Loretta nodded gravely. “She was in love, though. Deeply in love. She never told me with whom, but she would talk about the way she would do anything to be with him.”
Sam touched her shoulder. “Loretta, then she’s probably with him.”
Loretta nodded. “I do think I’m being a bit paranoid—”
“Why don’t you talk to the police about this place if you’re worried about it?”
“That’s the funny thing. I’m not, not really. I only work a few nights, and everything is great. The manager, Steven Doran, is a great guy. The bouncers are there to protect the girls. Sometimes the clients are scuzzies, sometimes they’re preppy college kids, sometimes nicely dressed businessmen. It’s an on-the-level place. I’ve seen doctors—and lawyers—in there.” She giggled suddenly. “Lawyers from our firm—they never recognize me. And do we get cops! Tons of them! Blue-collar guys, white-collar guys, rich guys, a lot of them. Married, single. The clientele is mainly men, naturally, but we get couples, too. And women. Women who… like women. Which is great. A couple of the girls prefer their own sex, anyway. But don’t get the wrong idea. The drinks are good, there’s jazz night, swing night…” Her voice trailed off. Was it possible to make a striptease establishment sound dignified?
“Then…?” Sam persisted, frowning. Naturally. If it was all on the up-and-up, why would she feel so compelled to tell Sam about it? Loretta did feel a bit ridiculous. Sam—compact, together, beautiful, logical, kind, and caring Sam—was still trying to understand her fear.
“Well, you see, I never knew it for a fact, but there was a rumor among the girls that Chloe Lowenstein liked to dress up in disguise and work at the club. Well, I mean, she was in the scandal sheets often enough, but for a woman like her to actually become a stripper… Well, of course, it would have to be a major secret. And I don’t know if it was true or not.”
“Loretta, tell this to the cops. They’ll interview every girl there.”
“I can’t go to the cops.”
“Why?”
“It’s secret work for most of us.”
“Then why did you tell me?” Sam asked.
“I just thought that… I don’t know.”
“I should go there,” Sam mused. “See the place for myself.”
“That would be good. You’re so…”
“Prudish?” Sam asked dryly.
Loretta laughed. “No, I was going to say ‘classy.’ You might be able to tell if anything out of the ordinary is going on.”
Sam seemed amused—not judgmental. “I don’t know if I’m familiar enough with strip joints to know what is and isn’t on the up-and-up. But I do think that I should go there. If Marnie was involved there… But Loretta, if I see anything I don’t like, I will go to the cops.”
“Deal. But see if you don’t think it’s legit yourself. I mean, what could I say?” But she hesitated, then shrugged. “All right, well… yes, I think Marnie has a hand in the till and the management, also, well… every once in a while—a rare while!—Marnie comes in to strip.”
“She does?”
“Yeah. Not often. But she kind of gets her kicks—stripping, you know. She likes to be this powerful, dignified woman at work… but she likes the power of sex as well. So, like I said, every once in a rare while she comes in. But I still don’t think it means anything about the place. I think that the rumors about Chloe Lowenstein stripping might have been just that—rumors. And as for Eva, well, like I said, she was in love, and everyone but her mom thinks she ran off. No one who works there works more than a few nights a week, and almost everyone appears in some kind of a disguise. No one uses a real name. There’s nothing at all I could prove. The cops would laugh me right out of the station if I went down to report trouble, and besides… I…”
“You what?”
Loretta lowered her head. “I don’t want to make trouble there. I’m…”
“Yes, Loretta, please?”
She looked at Sam. “I’m afraid. Not of working—only of making trouble. Marnie was in the management, but I don’t know who else.” There was so much sympathy in the other woman’s eyes that Loretta felt warmed. Sam impulsively reached for her, kissing her cheek. “I’ve really got to go!”
Loretta crawled into her car, glanced at the clock, winced. She waved to Sam and revved her engine.
She had to get back to work.
Well, she’d told Sam Miller about the club. She hadn’t betrayed anyone. Lacey was safe.
Yet as she drove, she was suddenly sorry…
She had already given Lacey’s name to the husky-voiced man who planned the private parties.
Maybe she shouldn’t have.
Maybe she should have told Sam.
No…
She couldn’t betray a trust.
Yet a strange question was haunting her.
Not even when it might mean…
Life or death?
“Let me get this straight,” Laura said, sounding very puzzled. “You want me to go with you to a strip joint.”
“Yes,” Sam said simply, drumming her fingers on the desk in her Florida room. She had brooded over Loretta’s words all night and throughout the next day. Now it was Tuesday evening, and nothing had changed. Marnie hadn’t shown, the police had done nothing but take statements, and she felt compelled to do something.
“With you.”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to a strip joint.”
“A nice one,” Sam said defensively.
“A male strip joint?”
“No.”
Laura was quiet for a long time. Sam inhaled to try to find a way to explain, but while she was inhaling, Laura began to speak again.
“You know, I’ve heard it before. Women turn to women because they’ve had such a rotten time with men. But Sam—”
“I’m not turning to women. I just need to go to this place, and I don’t want to go alone. Will you come with me, or not?”
“A strip joint?”
“Laura, I have gone to seedy clubs with you and been all but assaulted by beer-guzzling geezers with no teeth, just to hear Aidan play. Now, are you coming with me or not?”
“I… well, I guess so.”
“Why do you sound as if you don’t mean it?”
“I do mean it! It’s just kind of like being invited to an orgy by the Flying Nun, that’s all.”
“Oh, really!”
Laura sighed. “Where is this place? Maybe it will be good for you.”
Sam gritted her teeth. “It’s the place on the highway with the red neon lights.”
“Fine. I’ll have to meet you there—I have volunteer night with my adopt-a-grandparent group.”
“Laura! I don’t want to go in alone!” Sam said with dismay.
“Don’t worry—it’s adopt-a-grandparent night. Our adoptees go to bed by eight. I’ll be in the parking lot at nine.”
“Not a second later!” Sam warned.
Laura agreed. Sam hung up, worried. Was it enough, going with Laura? Why was she so afraid? Loretta worked on the stage, and she wasn’t afraid. She could have asked Joe to go with her, but she would have felt uncomfortable. She thought about calling Teddy, but Loretta didn’t want the cops involved. She even thought about calling Kevin Madigan, but without explaining, it would look as if she were interested in an affair.
There was Rowan, of course…
Oh, never, never, never. She would die in a strip joint with him.
Ladies’ night out, she decided. It would have to be her and Laura.
She hurried on upstairs, glancing at her watch. Since she had plenty of time, she decided on a long bath, and after she had filled the tub, she sank in, hoping for some relaxation. Didn’t work. She sat in the tub a while, then decided to bring in a glass of wine. The whole thing was crazy. She had to admit that the evening would be out of character for her—even though she definitely resented the Flying Nun comment.
What did one wear to a strip joint? She’
d never been in one. Her only knowledge about such places came from cable television. Still, though, if she was honest with herself, she had to admit she was intrigued. This realization disturbed her all over again. She opted for a second glass of wine. She was in the tub until the water turned cold.
At eight-thirty she was studying her closet. What was proper attire for a heterosexual young woman in a strip joint? Maybe she’d get lucky and it would be jazz night and the band would be great and there would be lots of couples.
Black.
Once again she decided on black. She ruled out anything too dressy and anything too plain. Anything too sexy and anything too prim. That left a long-sleeved Donna Karan sheath.
“Ah, yes!” she told her reflection. The dress was fine. Now, for shoes…
“Fuck-you shoes, or fuck-me shoes?” she asked her reflection. “Oh, my God, what am I saying? Pumps, low pumps! Sexless pumps.”
Hair brushed, ready to leave at last, she decided on calling a taxi rather than driving herself. A bit too much wine in the tub.
At 8:45 she was in the parking lot. She exited her cab, anxious to see if Laura had arrived.
“Hey, honey, you coming in?” A short, bleary-eyed businessman, his tie askew, wandered up to her. He looked her up and down. “You gonna strip? If so, I’m getting a ringside seat!”
“No, I don’t strip,” she told him. He inched closer, ignoring the fact that she was searching the parking lot.
“You can strip for me here. In the parking lot. The cops will never bust you—we can pay them off!” he said hopefully.
She looked at him. She wasn’t really afraid of him. He was drunk, and she had a good right hook, even had taken a few lessons in kick boxing. “No. I’m definitely not stripping in your parking lot. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“You like women, huh?”
“What?”
“You swing toward women?”
“I—no, I—”
She broke off. He was almost on top of her. Yes, she could deck him, but she didn’t particularly want to. The idea was to be discreet.
She thought she saw Laura getting out of the passenger side of a car across the lot. She looked at the short, chubby, hopeful drunk. “Yes! That’s it. Sorry, sir, but I do like women. If you’ll excuse me…”
She left the drunk and started across the lot. It was Laura. But as she reached her cousin, she came to a halt, just staring, wishing she were far more sober herself. Laura hadn’t come alone. She had brought Rowan.
He was coming along behind her, devastating in a black suit and tieless black tailored shirt. As he got near, Sam caught the faint scent of his aftershave. She felt shaky—and furious with Laura.
“What’s he doing here?” she hissed to her cousin.
Laura gazed at her with wide, innocent eyes. “Well, Sam, honestly, I couldn’t tell you no, I wouldn’t come, but I’d have been a little scared here, just you and me. And I even thought about asking Aidan to come with us, but that was just a wee bit too sick.”
“What about Teddy?” she grated, even though she had decided against Teddy herself.
“I did call him, and he was trying to come, but he was busy. Some drug lord got himself shot up. He said he’d try to show, but…”
“Sorry, Sam,” Rowan said smoothly. “I was all that was left.” His eyes seemed gold tonight. Devil eyes, she thought. No. the wine had simply demonized his eyes to a glittering shade. She ignored him, swung around, and started toward the door to the establishment. Laura got ahead of her just a bit.
Rowan’s fingers suddenly wound around her arm. He pulled her back, bent slightly, and whispered in her ear, “What are we doing here?”
She pulled away from him. “I just had a sudden desire to see a strip show, that’s all.”
“The Chippendales don’t dance here.”
“Maybe I’ve decided to go for women.”
His eyes brushed hers. “You? Never.”
“How on earth would you know?”
He arched a brow, his lips forming a strange, small smile. “I know,” he said softly. “So come clean—why are we here?”
“Can we please just go in?” she asked impatiently.
He shrugged. “You will tell me,” he said. He kept his hand on her arm, urging her forward. Laura was waiting for them at the door.
“I’m sure as hell not going in alone,” she declared. Then she giggled. “I don’t believe I’m doing this. And with Sam, of all people!”
Sam gritted her teeth. At least Laura hadn’t referred to her as the Flying Nun again.
Rowan opened the door. There was a bouncer there, watching those who entered. He didn’t seem surprised to see a man with two women. He did assess them a bit curiously, and Sam felt her face sting. The bouncer seemed to be smirking. As if the three would stay a while, get buzzed, heated up—and depart for a heavy-duty threesome.
“Twenty-dollar cover charge apiece,” the bouncer told them.
Rowan reached for his wallet, but as he dipped into it he whispered to Sam, “Are we trying to get close to the stage and the action?”
“No!” she gasped, looking at him with alarm. “No, no, we need the back of the room!”
“Okay, okay! It just matters for how much I tip this guy, that’s all!” he informed her softly.
“I take it you’ve been to places like this before,” she whispered back.
“Most red-blooded American males have,” he told her dryly.
The bouncer looked at the money in his hand. “Sir, where—”
“Back there, please. The dark corner table over there.”
The bouncer laughed, looking them over again. “Sure thing, sir.”
A few minutes later they were seated in the back. Sam was served a very decent Merlot, and she started sipping it quickly. She felt like shrinking into the corner.
Laura was staring unabashedly at the stage.
“Wow, will you look at that!” she breathed. Sam looked. The dancer’s chest seemed to be forty-five inches at the minimum—bare, except for the tassels streaming from her red-rouged nipples. She was young and pretty good, lithe, nimble. She moved like a gymnast, around a large silver pole. She threw her head back, leapt around the pole, straddled it, gyrated…
“My God, I’ve never seen anyone have an orgasm with a pole before!” Laura gasped.
“Laura,” Sam murmured.
Rowan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. Sam sensed that he was watching her rather than the stage.
The dancer suddenly fell to the floor. She arched her head back, meeting her toes, her breasts bulging toward the gentlemen seated by the stage.
“Like twin torpedoes!” Laura said.
Rowan was silent.
The dancer swirled to her back, lifted her legs, parted them. Slowly. Her G-string was the size of a shoelace. It was nothing but a slender silk ribbon, and others, in different hues, were tied about various parts of her body.
“Oh, my God!” Laura said.
Sam assumed that she was referring to the dancer again. She wasn’t. Teddy was standing by the door, by the bouncer.
“He made it!” Laura said. She lifted a hand.
Teddy saw them and started across the room to them.
He kissed his ex-wife’s cheek, then Sam’s. He looked at Rowan, then the two of them shook hands. He pulled up a chair, ordered a beer, then raised his eyebrow, glancing toward the stage and back at Sam. “This is definitely an interesting outing, but… what are we doing here?”
Sam hesitated. Teddy was a cop. Loretta hadn’t wanted her telling the cops anything yet.
“I thought it was jazz night,” she tried blandly.
Laura gave her away. “What?”
Sam wasn’t accustomed to lying, and yet she was amazed now at how quickly a better lie came to her lips. “I… I read a really interesting article today about strippers. Something about there being several hundred thousand women in the U.S. who do this and that it’s amazing how
fit most of them are. I was really curious. I…” She leaned forward, groping for words, then jumping headlong into her fabrication. “I couldn’t believe that any really fit and beautiful young woman would want to do this. I mean, she should really dance, or go into modeling, or the movies. But I…”
The dancer had arched up. The majority of her was plainly visible. And she was a beautiful young woman. “I… well, I guess I was wrong. There is some pull to this, a lure…”
“Money,” Laura said sagely.
Teddy shrugged. He seemed to buy Sam’s story.
Rowan was watching her. He hadn’t believed a single word. He lifted his wineglass to her, sipped from it. She quickly looked away.
“She is gorgeous,” Laura said of the dancer.
Teddy looked at his ex-wife. He smiled suddenly. “Money, the lure of danger, and decadence. This is kind of fun, being in a place like this with you.”
“Really?”
“You used to be so uptight.”
“Was I?” She had ordered a rum and Coke. She brought her swizzle stick to her mouth, licking the tip of it. “Well, you know, hanging around with my decadent cousin has just made me a wild thing.”
“Wild and wicked,” Sam agreed, settling back in her chair. Her wineglass was empty. She didn’t know why, but she glanced at Rowan. He waited a moment, then poured her more wine from the bottle. He leaned forward. “You’d better leave your car here until morning.”
She looked away. “My car isn’t here.”
“Teddy, Teddy!” Laura said suddenly. “Look! Isn’t that… that criminal?”
Teddy twisted around. “Alleged criminal,” he agreed.
Sam tensed. Laura was right. Down at a table almost dead center before the stage sat Lee Chapman, his bald head gleaming. The dancer was playing to the whole of her audience then, twisting, turning… spreading again. But she was also playing to Chapman.
“What do you think he’s doing here?” Laura whispered, though the man couldn’t possibly have heard her.
Teddy looked at his wife. “Getting turned on?” he suggested.
“Teddy, that’s not at all what I meant!” Laura said.
Teddy smiled slightly. “He’s out on bail—his attorneys arranged it. And, speaking of his attorneys…”