Cordelia tried not to get tied up with him. They worked together up on stage, all right, but off the boards he drove her screaming mad. Besides, near as she’d gathered, Ricardo was his competition. She didn’t know if Ari had clocked she was selling tar, but if he had, he couldn’t be happy about who she was running it for.
She listened carefully at the threshold of his dressing room, but didn’t hear any chatter. One more moment to assemble herself, and she slipped in and shut the door behind her. Didn’t bother knocking. Like as not he’d say no without asking who had called.
His dressing room wasn’t much larger than hers, but he’d brought in enough trinkets and plush-shabby furniture that it looked like a thieves’ den out of a folktale. Silk scarves softened the corners. Business cards and kiss-stained love notes were stuck to the walls with jeweled hat pins and brooches that might or might not have been paste. A string of glass bells looped above the door chimed softly, still swaying from Cordelia’s entrance.
She sat on the arm of the battered settee. “How’s it turning?”
“Smooth enough.” He didn’t seem surprised to see her, but he was a stage man: Of course he wouldn’t show it. He peeled his false eyelashes away and rubbed pellets of glue from his skin, blinking glitter out of his eyes. “Is there something you need?”
In the mirror, she met his gaze. “Maybe.”
“I’d rather you didn’t d-d-dance around it, whatever it is. Must rush—I’ve got a dinner engagement.”
Well, he’d asked for it. “I’m looking for some work.”
“You have work. Or doesn’t Malcolm p-p-pay you anymore?”
“Come on, Aristide.” She could hear the wheedling cant of Kipler’s Mew creep into her voice. “I’m looking for a little tar, and everybody knows you can get the good stuff.”
“Maybe. But I only sell it wholesale.” In the mirror, he pursed his lips into an appraising moue. “And I d-d-doubt you could afford it by the k-k-kilo.”
She bit back a snipe. “Who says I need it for myself?”
He paused, holding a piece of cotton wool above his cold cream. When he spoke, the words came out precarious, as if he were afraid of being caught in ignorance. “Don’t you?”
A sneer caught her upper lip and she stood, pulling her robe tight.
He sighed. “Cordelia.”
“No.” She reached for the door handle, pulling it half open. “I see how it is.”
“Wait.” He set the cotton on his vanity and turned in his chair. “Come back. Close the door.”
She paused, considering. It was put up with him or put up with an empty belly. “All right,” she said, lowering herself on the settee proper. “What do you got to say?”
“First,” he said, putting a finger to his chin, “that I’m favorably impressed.”
“What, just ’cause I ain’t a junkie? Flattering.”
“Hmm. I suppose I did deserve that one.” He finger-combed his hair, from scalp to tips. “Who’ve you been running for, till now?”
“Ricardo Ty.”
“Ah.” Drawing the springy mass of his hair over one shoulder, he began to braid it with deft, bony fingers. “That explains it. You’re the third of his I’ve had this week. I said no to the other two.”
She cursed. “Guess I’ll take myself down the pier, since you’re not picking up new help.” She made to get up again. Hang it all, her legs were getting tired.
Aristide waved her down. “Oh, Cordelia. Don’t be b-b-beastly. Just sit for a moment and let me finish.” His curling central city accent soared into stage parody, tripping over itself in his hurry.
She matched him with a crude gesture and a higher, nasal take on her native whine. “Bet it won’t take long.”
“Very funny.” Leaning back in his chair, he lit a cigarette. He did not offer one to her. “As it happens, I need a favor. And I’d be quite willing to do you one in return.”
“What sort of favor are we talking?”
“I have a friend,” he said, “who needs some … female company.”
She shook her head. “I’m outta that game, Ari. Have been since I started on the stage.”
“I am not a p-p-pimp, Miss Lehane. You misunderstand me. What you do with this gentleman, once you meet him, is your affair entirely. Though, I should mention that if the t-t-two of you continue your association, I could be p-p-persuaded to continue ours.”
“So all I gotta do is chat up some swell, and you’ll stock me? What do you get out of it?”
“Philanthropic satisfaction.”
“Swineshit.”
He sighed, nostrils flaring, and stood from his chair. “Will you meet my friend or not, Cordelia?”
She thought of her empty larder, and her landlady. “Yeah, I’ll meet him.”
“Excellent.” Aristide arranged a velvet scarf around his neck. “He’ll be at B-B-Bellamy’s, three days from now, at half past two. And don’t worry,” he added. “He’ll be paying.”
She bared her teeth at him, and slammed the door on the way out.
*