Men of London 05 - Cross to Bare (18 page)

“It feels weird kissing you with your Laverne clothes and makeup on, but I’m actually getting used to it…and I think you growing your hair is a great idea. It’ll give me more to hold onto.”

“Oh,” Lenny said, head spinning. “Good to know.” That simple statement floored him. He’d known Brook was more accepting than when they’d first started, but it meant the world to him that Brook could actually kiss him in his Laverne guise. The strange thing was, random thoughts had been flitting through Lenny’s head recently about Laverne. He’d actually wondered if he could give up that persona if it ever came to a choice about having her or Brook, and the conclusion he’d come had stunned him to his core.

He’d never, ever considered letting her go before, but for Brook…Lenny thought he’d do it. That had shaken him, and caused a strange fluttering in his stomach at that shocking realisation. It was a decision he hoped never to have to make, as it would be a world-changing one. It would also go against everything he believed in about accepting someone for who they are and fuck the rest of the world.

And what the fuck is all that about? That’s not me. This man has scrambled my brain.

He became aware Brook was kissing him softly on the cheek as he chuckled. “You look in a brown study there. I’d better go. I’ll see you later.” Lenny made his way to the door. Brook reached out and caught his arm. “Lenny?”

“Yes?” Lenny looked at him quizzically.

Brook dropped his hand. “Nothing. Have a good meeting. I’ll see you tonight.” He looked as if he wanted to say more but Lenny didn’t have time to wonder what. He needed to freshen up and get to his meeting and ponder the strange thoughts he’d had in the recent week.

“Laters, baby,” he mouthed at his boyfriend, doubting Brook would get the
Fifty Shades
reference. “Wear something sexy for me.” He smirked then Lenny left the office for his meeting with a little more spring in his step.

*****

Later that evening, Lenny was in the arbour doing a stock check on his new show designs. What with everything going on, he wanted to make sure that each and every one of his treasured designs was accounted for before the show next week. Leslie had already checked them but Lenny felt a burning need to make sure for himself.

The building was quiet and he assumed all his employees had left for the night. He was due at the club for nine o’clock tonight and it was only a tube stop away. When he stretched, wincing as his back snapped and popped, he looked at his watch. It was eight p.m. already.

“Shit, I’d better start thinking about locking up,” he muttered as he closed the doors to the built-in cupboards along the walls. He tidied up, left and locked the room behind him, making sure to arm the special alarm for the room.

As he approached his office, he heard a rustling from within.

“Crap, I hope I don’t have fucking rats,” he swore as he crept towards the half-open door. “That’s all I need—a rodent infestation.” The thought of rats or other little nocturnal creatures getting into his precious store of fabric made him hyperventilate. He took a deep breath as he gently swung the door open to see not a rat, but a pair of distinctly human feet clad in low-heeled, grey court shoes sticking out from the side of the desk. Someone was behind his desk, by his chair and currently rummaging in his waste bin from the papers strewn across the floor.

Lenny thought he’d found his human rat. He made his way as quietly as possible around the desk, wincing when his one shoe squeaked. The rustling stopped. He held his breath and watched as the figure looked up and he gazed into the startled green eyes of Pixie Blenheim.

“Pixie. Can I ask what the hell it is you think you’re doing?” He stepped forward, his eyes focused on what she held in her hand. It was a draft of a waistcoat design he’d done earlier in the day, modelled after Johnny Depp’s coat in
Pirates of the Caribbean
. It hadn’t been a serious effort, simply a whimsical look at how it would look in a crushed black satin fabric, with gold braid.

“Just emptying the trash. Laverne. I thought you’d gone home,” she stuttered, her eyes darting around the room as if seeking a magical escape route, one that Lenny didn’t block. Pixie was about five foot five, petite, with bobbed dark brown hair and pale skin.

“Obviously. Is that a new duty you’ve been assigned, then?” he said silkily. “Funny. I don’t remember signing off on anything for one of my employees to become an overnight cleaner. I hope I’m not paying you overtime.”

His inner bitch was in top form.

He prowled towards her. “Just tell me the truth, chicken. You’re the fox in my henhouse, the rat in my cellar, the mouse eating my cheese. You’re Tracy’s little snitch.”

Her nostrils flared, her eyes panicked. “He told me it wasn’t doing anything wrong. That if you threw them away they were okay to use.”

Lenny tried to control his rising temper. “So he’s paying you to steal from me. Anything you find in the confines of this building, of this office, is not yours to take. It belongs to me. The sign says Debussy’s, not Tracy Trey. I have to say I’m bitterly disappointed in him for stooping this low.”

He moved to his desk and picked up the phone. “I think we should call the police.” He had no intention of taking it further with the law, because they really wouldn’t give a fuck, but it didn’t hurt to scare the shit out of her.

She moved closer to him in panic. “Please don’t call the police, Laverne. I’m sorry. I’ll tell Tracy I can’t help him anymore.”

Lenny snorted. “Honey, you are so right. You are going to go to your office, with me as your escort, clean out your desk, give me your key card and leave this building. You’re fired. And you’re going to go back and tell that worm Tracy Trey that Laverne Debussy-Smith is onto him and he’d best watch his damn balls because I’m going to fucking kick them into his stomach.”

Pixie gasped but nodded, her eyes bright with tears. “I understand. I’m sorry…”

The bitter taste of bile crept into his mouth. “I like to be able to trust my employees. We’re a family here.” He gestured to her. “Follow me. I want you out of here as soon as possible.”

The walk of shame led to her small cubicle where he watched her pack her things with trembling hands. He said not a word, just glared at her. When she was finished, and held the empty photo copier paper box containing her possessions, he marched her down to the security desk and watched her hand over her key card.

“She’s not allowed in this building, under any circumstances,” he instructed Colin, the guard he’d known for over ten years. “Stick her on your shit list, Col.”

Colin nodded. “Sure, Laverne. She’ll go up on the Wall of Shame.” This was a list the security guys kept of people not permitted into the building. It included a few exes, a certain well-known actor one of Lenny’s neighbours had a problem with, and a Conservative MP who’d pissed off a fellow Labour MP who owned half of the building.

Ten minutes later both he and Colin watched Pixie leave.

Colin reached into his desk drawer and took out a bottle of bourbon. “You look like you need one of these, my lovely.” He winked as he filled two small tumbler glasses of drink and passed one to Laverne. “Drink up.”

Laverne downed the drink and felt a little better. “Thanks, Colin. What a shitty evening. And I’ve got to get to the club now, before I’m late for my own show.” He smiled wryly.

At least I’ve found the thief. Brook will be pleased. So will Leslie. Fucking Tracy Trey. Wait until I get my hands on him.

Chapter 14

“Do you have a VIP pass? You need one to get in this entrance.” The very large, affable-looking man smiled toothily at Brook as he stood at one of the entrances to Club Delish. It was the smile of a shark about to devour him slowly, taking great pleasure in eating him bit by painful bit. The bouncer’s teeth were shiny white beneath the glow of the lights blinking above, but his eyes were hard and uncompromising.

The door Brook stood at was one of three along the street of the club, which stretched almost a small city block. To his left, the crowd milled as they stood in line to get into the main entrance under the flashing rainbow sign denoting Club Delish in flouncy script. To his extreme right, at the end of the building, adjacent to a dimly lit alley, there was a door leading into what Brook had been told loftily was the ‘tradesman’s’ entrance and which apparently led directly into the kitchen. Another bouncer stood guard there, looking as formidable in bulk as the one who now stood glowering at Brook, a suspicious expression forming on his chubby face.

“I thought my name would be on a list,” Brook said quietly. “I wasn’t given a pass.” He glanced above the door at the gaudily painted purple and silver sign bearing the Club Delish logo of a violet high-heeled stiletto. The words on the sign “VIP Passage - Exclusive entry” blinked off and on above the tall brushed-steel door.

“No ticket, no admittance,” the bouncer growled, softening his words with what was possibly a grin, but looked more to Brook like the man had wind. “We don’t keep lists. Sorry. I suggest you get in line with the rest of ’em.”

Brook glanced uncertainly over the long line of people currently queued up, ranging from go-go boys to shorts-clad twinks and surprisingly, more than a few bears with large tattooed arms hanging all them. Brook sighed loudly. He hated queues and this one looked as if it could go on a long time.

He nodded resignedly and pulled out his phone. He’d need to try and call Lenny and find out what the hell was happening. He was listening to Lenny’s answer message and wondering whether his boyfriend would ever check it when he spotted Mango coming round the corner from the alley. Mango was deep in conversation, looking up at a slim woman, or possibly a man in drag, with long, deep red hair, a long silver dress with heels Brook knew he’d never be able to balance on, and tanned, bare arms. Mango had a rucksack on his back, dressed in blue chinos, a polo shirt that showed off strong arms.

He left his message telling Lenny to get the fuck out here and let him in when Mango spotted him. He gave a wave of acknowledgement and a shouted “Hi Brook, be with you in a sec,” and Brook waved back. The bouncer’s attitude changed considerably. His eyes widened and Brook swore where before there had been wary boredom in them, there was now a look of respect.

“You’re a friend of Mr Munroe’s?” the bouncer enquired, looking a lot friendlier.

Brook knew when to milk a situation. “Yes,” he said airily as he watched Mango give what looked like a pretty filthy kiss to the redhead, who then disappeared into the other entrance. Mango swaggered towards Brook. “We’re neighbours actually, and good friends too.”

Brook crossed his fingers by his side at the white lie. One altercation in the hallway of their flat complex and occasional greetings didn’t really constitute the description of good friends, but Brook desperately needed to pee and wanted inside the club as soon as possible. It would take him five minutes to get out of the damn leather pants he had on, so time was of the essence.

Mango reached him and waved a languid hand at the bouncer. He clapped Brook on the shoulder as he grinned at him. “Wow, you look delicious,” he said admiringly. “Love those trousers. Great package too.”

Hmm. That answers the question whether Mango likes men I guess. Unless he’s bi. I’m still not sure who the redhead was.

Brook blinked. Hubris aside, he knew he looked good in his black leather pants, silky bronze long-sleeved, button-down dress shirt and his Armani loafers. His leather jacket was draped casually over his shoulder. The trousers showed off his assets to his best advantage—it was the reason he’d worn this ensemble. Lenny had said, dress sexy.

Mango nodded at the bouncer. “Damon,” he acknowledged. “How’s the baby doing? Is she over the colic period yet?”

Damon aimed a high-wattage smile in Mango’s direction. “She’s doing fine, thanks Mr Munroe. The wife has calmed down and stopped panicking. That tea remedy you gave me really worked. I owe you one.”

Mango shrugged modestly. “It’s one I learnt from an Indian shaman who was a damned genius at that sort of thing. He had to be with the regularity with which his wife popped the little buggers out.” He playfully punched the big guy in the arm. “And I’ve told you to call me Mango, you prick. Mr makes me sound so old.”

The bouncer nodded his head. “Yeah, I know, Mr Munroe.” His grin caused Mango to shake his head sorrowfully.

“You guys slay me…” He glanced at Brook. “You waiting to go in?”

Brook nodded. “Apparently I need a pass and Lenny never gave me one. I’ve left a message for him.”

Mango gave a cackle. “Oh fuck the pass. Damon, he’s with me. Come on, handsome, let’s go find the ladies.” He grinned wickedly. “Or rather the queens who think they’re ladies.”

Damon gave a beatific smile and without further ado, opened the door to the rumbling beat of music. Mango stepped inside and beckoned Brook in, shouting a little over the noise.

“First time here?”

When Brook nodded, Mango gave another wicked grin. “It’s a fabulous place. Ryan runs a tight ship here and he’s a damn genius at getting people moving.”

He fought his way through the dancing, waving crowd, on his way to the front when Brook reached out and stopped him. He shouted into Mango’s ear. “Mango, sorry about this but I really need to take a piss. Know where the toilets are?”

Mango gestured vaguely to the left side of the heaving humanity on display. “There’s one over there, mate. It’s a
special
one.” He grinned. “You might like to wait ’til we get to the front and go to the other bathroom. Less going on in that one.”

Brook’s bladder was bursting and he couldn’t wait. “I’ll use this one, thanks. Don’t want to pee myself.”

Mango gave a loud snicker. “Be careful. You want to watch yourself in that one.” He flashed a wicked grin at Brook and disappeared into the mass. Brook felt a little uneasy at that comment. He’d been to gay clubs before and knew what went down
and
up in them, but Mango had sounded as if there was more to it.

He figured it out once he got into the toilets. They were spacious, luxurious receptacles of glistening, lilac booths, probably about fifteen in all. A glitter bomb had obviously exploded inside because the doors and walls were covered with various shades of purple, lilac, pink and pale blue. As if that didn’t astonish him enough as his eyeballs ached, the number of drag queens engaged in pastimes he normally did in the privacy of his bedroom was mind boggling. The room was a hive of activity, with wigs, false boobs, shimmering dresses, stilettos and body parts. Some of the booths were shut and the grunts and exclamations emanating from them left Brook in no doubt what was going in there.