Nights In Black Lace (17 page)

He pulled her close. “Ready for seconds?”

“Yes. You are a magic man.”

T
he next morning he was back at Marc's apartment, playing with Jimmy while Marc made coffee.

“Achille is at the markets still,” he called from the kitchen. “He prowls through before dawn to get the best vegetables and meat and fish. Then he comes home to sleep.”

“Not a problem. I'll be gone by then.” Bryan found a ping-pong ball with tiny toothmarks in it wedged under the sofa. “Is this yours?” he asked Jimmy. He threw it, and it bounced once and stopped rolling. The little dog could barely get his jaws around the smooth white sphere but he managed. He sat down with it in his mouth, looking triumphant.

For a full minute.

“Is this what Mexican stand-off means?” Bryan finally asked the dog.

“What?” Marc called.

“I was talking to Jimmy. Does he understand the other half of the fetch equation?”

“No,” Marc said, coming into the room and sipping coffee from a mug. “Jimmy, smile for papa.”

The Chihuahua curled up his lips but didn't release the ball.

“Not like that,” Marc reproved him. “You look evil, to say nothing of disgusting. You look like an egg-sucking, four-legged snake and not a dog.”

The insults had no effect.

“Papa is not proud of you,” Marc added.

Giving both men a look of chagrin, Jimmy finally dropped the ball and Bryan threw it again. The ball went into a corner, where the dog ran and snuffled around for it.

“All right,” Marc sighed. “Enough of this. I have to get to work.”

Bryan nodded.

“Are you going to the atelier?”

“Not just yet. Making an, uh, separate entrance.”

Marc shrugged. “We assumed you spent the night with Odette. That is probably a wise thing to do—arrive at different times, I mean.”

“We thought so.”

Marc seemed to approve of that. “Well, she ought to be calmer today, lover boy. Am I right?”

Bryan felt his face turn red. “I can't speak for her.”

The other man laughed in a friendly way. “Still, I am sure you did her good. And I am grateful. Goffre is coming in to interview us, one by one.”

“Odette mentioned it.”

“Am I a suspect?” Marc asked calmly.

“She told me right from the start that you were the only person on her staff that she totally trusted.”

The other man gave a shrug. “Goffre might not agree.”

“I don't think you're on the list,” Bryan said.

“So there is a list. Are you on it, Bryan?”

He shook his head. “She seems to trust me too.”

“Then Goffre will gnash his teeth in frustration.” Marc drank down his coffee. “What can he do, eh? The designs are worthless. Snatched from under Odette's nose. She will never profit from them.”

“That sucks.”

“Yes. But it happens.” Marc rummaged in the closet for his jacket, pulling out several before he found the one he wanted. “Fashion changes so quickly it almost does not matter. We have to present six or seven collections a year now. Five was hard enough—”

“That many?”

“Used to be only four.” Marc shrugged into his jacket. “Craziness. Where is my cell phone?” He looked around and saw it on the mantel because it was blinking. “Aha. A message. Somebody loves me. Who can it be?” He looked at the screen. “Odette.”

Bryan watched as he read the text message she'd left, just then remembering about the camera.

“She says you took pictures?” Marc asked.

“Yeah. I have to get them on a disk. Is there a drugstore around here?”

“There is a photo store two blocks away. May I look at them first?” Marc asked.

“Sure. I think they're in the chest.” Jimmy was right in front of it. “Excuse me, pup.” He squatted down and moved the little dog to one side.

He found the camera and handed it over. “Press the button, hit the arrow. The usual.”

Marc had it figured out already. “Okay. I understand.” He scrolled through the pictures. “There are our worker bees, busy as usual in their cells. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“I just wanted to snap a few for my mom. Odette told me not to take pictures of any sketches or projects, so I concentrated on the people.”

“Nice one of Delphine,” Marc commented.

“We chatted when I went to get coffee.”

“And here is Lucie. So efficient. And so dedicated,” the other man murmured. “She knows how to do nearly everything.”

“She was helping Odette with the model fitting for the flower-petal underwear.”

“Yes, she is clever at such things. I don't know what Odette would do without her.”

“And here is Grischenka. Did you take those?”

“No. Odette did. I was too weak.”

Marc laughed loudly. “Grischenka is a bit of a freak, but men notice her.”

“She's hard to miss.”

Marc hummed as he scrolled back, looking at all the photos again. Bryan heard a faint whirring noise as the other man pressed the zoom button on the viewfinder.

“That is interesting,” he said softly.

“What?” Bryan said, standing as he came over to look.

“The papers in her purse. I can't quite see it, even with the zoom.”

Bryan looked. Pieces of paper were sticking out of the capacious purse just in back of Lucie. He couldn't make out anything.

“Hmm,” Marc said at last. “Odette wanted me to bring this to the investigator, but I think I would like a friend of mine to look at it first. With your permission,” he added, handing the camera back to Bryan.

“Okay,” Bryan said. “I wasn't going to be interviewed by the guy.”

“I will tell Odette that you couldn't find it,” Marc said. “But on second thought, do not take it to the photo store. I would rather my friend downloads that picture directly.”

“Uh—okay. What's going on?”

Marc shrugged. “Until we get a better look at what is in Lucie's purse, that is hard to say.”

“Oh. Should I tell Odette?”

“Not yet. She relies on Lucie nearly as much as she relies on me. I don't want to make her nervous.”

“So long as she gets a full report if there is anything.” Bryan was relieved that he had the camera in hand.

“Of course.
Au revoir,
Jimmy.” Marc bent down to pat the little dog. “Bryan will walk you later. His leash is hanging by the back door,” he said to Bryan.

“Okay. Sure thing.”

He let Jimmy curl up next to his ankle as he looked through the photos he'd taken on the viewfinder again, studying the one of Lucie that had caught Marc's eye.

No matter how close he got in, the paper in her purse looked blank to him.

The hell with it, he decided.

 

“Do you want to go out tonight?” Marc had come home and was preparing supper.

Bryan thought of Odette's laughing over the club her assistant had taken her to, and her refusal to say anything much about it.

“Where to?” he said cautiously.

“A club called Vendredi. It is open every night of the week, but on Thursdays it gets really interesting.”

“In what way? If you don't mind my asking.” Bryan reminded himself that he was a guest.

“Everyone comes.”

That answer was not informative. He couldn't remember if Odette had told him the name of the place. Vendredi wasn't ringing a bell.

Even so.

How bad could it be? Since he wasn't paying for a hotel, he had a few bucks left for an evening out with the, uh, guys.

“Achille goes to bed early so it will be just you and me.”

That seemed more doable, somehow, especially since he knew Marc a little.

“Sure,” he said at last. “I'd love to go.”

Marc hummed as he chopped vegetables. “It is inexpensive.”

Nice of Marc to assume that was what had been on his mind, Bryan thought. He felt a little ashamed of himself for being nervous.

Still, being laid back had its drawbacks, such as saying yes to things he didn't really want to do. He hoped Vendredi wasn't going to be too weird.

Achille came home and banged the door open. “Where's my supper?” he howled.

“Oh, shut up,” Marc said pleasantly. “You can see that I'm making it.”

Odette was right. Marc and his boyfriend really were married. Achille showered as Marc set the table for three, still humming. The food was delicious, beef in sauce enriched with red wine. And there was more red wine to drink.

“Oh,” Marc said causally, “we will be meeting a friend of mine tonight who can help us get a better look at that picture. She is the only person I know who has the right software, and I don't want to—” He broke off, then went on. “If you bring the camera and the connector, she will bring her laptop.”

“Should we be doing this in public?”

“She works two jobs and sleeps during the day. She is a computer programmer and an entertainer.”

“Oh, you mean like a comedian? I know a couple of geek stand-up comics. They do
Dilbert
-type stuff.”

“She is not a comedian. But she is a wizard with software.”

“Couldn't you have Odette's computer guys handle this?”

“I don't want to seem as if—as if I am making an accusation against a person on Odette's staff. Jeanne can be trusted—I have known her ever since—” He stopped. “I have known her for a long time. So she is doing me a favor.”

“All right. I see.” He kind of didn't.

Marc shrugged. “It is just a preliminary look to see if there is a clue worth pursuing. We will have a private booth at the club.”

Bryan wasn't sure if the private booth or the photo thing made him more nervous.

“Uh, okay.”

He poured himself another glass and so did Marc, then helped him clear the table and do the dishes.

Achille went out to walk the dog and came back with it in his pocket, yapping at them.

Bryan patted the Chihuahua and its skinny little tail thumped inside the canvas pocket. “Have a nice ride?”

“He walked almost a block,” Achille said, lifting his pet out and putting him on the floor.

“A record for that dog,” Marc sniffed. He opened up another bottle of wine, and set out cheese and fruit.

Nice place. Nice guys. Nice Chihuahua. Bryan was feeling no pain by the time they finished the second bottle, said good-night to Achille and went outside to walk to the club.

The night air was cold and Bryan didn't mind having a buzz on. He nodded to the old lady at the door, and walked inside with Marc.

They slid into a booth and ordered drinks, then Marc leaned across the booth's table. “My friend will be here in a little while. The show is about to begin.”

Bryan leaned back and looked at the small stage. A gorgeous, heavily made-up girl came on, not wearing a whole hell of a lot otherwise. He smiled lazily. All right. So far it reminded him of Odette's show, except this girl was voluptuous up top.

She bounced and preened and flirted with the guys in the front row. Bryan couldn't quite suss out the vibe of the place.

Why Marc, who was gay, would go to a club with female entertainers wasn't clear to him.

Because she was female. He wasn't so smashed he couldn't tell the difference. He squinted at the stage and hoped he was right.

Whatever. Marc, the true believer in true love, wasn't going to buy him a lap dance if he thought Odette needed Bryan and vice versa.

Bryan closed his eyes, feeling the stronger drink on top of the red wine, as well as the effects of not sleeping all that much.

The eagerness of the men down front and the growing hubbub as the place filled up drifted over him. He opened his eyes when Marc touched his arm.

There was a woman at the table with him. Someone in serious horn rims with her hair cut just above her shoulders. Not young, not old. She reminded him of his high school guidance counselor. He half expected her to wave college brochures under his nose and talk about what he wanted to do with his life.

Instead she took a laptop out of a padded bag, and opened the lid.

“Bryan, this is my friend Jeanne,” Marc said. “Jeanne, this is Bryan.”

No last names. Fine with Bryan, who struggled to sit upright. He wasn't quite sure he should be doing this anyway.

“You did bring the camera?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling at Jeanne. “I guess Marc explained this to you. We're trying to get a better look at a photo I took.”