 'Sorry, bossman, can't come in tonight.' Can’t come in. What the fuck is that?” He looked at Q, waiting for an answer.
“Don’t look at me…she’s your ex, not mine.” Q offered him the jambalaya, he shook his head. She shrugged and took another bite.
“We went out twice. Years ago, and before she even worked for me,” he said defensively.
“She’s in love with you.” Q stated matter-of-factly.
Ben gave her an annoyed look.
“I’m just stating a fact, Ben,” she argued. “She is. She hates me. Maybe she’s trying to make you jealous, get back at you for choosing the wrong woman.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, irritated. “She’s dating someone she's crazy about. Told Joe all about him. If she was in love with me…”
Q grunted in smug satisfaction.
Ben continued, “…I said ‘if.’ If she was, she ain’t now…besides I've already got one crazy woman, why would I want another?”
“Sticks and stones, my love. Sticks and stones,” she retorted.
Ben took the container out of Q’s hands and set it down on the cocktail table. Sliding her left foot behind him, he leaned in and unbuttoned her pants. “So, you all broken up about Urian moving on from you to another woman,” he teased.
“Maybe,” she said. “He’s a pretty compelling prospect, what with the accent and the muscles and the bad boy image.
Ben kissed her neck, sliding his hand under her shirt to find her breast. “Don’t worry, darlin’, I can be pretty compelling myself,” he whispered in her ear.
Q groaned, feeling compelled to agree.
Sunday Bloody Sunday
Autumn sun streamed through the sheer curtains. Q gazed at Ben in wonder.
This man loves me. Crazy and all.
She briefly deliberated the likelihood that he would finally give her the ring that had been in his sock drawer for the better part of ninety days, maybe longer.
Why won’t he ask me? It’s a simple fucking question….
Ben’s eyes fluttered open, apparently hearing her internal inquiries.
“My god, you’re beautiful,” he said simply.
Q smiled and his expression transformed. His eyebrows knitted into a straight line of intense thought, studying her.
“What?” she asked, hoping she had guessed what the question was and quickly tried to put on as attractive a face as she possibly could.
“We need to go to Beth’s and find out if she’s alright,” Ben stated.
Q blinked several times, trying to cover her abject disappointment. She took a deep breath in through her nose and said, “Alright.”
She quickly got up out of bed and strode to the window to make sure that Ben understood he had begun their only day together with that statement and while they were both still naked.
“Q….” he started.
She turned with her hands on her hips and thrust her small breasts out for maximum effect. “Yes, Ben?”
“It’s just…. it’s not like her….” he tried.
“It’s not like you either. But sure, let’s go and interrupt Beth’s two-day fuckathon. What a perfect way to convince her that she shouldn’t pine away into old maidenhood for you.” Q said, throwing her hands into the air in aggravation and walking towards the bathroom.
