chapter Ten
DUDE LOOKS LIKE A LADY
“EVERYTHING is gone.” Josie Lynn said as soon as she saw the barren courtyard. Nothing remained of the gothic wedding but the tables and chairs that belonged to Gautreaux’s.
“Probably the venue employees cleaned up everything,” Drake said, his voice low and calm.
He probably saw she was about to have a panic attack. What if all her catering supplies were gone? Her career was over before it even started.
“Let’s check the kitchen,” Drake said, placing his hand on the small of her back. She didn’t pull away from the touch, actually appreciating his support. He’d been nothing but polite and conversational since their talk about whether they’d had sex last night. Which she found nice, but also a little unnerving. It made her have those feelings again that Drake could honestly be a good guy. Even though with those smoldering dark eyes, naughty smile, and killer body, he looked the epitome of bad boy.
Just as they reached the swinging kitchen door, it whipped open. Drake looped his arm around Josie Lynn’s waist, pulling her back against him to avoid them both being hit.
“Oh. I didn’t know anyone was here.”
“Eric?” He was the last person Josie Lynn would have expected to be here, and he carried a bucket of sudsy water and a rag. He appeared to be working. The king of the slackers—working? When there was actually no reason he should be?
“What are you doing here?”
“I came back to see what happened last night,” he said, shifting awkwardly from one sneakered foot to the other. “I—I kind of blacked out or something.”
“Yeah, that seemed to be going around last night,” Drake said.
“Yeah,” Eric nodded.
“So what did you find when you got here?” Josie Lynn asked.
“The place was pretty much a mess. Nothing had been cleaned up, so I decided I should probably do some picking up,” Eric explained.
Josie Lynn looked back at the nearly spotless courtyard. “That was a lot of work. Did you call Ashley? Did you try to call me?”
“Umm—” He shook his head, brushing his disheveled hair back in an almost agitated way. “Nah. I didn’t think to call anyone. I just decided to get to work myself.”
Josie Lynn nodded, but she found his story strange. Since he’d started working for her, Eric had needed his hand held. Unlike Ashley, who would take initiative and do tasks on her own, usually wrong, but at least she tried, Eric waited to be told what to do. And then he moved at the pace of a snail with mono.
So why was he cleaning now?
“Where are all the dishes that were on the buffet?” she asked.
“I washed them and loaded them into your van.”
Oh yeah, this was suspicious. Definitely.
She wasn’t going to let her employee know that was what she was thinking, but she did want to talk to Drake about her suspicions.
“Well, thank you, Eric. I’m going to go—see how the kitchen is looking,” she said. She didn’t give Drake a look to indicate she wanted him to follow, afraid Eric might notice it.
But she didn’t need to give Drake a sign. He followed her anyway.
Once in the kitchen, which was almost as tidy as the courtyard, she turned to him.
“Something is not right about this,” she whispered.
“I was thinking the same thing. I watched him just cleaning up the spilled tuna last night. He was being totally half-assed about it. Yet he’s cleaning this whole place, without any go-ahead from you.” Drake shook his head. “Something is fishy about that.”
“I agree. So do you think he drugged the punch?”
“Possibly.” Drake walked over to look in the fridge and near the sink. “There is no punch left. Even the punchbowl is washed and gone.”
Josie Lynn went to the back door. Her van was still in the back alley and she could see Eric had indeed put all her supplies into the beaten-up old Chevy. For a second she wondered if he had her keys. That might be a sign he was involved, too, but then she remembered that the back of the van had been open last night when everything had gone down. So he probably just loaded the already-opened van without the need of her keys.
“Why would he drug us though?”
“Robbery,” Drake suggested. “Maybe the Chers aren’t really involved. Maybe it was just this guy alone.”
Josie Lynn considered that possibility, but that didn’t totally add up to her. “Okay, if he drugged all of us to steal our money, cell phones, etc. . . . then why come back to clean up? He could have just taken off and been long gone by now. He wouldn’t even need to clean up any evidence, because there still would have been no way to pin anything on him. Yeah, he was near the punch, but so was everyone. So if he did it, why come back?”
“You’re right,” Drake said. “It doesn’t add up. Hey Eric!” he called behind him. “Come out here a second.”
“Yeah?” Eric poked his head out the door.
“Is there anything you want to tell me?” Josie Lynn asked gently.
Drake snorted. “It’s a miracle you haven’t been robbed blind.” He turned to Eric. “Dude, why the hell are you here cleaning up without a word to your boss?”
Eric gave a reluctant shrug. “I don’t want to get fired.” With that, he went back to banging around in the kitchen.
Josie Lynn looked thoughtfully after him. “Wow. I’m kind of impressed.”
“But he could still be involved. I think we have to find those Chers.”
Josie Lynn nodded. “But where do we even start?”
Drake gave her a knowing look. “You start at the top. Come on.”
He caught her hand, and they left out the back door.
* * *
JOSIE LYNN GRIMACED as a raucous college student in a football jersey and baseball cap staggered into her. He gave her a cursory, and slightly slurred, apology, then kept moving with his group of equally wild and inebriated friends. Josie Lynn had been to Bourbon Street many times, but it had never been her thing—for reasons like that.
Growing up in a family of wild Cajuns, she’d seen her share of partying and fights and craziness. She didn’t need to come to Bourbon to experience that. But as they kept walking, she realized Drake was leading her to a section she didn’t know that well.
The first thing she noticed was that that clubs and bars looked better kept up than the places below the 800 block of Bourbon. The balconies were decorated with plants and lights. And while the party was still happening full tilt here, it did look less seedy.
Then she glanced over toward a beautifully decorated bar front, only to do a double take. Lined up in the opened windows were bare-assed men, shaking their naked cheeks to the pulsating music from inside the bar.
Okay, so not less seedy after all. Not to mention, she’d seen plenty of bare ass tonight already.
“Where are we going, exactly?” she asked once she managed to look away from the booty-grinding.
“Here,” Drake said, pointing toward a doorway Josie Lynn would never have noticed amid all the other lights and decorations. And butts.
“Where is here?” she asked as she followed him into the smoky darkness.
“The home of Madame Renee Chevalier.”
Josie Lynn looked around. Home? This was a bar. And honestly not a very nice one. In fact, the one with all the man butts looked considerably nicer than this place.
They walked down the length of a narrow bar toward the back and through another set of doors that opened into a larger room. This room was no less rundown and dingy. Wooden tables that had long since lost their polish were scattered around and surrounded by wing-back chairs covered in worn, red velvet. A few people, predominately men, sat at the tables, sipping drinks and smoking.
It reminded Josie Lynn of a gentlemen’s club that had seen better days. And as if to validate that image, curtains at the far end of the room parted to reveal a woman lounging provocatively across a chaise.
Drake took Josie Lynn’s hand, as he had when they had left Gautreaux’s, and led her toward the stage. He chose a table right in front of the woman languishing on stage. Pulling out a chair, he waited for Josie Lynn to sit.
She was about to ask him why they were here, when music began to play. She sat down and Drake hurried to take the chair next to her. They both turned their attention to the stage.
The woman, despite the heavy makeup and fall of bright auburn waves, looked like she was in her fifties, maybe sixties. She reminded Josie Lynn of what Ginger from Gilligan’s Island might have looked like when she aged. Well, except for the woman’s bosom, which was enormous under her gauzy white peignoir and robe. Actually, she looked more like Ginger and Dolly Parton melded together.
Then she started to sing in a voice so deep and husky that it startled Josie Lynn. She watched, amazed as the woman sang “Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps,” lolling on her golden brocade chaise, occasionally waving a hand for emphasis or to flip back her hair. Josie Lynn was certain the woman thought her performance was provocative. Which it was, Josie Lynn supposed. Just not in the way the performer probably intended.
Just as Josie Lynn started to lean toward Drake to ask again why they were here, the music suddenly changed and with another flip of her hair, the woman started to croon “Three Times a Lady.”
Really? This woman was doing a Doris Day/Commodores mashup?
“Why are we here?” she finally asked once the shock subsided.
Drake leaned closer, but his gaze shifted between Josie Lynn and the woman on stage as if he couldn’t quite manage to tear his attention away. Josie Lynn had to admit the woman was oddly fascinating in a train-wreck sort of way.
“If anyone in the French Quarter is going to know of a band of Chers, it is this woman.” Drake then added, “Well, you know, this man who impersonates a woman. She’s been working here for over three decades. She knows everyone.”
Ah, now it made sense. It also did a lot to explain her low, husky voice, too.
“Well hello, loves,” a very tall woman, who Josie Lynn assumed was also a female impersonator, sashayed over to the table, working her short skirt and high heels a heck of a lot better than Josie Lynn ever could. There was no way she could wait tables in a pair of four-inch heels.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll take a whiskey, straight up,” Drake said, then looked to Josie Lynn.
“I’ll just have a Diet Coke.”
The waitress gave her a regretful look. “We have a two-drink minimum.”
After last night Josie Lynn wasn’t sure she could handle alcohol. The idea made her stomach churn, but she also realized places like this that supplied entertainment needed to make their money somehow. In fact, places all over Bourbon Street counted on booze to make their money.
“I’ll take a white wine.”
“Chardonnay, lovey?” She said, batting her very long, very dark, very fake lashes at Josie Lynn.
Josie Lynn found herself smiling. The waitress really was quite charming.
“That’s great.”
Drake settled back in his chair. “Renee should be done with her set in just another few songs, then I’ll see what she knows about those guys.”
The waitress returned with their drinks.
“That was quick,” Josie Lynn said, accepting her glass.
The waitress gestured around them. “Well, we’re not exactly packed tonight.”
That was true. It probably wasn’t too hard for the wait staff to keep up with the handful of people in here.
Josie Lynn took a sip of her wine, grimacing slightly at the acrid taste. But as it slipped down her throat, she could also feel its warming effect, even as it hit her stomach, and she was surprised and pleased the sensation wasn’t quite as unpleasant as she’d imagined it would be.
“So do you know Renee?” she asked after she’d taken a second sip.
“Yeah.” He took a swallow of his drink, polishing off half of it.
“How? You don’t seem like you’d hang out here much.” She didn’t know why she thought that. It wasn’t as if she knew much about this man.
“No, I don’t. But both Renee and I have been around New Orleans for a long time.”
“How long?”
Drake shook his head. “Damn, longer than I care to remember. Renee has been bringing down the house for forty years. You should have seen him back when he was young.” He finished the rest of his drink.
Josie Lynn smiled. “Well, it’s not like you saw him when he was young either. You can’t be much older than me.”
There was a pause, then he just shrugged. “I’ve seen pictures. It’s a small world when you’re working in this business.”
“So you aren’t from here?”
“Originally? No.”
“Where then?”
Josie Lynn knew she should just stop questioning him, but she was curious about this man. Why? Well, that was a question she wasn’t sure she could answer. Or better yet, she’d be reluctant to answer, because she’d have to admit that she was intrigued by him. Despite her better judgment—which as always was debatable anyway.
He looked around for the waitress, waving to her before he answered Josie Lynn. “I grew up in England.”
Stella and Katie had said he’d come from a privileged background, and she got the sudden image of a sprawling estate, and private boys’ schools with uniforms. He probably even played cricket, although she wasn’t sure exactly what the sport was.
But that did also explain something else. “I thought I noticed you had an accent occasionally.”
Drake frowned at her. “My accent is long gone.”
“Did you want the same, sweetie?” the waitress asked, giving Josie Lynn a moment to study Drake without his noticing. He definitely didn’t seem to want to discuss his past, which she could understand. Her upbringing was far from her favorite topic. But why even deny the remnants of an accent? Most people loved a British accent, herself included.
“Please,” he told the waitress, handing her his empty glass.
“Are you good, precious?” the waitress asked her.
Josie Lynn nodded and the waitress left.
Drake watched Renee, who now sang “The Lady Is a Tramp,” and strutted around the stage, her gown billowing out behind her.
Again, Josie Lynn got oddly entranced by the performance, but only until the waitress returned with Drake’s fresh drink.
He took another long drink, and again Josie Lynn got the feeling he was very uncomfortable with her line of questioning.
“So what about you?” he asked as he set down his highball glass. “How long have you lived in New Orleans?”
It was her turn to take a sip of her drink. “I actually live in Westwego.”
“That’s a bit of a trek, but not bad. Is that where you grew up?”
Yeah, it was definitely her turn to be reluctant to answer. “I grew up near Atchafalaya Swamp. My dad and brothers are fisherman and—well, you know they have some experience with gators. And some of them take tourists out to fish.”
She waited for more questions. Stereotypical questions about how it was to grow up Cajun, running wild in the bayous.
But he didn’t say anything more, he simply nodded. Somehow that felt just as awkward as more questions.
She took another sip of her wine, then added almost self-consciously, “I’m sure your life was very different from how I grew up.”
Drake made a face that Josie Lynn couldn’t quite decipher. “My whole existence in general has been very different. Although I’m certainly familiar with the bayous and rivers of this area.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“Well, because I was a pirate,” he stated, and then smiled that lopsided smile of his.
She rolled her eyes at him, but smiled, too. “Right. How could I forget?”
“Arrgh,” he said, squinting up his handsome face in a way that he clearly thought was pirate-y. “Would you like to walk my plank, matey?”
She laughed despite herself. Maybe it was the wine. “I’d watch yourself, pirate, you saw what I did to the gator.”
He chuckled, then he looked back to the stage. Josie Lynn did, too, realizing the music had stopped. Wow, had Drake held her attention so thoroughly she hadn’t noticed that until now?
“My lovely crowd,” Renee said, in a husky, sultry voice.
Josie Lynn looked around again. Crowd seemed a rather lavish term for the six people scattered around the room.
“I will be taking a short break. But please don’t leave us, because the stunning Clarisse Dubois will be joining you to delight with her magnificent vocal stylings. So please, sit back and enjoy.”
As Renee sauntered toward the stage exit, Drake rose and waved to her. Renee gave him a vague wave back, then recognition lit her heavily shadowed eyes. She smiled, her ruby lips revealing startlingly white teeth. She gestured toward the backstage, then raised a manicured finger to indicate that she just needed a minute.
Drake nodded and returned to his chair.
“I guarantee she will know where to find the Chers,” he said to Josie Lynn.
“Excuse me.” A male voice drew their attention away from the stage.
Both Josie Lynn and Drake turned to see a man standing behind them. From the looks of the satiny shirt, the buttons straining over his rotund belly, and the light blue polyester pants, he looked as if he hadn’t gone shopping since the seventies. He pushed at his comb-over and offered them an oddly knowing smile.
Right away the man made Josie Lynn feel uncomfortable. Something about that gleam in his dark eyes. They roamed over her, lustfully. Drake seemed to notice, too, because he moved his chair so his knee was against hers. The movement was not overt, but still a subtle sign of possessiveness and protection. Josie Lynn didn’t shift her leg away.
“Can we help you?” Drake said, his tone cool.
“You don’t remember me?”
Drake gave the man a once-over that silently stated he wasn’t likely to forget this guy, then shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Well, you two were pretty—busy last night.” The man shot Josie Lynn another lascivious look, actually licking his lips.
Josie Lynn knew she didn’t contain her repulsion.
Drake placed a hand on hers, another protective move that she wasn’t going to discourage. But the man didn’t seem to see it as protective warning. In fact, as his gaze dropped to where they touched, he licked his lips again.
Disgust darkened Drake’s eyes, and his jaw flexed as if he was clenching his teeth. But he managed to sound relatively unperturbed as he asked, “And where exactly did you see us?”
“In the back room at The Dungeon.”
The Dungeon? Had this guy somehow been in Zelda’s sex room? That idea made Josie Lynn shudder. This guy and sex toys and all drugged out of their heads. Oh. Dear. God.
“The Dungeon,” Drake said, his tone curious and apparently not as disturbed by the idea as Josie Lynn was. “What time?”
“Oh, I’m not sure. Late.” Again the man eyed Josie Lynn, and she found herself squeezing Drake’s hand. God, this creeper made her skin crawl.
“Can you tell us who was with us?”
“A tall, very attractive woman in nothing but a bra and panties and thigh-high boots.”
Oh, dear God, he was describing Zelda. He had been in the sex room with them.
“Another woman in some sort of black leather catsuit and high heels.”
Zelda and that woman Drake had been using Josie Lynn to get rid of. At least that seemed like to the two most likely women.
“And,” the man added with any unnervingly excited grin, “your lady here was not happy with the catsuit gal. They got into quite a shouting match.”
Josie Lynn gaped at Drake. She’d got into a fight? With that woman? Why?
Drake’s expression wasn’t one of shock, but rather intrigue.
“Really? What did they fight about?” he asked the man.
“Well, your lady here didn’t like that Catsuit was hitting on you,” the man said, then looked at Josie Lynn. “In fact, you can be quite a spitfire when angry. The bouncer made the woman in the catsuit leave.”
Bouncer? Oh, wait, the man was talking about a Goth bar called The Dungeon just off Bourbon on Toulouse. But Josie Lynn’s relief that this man hadn’t been in Zelda’s sex dungeon was short-lived, as her gaze inadvertently fell on his weirdo polyester-covered crotch, which was unfortunately at eye level with where she sat.
She made a small, appalled noise and shifted her gaze to Drake, although his expression wasn’t any more comforting. He looked highly amused.
She squeezed his hand again, this time very tightly.
Drake chuckled. “Oh, she is definitely a little spitfire. You should see her wrassle a gator.”
“Really?” The man looked even more titillated, although she didn’t check his trousers to see how much more so. Damn Drake.
“Oh yeah,” Drake said with feeling. “So my cupcake here didn’t like the other woman’s attention, huh?”
Josie Lynn shot Drake a dirt look. He was enjoying this far too much.
“Not at all,” the man said. “In fact, she popped the woman. Probably blackened her eye in good shape.”
This time, Josie Lynn’s mouth dropped open. She’d punched that woman? No. No.
Beside her, Drake laughed out loud. “Wow. Popped her, huh?”
The man nodded, grinning, too. “Socked her good.”
Drake chuckled again.
But Josie Lynn managed to gather herself. “What happened after—I hit her?”
“The tall woman in her bra and panties left with the catsuit woman. You wanted to follow them, but your man here found some other ways to distract you.” The creeper licked his lips again.
Josie Lynn tried not to vomit in her mouth, and definitely not about what she might have done with Drake, but because this freaky dude had watched them. Probably not unlike he was watching her now.
“Did anything else happen?” Drake said, his tone sharp and thick with warning. He clearly didn’t care for this man’s look either.
“Then the bra-and-panties woman returned. She was upset about something. I’m not sure what. But you all left together.”
“Donald.” Another voice snapped from the other side of the table, startling Josie Lynn. “Stop pestering the guests.”
Josie Lynn turned, relieved to see the person they’d come to see had finally joined them.
Renee posed before them, in all her primped and painted glory. She’d changed from her peignoir and robe into a glittery gold evening gown. Josie Lynn’s first thought was that she was much taller and more intimidating up close.
Clearly Donald agreed, because he immediately backed away from their table.
“I wasn’t pestering, Renee,” he said, his tone somewhere between wheedling and worshiping. “I was just talking.”
“Well go talk somewhere else,” Renee said, clearly unimpressed with his sycophantic behavior.
The man didn’t say anything more as he scurried away.
“Sorry about that,” Renee said, collapsing dramatically into one of the worn, red velvet chairs. “Donald is a regular here. Such a strange little man. He’s relatively harmless, but his attention can become a bit too much. Even for me.” Then she smiled.
Then her heavily made-up eyes shifted to Drake, clearly done with the topic of Donald. She leaned forward to give Drake an air kiss on either cheek. Drake accepted the greeting comfortably, which Josie Lynn found kind of cool. Many men would not be comfortable with another man dressed as a woman being affectionate—even in such an affected way.
“So why are you here, rock star?” Renee said, lounging back against her chair.
“Do you know of a group of female impersonators who dress as Cher through the decades?”
Renee rolled her eyes, disdain very clear in her face. “Cher. So cliché. All female impersonators imitate her at some point in their career.” Then she acknowledged Josie Lynn for the first time. “Not me, mind you. I was always too old to imitate her. But then you know I never went for the easy applause anyway.”
Josie Lynn found herself nodding, although she didn’t really understand why it was any easier to dress up as Cher than any other female. In fact, Cher seemed like she’d be pretty hard to imitate. God knows, she couldn’t pull off that “If I Could Turn Back Time” getup. That took some serious balls and a really great tushy. Not to mention, in reality, Cher couldn’t be much younger than Renee.
“So you don’t know of any impersonators working together,” Drake said, trying to keep Madame Renee on track. “There would be five of them.”
Renee sighed. “Not working together, per se, but I do know several here and there. But if I had to guess what place might be doing a Cher Extravaganza, it would probably be the new club down on Royal. Queen Mary’s.”
Queen Mary’s on Royal, there was something apropos about that.
Although it was clear Renee did not think highly of this new place. Probably because it was competition. Josie Lynn glanced around, not that any place would have to be much to be competition for this place.
The waitress who’d been helping them came over and placed a three-olive martini in front of Renee, who didn’t even acknowledge the gesture. Apparently when you were Madame Renee, it was assumed your needs would be met without having to ask.
She took a ladylike sip, her ring-clad pinky extended, then she patted her ruby-red lips with a hankie she discreetly—or what she thought was discreetly—pulled out of her cleavage.
“The thing about these new, flashy nightclubs, my darling Drake,” she said, settling back in her chair as if she planned to give a long diatribe on the matter, “is that there is no appreciation for the subtlety of our art.”
Subtlety wouldn’t exactly have been the word Josie Lynn would have used.
“These nightclubs are all about flash and glitz, not about appreciating the intricacy of being a true lady. And performing like a true lady.”
Drake nodded, appearing to be listening with rapt attention, then Josie Lynn noticed he was inconspicuously patting his pockets, looking for his wallet, only to realize he didn’t have it. And Josie Lynn was willing to bet there was no money squeezed into those shiny, turquoise pants.
Damn, now they were really stuck listening to Madame Renee lament the days of true burlesque.
But to Josie Lynn’s surprise, Drake seemed to feel something and managed to squeeze his fingers in the tight pocket. Miraculously, he pulled out a twenty. He subtly waved it under the edge of the table for Josie Lynn to see.
“You know how it was in the day,” Renee was saying. “The talent, the delivery, the elegance, those were the things people came to see. Not just some rote imitation of someone else’s expressions and moves. Any tranny with a mirror and a record player could practice those things until they were passable. True talent is original. Unique.”
“I know,” Drake agreed emphatically. “It really is a shame.”
“A shame? My dear boy, it’s a crime.”
Drake took that segue to place the twenty on the table. “You are so very right, Renee, which is why we have to try to find these Chers. We have every reason to believe they were involved in some illegal activity.”
Renee perked up, leaning forward in her chair again. “Nefarious deeds?”
“Yes. So you will have to forgive us for not staying for your second performance.”
Renee nodded instantly. “Most certainly. I understand if you must go.”
Drake leaned down and kissed the woman’s rouged cheek. “Thank you for your help, Madame.”
“Ah, Drake, I’m happy to help any way I can. You know our kind must stick together.”
The older woman caught his hand and squeezed it briefly, more in a gesture of some unspoken camaraderie than affection.
Our kind? What did that mean?
Okay, Drake had been dressed as a pirate when she met him. And now he wore skintight vinyl pants that belonged to a dominatrix. And there were, of course, the assless chaps, but she still didn’t get any vibe from Drake that he was normally a cross-dresser.
Drake finished his good-bye and Josie Lynn mumbled her own, then followed him back through the narrow bar.
Once they were back on Bourbon, she asked him over the cacophony of people and music, “What did she mean when she said our kind?”