Lust, Loathing and a Little Lip Gloss (12 page)

And then, at last, she was gone.

Mr. Katz reentered the living room and stared at me with his tigerlike eyes. “Yeah, I know,” I said. “I should have ripped her hair out.”

Mr. Katz swished his tail, his way of saying “Well,
duh!
” And really, who would have dared to suggest that the assault wouldn’t have been justified? The bitch broke into my house! She tried to scare me with those pathetic ghost stories! It had just been luck that the lights had started short circuiting just minutes before she arrived. Luck, nothing more.

The doorbell had been weird though….

I shook my head fiercely, trying to force the last remnants of fear to release their grip. Over the years I have faced down thieves, murderers…politicians, for God’s sake! I wasn’t going to be spooked by a short circuit and Scott’s jealous girlfriend.

It’s just that Venus really had seemed taken off her guard by the fact that I had the brooch and I’ve never heard of a doorbell short circuiting….

I walked over to the box holding the cocktail Anatoly had made me and finished it in three consecutive gulps before turning on my heel and marching into the kitchen. A little food and I’d be thinking clearly again. Ten minutes later I reentered the living room with a freshly heated cup of chicken noodle soup and a tumbler full of liquid courage. I gently lowered these items onto the box already holding the chocolates before turning on my flat-screen TV, one of the few appliances that I had plugged in and ready to go. Another example of my traditional, American priorities. I sat on the couch next to Mr. Katz and started flipping though the channels. A
Will & Grace
rerun, a new episode of
Access Hollywood
and…

I dropped the remote in my lap and stared at Maria’s face. She was shifting her weight from foot to foot as she stared at the camera in front of her.

“It was a scythe,” she said in a halting voice.

The reporter standing next to her shook his head in amazement as if he hadn’t been given this information from his producers hours earlier. “Had you ever seen the scythe before?”

“It’s not mine,” she said a little defensively. “And it wasn’t Enrico’s…. I don’t believe it belonged to any…
living
person.”

Mr. Katz got up and then made his way over to my dinner. “She really thinks a ghost killed her husband,” I said.

Mr. Katz brought his nose close to the soup bowl and sniffed in disbelief.

“And why are all these ghosts so friggin’ sloppy?” I asked him. “Everywhere they go they’re dropping scythes and brooches….”

My voice trailed off. Venus had been the “ghost” with the brooch, so was it so far-fetched to believe that she could have been the ghost with the scythe? I flattened my hand against my chest. “I can’t believe it, Scott may actually be dating a murderer…! And he used to have such good taste in women.”

Mr. Katz leaned a little too close to the soup and then darted back, a bit of noodle dangling off his nose.

“I should warn him,” I said as I gently removed the noodle. “I mean, I’ve wished him dead enough times, but in my fantasy it was always me doing the killing. It seems somewhat immoral to let Venus do it.”

But then again Scott probably wasn’t the one in danger. After all, he wasn’t the one finding ugly old brooches in his bedroom. And then there was the matter of how Venus got into my bedroom in order to put the brooch there in the first place. She didn’t have a key…of course, Scott had a key at one point. He said he had turned all the keys over to me, but maybe he hadn’t. He
would
get off on the idea of having the key to my place. I shook my head in disgust. “You know what?” I said to Mr. Katz. “I’m not in such a hurry to tell Scott about Venus anymore. He’ll figure it out on his own…when she pulls out the ice pick.”

Maria wasn’t on the TV anymore. The newscasters were now reporting on Oprah’s half-eaten pancake, which had apparently sold on eBay for $12,000. Perhaps crazy was a relative term.

I wasn’t hungry anymore and my soup probably had cat hair in it anyway. I picked up my drink and went up to my bedroom once more. The lights were working again, but I knew they could short out at any moment. I dug around in a suitcase until I came up with a clean pillowcase to replace the ruined one, threw on an oversize T-shirt, crawled under my extrasoft sheets and pulled the comforter up to my chin. My bed, my bedroom, my home. Any fear I felt within these walls would be fleeting—at least that’s how it felt at the moment. My eyes went to half-mast then closed completely.

My last conscious thought was of the inspection I paid a contractor to do of the house. Funny that he hadn’t noticed a problem with the wiring.

10

Of course I married a submissive. Now if I want to have sex without messing up my hair I just tie him to the bed and don’t worry about it.

—
The Lighter Side of Death

WHEN I OPENED MY EYES THE NEXT MORNING, THE CLOCK READ 10:05 A.M.
and light was pouring in through my uncurtained windows. That was late even for me. But I had been having such intense dreams…something about being a child running up and down a beautiful staircase, and someone had been with me….

With a sigh I gave up the effort of recollection and propped myself on my elbows, upsetting Mr. Katz, who had been curled up on my chest. I was feeling more alert and focused than I normally do before my first cup of coffee, and as I studied the way the particles of dust danced in the sunlight, I was hit by the realization that Maria was a potential problem. If she was innocent, then she was of no real concern to me. But if she wasn’t, then she had gone out of her way to make me complicit in the murder of her husband. Why exactly would she want to do that?

And like Kane and Venus, she belonged to the Specter Society. Of course there were other members of that group, as well, members who had known all three of my current nemeses longer than I had and might be able to provide me with information and clues as to how to deal with them. I could turn to Scott and we could “put our heads together,” as he had suggested. But I really didn’t want my head anywhere near him if I could help it. There was also Jason Beck. When he had been with Dena I had gotten myself into some serious trouble and he had earnestly tried to help me. There was no reason to think he wouldn’t do so again.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed ready to retrieve my cell phone that I had neglected to take into the bedroom with me the night before….

Or at least I thought I had neglected to take it up, but obviously I was wrong because there it was on my nightstand. I tried to remember doing that, but then chalked it up to having a highly efficient subconscious. I skimmed through my contacts looking for Jason’s number, which I had punched in on the night of the séance, and pressed the send button the moment I found it.

“Hello?” His voice was hoarse with undisguised sleepiness.

“Hey, Jason, it’s Sophie. Did I wake you? It’s after 10:00 a.m.”

“You forget—I’m a creature of the night.”

“Are you? Last I heard you were still looking for Mrs. Good Bite to help you cross over.”

“Funny,” Jason yawned. “So what’s up—wait—” his voice took on a much more urgent tone “—why
are
you calling? Did someone
ask
you to call me?”

“Nooo,” I said uncertainly. “I called of my own accord. That okay?”

There was a moment of silence on the phone. “Sure,” Jason finally said. “So you called to talk and get reacquainted.”

“Well, I really do want to catch up with you,” I hedged, “but I was also hoping you could help me get some stuff sorted.”

“Stuff?”

“There’s a chance Kane will evict me if I don’t produce a ghost for him, or, if I can’t do that, then prove that I’m not a murderer.”

“I don’t know, Sophie. The latter request seems reasonable.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a murderer and it would be nice if people would just take my word for it.” I ran a finger across my bottom lip, lingering over the dry patches of skin. “I also have a problem with Venus. She’s jealous. She thinks I’m after Scott.”

There was another long silence on the line before Jason asked, “Can you get yourself into the witness protection program?”

“Excuse me?”

“Venus is wicked, Sophie. If she was a vampire she’d be Claudia.”

“Claudia…is she from the Anne Rice series?”

“Yeah, she was the childlike sociopathic vampire. Venus has that same energy.”

I watched Mr. Katz leisurely walk toward my paned-glass window as I tried to figure out what differentiated a sociopathic vampire from the run-of-the-mill bloodsuckers. But I skipped that question in favor of another. “Can you fill me in on what you know about Venus and Kane? And Maria, too, I have some questions about her.”

“Sophie, last time I helped you it didn’t turn out so well.”

“I’m just asking for a little info, here.”

“Yeah, how much is this info worth to you?”

I sat up a little straighter. “Seriously?”

“Is it worth a haircut?”

“You want me to cut your hair? Jason, I can barely cut out a paper doll without decapitating her.”

“Not you. Marcus. Think he can fit me in?”

“Oh.” From the corner of my eye I could see Mr. Katz curling up in a patch of sunlight, the fur on the left side of his body pressed flat against the glass. “That’s probably doable. I’ll give him a call. You want to see him in the next few weeks?”

“I was thinking about today.”

“You want to see Marcus
today?
” I sputtered. “Do you know he’s become one of the most celebrated hairstylists in the city?”

“Whatever. I don’t dig on the pop-culture trends or the what’s-hot-what’s-not-crowd. I just want the man to cut my hair. I know he’s good.”

“Right, well, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Sure, that’s all I ask. And when I get my haircut you can tag along and I’ll tell you all about Venus, Maria and Kane.”

“Not before?”

“Fair is fair.”

“Oh, this is so not fair,” I seethed, but then I stopped myself before I said anything more. I hadn’t spoken to Jason for years and I was already asking him for favors. All he was asking for was a hair appointment with one of my closest friends. Was that really out of bounds?

“Like I said, I’ll do my best,” I said, trying to be more conciliatory. “I’ll call you back as soon as I know something.” I hung up and immediately punched Marcus’s number in.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the upwardly mobile Ms. Katz,” Marcus sang upon picking up. “I was beginning to think you had gotten too big for your rent-poor friends.”

“Yeah, I know I’ve been a bit out of touch.”

“A bit?” he quibbled. “Honey, there are agoraphobics who have been more sociable than you’ve been this last month. But you can make it up to me by telling me all about the fabulousness of your new casa. Are we making bold new decorating decisions or are we trying to stay true to the whole Victorian thing by channeling Laura Ashley?”

“I’m kinda going with the deconstructionist look right now. You know, scattered, half-full boxes, clothes hanging out of suitcases, lots and lots of dust…it’s very avant-garde.”

“And you’re calling me in hopes that I’ll share my fierce artistic vision before you go furniture shopping? How very proactive.”

“I’m calling because one of Dena’s former lovers needs a haircut.”

“First of all, I don’t cut, I style. Secondly, I’m afraid you’re going to have to whittle this one down for me. Dena’s slept with half the straight men in the city, which would put her number at…let’s see, thirty? Thirty-five, maybe?”

“I’ll have to check the latest census report, but this particular straight guy is Jason Beck.”

“Vampire boy! Oh, how fun! How are the undead wearing their hair these days?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll come up with something that works. Any chance you could fit him in today?”

“You’re joking of course—I’m booked for the next two months.”

“But today’s Saturday, and you don’t come in until 1:00 on Saturdays, so if you got there at noon…”

“And why exactly would I do this for someone I barely know?”

“It’s a trade-off. I get him in to see you and he gives me some information. I don’t know if Dena told you this, but the Realtor for this place is—”

“Scott, your demonic ex,” Marcus finished for me. “Dena did tell me. I hear he’s dating a planet.”

“Her name is Venus, but the name doesn’t fit. She seems more like a Pluto or something.”

“You mean she’s cold, distant and barely legitimate?”

“Something like that.” I filled him in on what had gone down with Maria when she had dragged Anatoly and me to Enrico’s and on Kane’s threats to take away my home and Venus’s subtle threats to do something vaguely horrible and Jason’s connection to all of them. “It’s all a big mess,” I finished.

“Obviously. And you don’t think Jason will help you with any of this if I don’t do his hair?”

“I don’t know, I might be able to finesse it out of him without your artistry, as you call it, but I’d rather just meet the demands. I do kind of owe him.”

“Not as much as you owe me,” Marcus pointed out. “I’m sorry, love, but I have no desire to come in early today. And I can’t keep doing favors for friends. As it is, I already agreed to fill in my one o’clock cancellation today with one of Dena’s friends.”

“Which friend?”

“Don’t remember, it’s written down at the salon. Some girl with a
K.
”

“Hmm, I think she hired a salesperson named Kendra a few months ago.”

“Could be, but for some reason I don’t think so. Anyhoo, if Jason really wants to come in, tell him I can squeeze him in at the end of next week. That’s my best offer.”

Mr. Katz got back up and in a moment he was on my bedside table. With his paw he batted at a cheap silver bracelet that I had bartered for while visiting Mexico. I smiled as a new idea popped into my head. “Remember that cute barista from the Nob Hill Starbucks?” I asked.

“The one who looks like Clark Kent?”

“Yeah, him. He transferred to another Starbucks and he also broke up with his boyfriend. And he
also
told me he thought you were cute.”

“Seriously?” Marcus asked eagerly. “Which Starbucks does he work at now?”

“I’ll tell you at noon today, while you’re styling Jason’s hair.”

Jason met me outside Ooh La La at exactly ten to noon. He leaned against the sleek, black-tiled wall of the salon, his legs clad in straight-cut ripped jeans, his motorcycle jacket open and his arms crossed over a T-shirt featuring an artistic rendering of Barack Obama.

“You’re an Obama man?” I asked as I approached, somewhat surprised.

He shook his head distractedly. “I don’t believe in politics. The Democratic and Republican parties are just organizations designed to brainwash us into embracing an establishment mentality.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. I had no idea what any of that meant, but I wasn’t all that interested in finding out. “So what’s up with the T-shirt?”

“It’s an iconic portrait of our times.”

“Okay.”

Jason smiled slightly. “Dena would get where I am coming from with this. She has a very existential view of life.”

“Okay,” I said again. Dena wasn’t an existentialist, but she did like dating lunatics. “Shall we go in?”

Jason eyed the exterior of the salon doubtfully. “I usually get my hair cut in the Lower Height.”

“Well, this will be a change for you,” I said, visualizing the grungy teens and panhandlers who frequent the area. “You’ll see, it’s fun getting your hair done by someone who’s not on acid.”

“I’m philosophically opposed to what this portion of Fillmore Street represents.”

“Of course you are.” I draped my arm over his shoulder. “But perhaps we can soften your opposition with a mimosa.”

As we entered, Jason’s eyes flitted from the art deco painting on the wall to the chic reception desk while I tried to read his face for some hint of what was going on. If Jason didn’t want to get his hair cut in an expensive salon, why were we here? And why today?

The woman at the front desk had hair the color of an autumn leaf with copper highlights expertly woven into her locks. She smiled politely at both of us, but before she could open her mouth Marcus appeared behind her. His perfect mocha skin seemed to project a natural glow, although my money was on bare Minerals powder foundation.

“The name of the Starbucks?” he asked while carefully rolling up the sleeves of his cotton shirt, which was just sheer enough to draw your attention to the well-cared-for torso it covered.

“After you cut his hair,” I said coolly.

Marcus rolled his eyes. “God, I’m such a whore. How many mimosas do we need?”

I held up two fingers and Marcus imitated the gesture for the benefit and instruction of the receptionist before leading us forward.

We entered the main room, which was much more expansive than the greeting area. Men and women, all managing to be hip without following any particular trend, snipped away with their scissors as their clients’ tresses floated to the bamboo floor beneath their feet. Marcus gestured to his station and Jason awkwardly climbed into his chair just as the receptionist appeared to serve us our drinks. By the time she was in retreat, Marcus was already playing with Jason’s hair and studying his face in the mirror.

“You do have fabulous bone structure,” he said to Jason. “If we go short we can do a bit of a George Clooney thing.”

“Not short,” Jason said quickly. “Do you remember how my hair looked last time you saw me?”

“Vaguely,” Marcus said with an expression that said no.

“I want it to look exactly like that. And I want to get rid of the gray.”

“Gray?” Marcus repeated. He began to pick through Jason’s hair with the meticulous and somewhat appalled manner parents employ while checking their child’s head for lice. “Honey, you’ve got maybe five or six white strands. That doesn’t exactly make you Anderson Cooper.”

“Then just dye the five or six strands,” Jason said desperately.

He fumbled in the pockets of his leather jacket until he found his wallet and pulled out a picture. Marcus and I both leaned over to better examine it. It had been taken in front of Fog City Diner and Jason had his arm wrapped around Dena’s waist as she toyed with his hair. “I want that haircut again,” Jason said firmly. “I know the picture doesn’t really show the cut well but I was hoping it would jog your memory.”

“It’s rare that someone comes in saying they actually want hair that is so three years ago,” Marcus said, leaning in a bit closer. “What else do you want back from that year? The fashion, the music, the girlfriend perhaps?”