Sex in a Sidecar (24 page)

The afternoon was quiet, the bar empty. Maybe the members were all on the golf course. I didn't care where they were as long as they didn't bother me. Soft reggae floated out of the speakers. I sat on a stool behind the bar, slid off my mules and massaged my feet, thinking about Clay.

When Chris came in, I went and called our supplier. The beer order was late again and the last keg was just about out. Then I had two meetings to go over plans for Christmas parties. When the clients had made their decisions, I filled in all the forms and ordered the extra supplies I would need on those days.

About three, while Chris took a break, Deanna came in from a tennis game. I should have read the writing on the wall or maybe the lines on her face. The signs were all there. Her interval of slumming with the pool boy was over. “A little sex?” I asked as she slid up on a barstool. She nodded.

I measured brandy and Cointreau into a silver shaker, juiced a lemon and added some ice and shook it. I dabbed the chilled cocktail glass in fine pink sugar, filled the glass with the contents of the shaker and slid it towards her as Ethan came in with a drink order. He stopped when he saw her and then came cautiously forward as if he were approaching a rabid dog.

Deanna looked over her shoulder at him when he reached the bar. Her nostrils flared as her back stiffened. “Hi,” Ethan said uneasily to Deanna.

She scowled at him and turned to me to say, “Sherri, that manicurist was rude to me again this morning. I asked for an appointment and she told me she was totally booked. I understand she is one of your staff.”

“Maybe she is booked,” I said, trying to defuse things.

“What do you need, Ethan?”

“A jug of iced tea, two glasses.”

“Don't be an ass,” said Deanna. “She wasn't booked. If you can't do something about her, I'm sure Mr. Fotheringham-Bliss can.”

“Deanna,” Ethan started, but Deanna turned on him.

“I wasn't talking to you. You're so weak you're contemptible. You have a choice. Get rid of her or get out of my life.”

I dropped a small bowl of lemon slices onto the tray with the jug and glasses. “Here, Ethan, here's your order.” His eyes swam with unshed tears. I slid the tray closer to him. “Take it.” He hesitated, then lifted the tray and went out to the pool. “You're pretty hard on him,” I told Deanna. “Wasn't the whole idea to have a little fun, not a lifetime commitment?” “Who asked you? Just serve my drinks and keep your advice to yourself.” She was going to say more but her eyes opened wide and she stared at someone over my shoulder. I turned. Lester stood at the end of the bar with a new keg of beer. His cold gray eyes were fixed on Deanna. His lips worked in and out as if gathering up spit.

“Thank you, Lester.” I hurried over to him, wanting to prevent another scene. “These kegs are just about out.”

He didn't respond, not that this was unusual for Lester, but this time he was just too intent on Deanna to hear me. Hate and fury twisted his face. I reached for the keg, hesitating when I saw the inflamed, red, cracked skin of his hand, some kind of skin disease, then lifted the keg from his grip. The weight shifting from his hand seemed to bring him back into focus. He raised a gigantic gnarled paw and stared at it as if he were unsure what had changed. A red indention across the palm showed where the handle of the keg had been. He must have been standing there for some time before Deanna saw him.

“It's all right.” I don't know why I was trying to reassure him, I only knew I was desperate to wipe away the raw emotion, the total malevolence, from his face before it exploded in some violent act that would overpower us all. “It's all right,” I repeated, quieter this time.

I started down the bar with the keg, carrying it in front of me with both hands.

“No,” he snarled and I froze. He reached out and took it from me and I breathed again.

“Put it there until I need it,” I told him, pointing under the counter. He did as I asked, gave one more venomous look at Deanna and went out.

“God, what a freak.” The words exploded out of Deanna. She picked the garnish out of her glass and threw it on the counter behind the bar. “This place is just full of them, isn't it?”

Yeah, I thought, and the staff is the least of it.

I gave a huge sigh of relief when the door closed behind Deanna. Sometimes she wasn't worth the work. My release was short-lived; within seconds she burst back into the bar. “Do you know what that bitch has done?” she demanded. The bar was filling up with the pre-dinner crowd and I glanced at the room to warn her to keep her voice down but she wasn't having any of it.

“The little bitch has scratched the length of my Jag with her keys,” Deanna told me.

I didn't need to ask which bitch she was talking about, something told me this tone of voice was reserved for Tanya.

I groaned. What the hell was I doing here? I could be lying out on Clay's balcony watching the boats sail by or checking out the little boutiques up on Cedar Key. Hell, I was even ready to go out and start picking up debris left from Myrna. I didn't need this.

“Let's talk in my office.”

I didn't wait to see if she was following me. I was still staring at a wilted yellow rose on the scarred surf ace of the desk when Deanna said, “Are you listening? She has to go.”

Deanna had her fists planted on her hips ready for a fight. I went into the soothe-the-drinker spiel. “I can see you're upset,” I said. “I'll check into it.”

“Check into it?” She threw her hands into the air in exasperation. “Check into it?” She shook her forefinger under my nose. “Call the cops is what you should do, in fact that's exactly what I'm going to do.”

“We don't need the police. Let me handle it.”

“It's your fault. You should have got rid of her before this happened.”

“We don't know it was Tanya.”

“You know it was her. Who else could it be?”

“Why don't you go up and wait in Mr. FotheringhamBliss's office.” I couldn't see why I should have all the fun. Let the fat man earn his keep. “I'll go talk to Tanya.”

Deanna started to argue and then said, “Fine.” The door slammed behind her.

Tanya looked up from filing her own nails and asked, “What's wrong?”

“Deanna Weston says you damaged her Jag.”

“No I didn't.” Sparks of rage flamed in Tanya's eyes. “I did no such thing.” She threw the emery board onto the manicure table.

“Did you tell her you couldn't do her nails?”

“Yes,” she said and crossed her arms over her chest, defiant and stubborn, not worried or guilty. “When did your last client leave?”

She shrugged. A small scab on the back of her hand held her attention. She picked delicately at it with a polished nail.

“Damn, this is stupid, I can check on the time from the chits.”

“About twenty minutes ago.” She was more reluctant and sullen than guilty.

“Did you go into the covered parking area where the members park?”

She sat a little straighter and smoothed the tight black skirt down over her hips. “I didn't touch her car.” “Were you with someone out there?” Her chin jutted out in defiance.

My guess was Ethan had run to her after Deanna had yelled at him and she was comforting him in the only way Ethan would understand.

If Ethan liked strong women he had definitely found one in Tanya.

“I gotta say you're in big trouble here.”

“I didn't do it.” She tugged down on her white blouse stretched tight over her high full bosom. On Tanya even the plain white blouse looked provocative.

“It's not just the car.”

“I thought Fotheringham would be sacking me,” she said as if she felt cheated.

“There's another problem, not just the damage to the car but the relationship between you and Ethan and Ethan and Mrs. Weston. You know how it goes, the member is always right.”

“So that means I'm out.” She wasn't surprised. In serving positions you know you don't win if a member is unhappy.

“I know that you don't have any family here. It's a difficult position for you.” I could hear the squirming in my voice.

Her eyes suddenly welled with tears, the iron lady's first chink.

“You should go home,” I told her, not sure where home was.

She shook her head. “He needs me.” She grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her nose. “That's why I came. At first when he came down here, I thought it would be a good thing. We'd both start over. It's no use. When he called he sounded so lost, frightened even. That Mrs. Lehre had thrown him out. So I came to Florida. We have to be together. Always.”

“Not at the B&T. Look, it's none of my business, but how can you stand his sleeping around?”

She gave a faint lift of her shoulders. “It's not important. He needs attention and he likes nice things. Nice things are really vital to him.” She lowered her eyes to the tissue, twisting and turning it in her fingers. “It's just sex.” Her eyes were fixed on her fingers torturing the tissue. “It's me he loves.”

“That explains Ethan, but what do you get out of the relationship?” I really was curious about the answer to this one.

Her mouth twisted into a small grimace and then she went on. “I thought it would be different this time. We've got a one-bedroom apartment just off the island. He isn't there much now. Now he sleeps most nights at Deanna Weston's. A couple of mornings a week, early, before he goes to work, he comes to me. And he's so sweet, that makes up for everything.” While her mouth was saying she was fine with betrayal her violet-blue eyes were sad and full of hurt. “I know he isn't like that with those other women. He couldn't be.”

Deanna had told me about Ethan's habit of leaving her bed at five in the morning. He said it was so he could exercise. That was fine with Deanna, she never liked to get out of bed before nine but I bet she had no idea of the exact nature of Ethan's exercise routine.

Tanya's brief show of weakness was over. “You can't just go firing people for no reason. What am I supposed to do? It took all my savings to move down here.”

“I made a call. My hairdresser is willing to take you on until her manicurist comes down from the north. It's only temporary, a few weeks, but it will give you some time to decide what you should do.” “Thanks.”

“Ethan will have to find something else too.”

“Oh no, please don't do that.” She was begging me with every fiber of her being. “He needs to be here.”

“Why? So he can have easy access to rich women?”

“No,” she shook her head frantically. “No. He needs to be in a nice place. A busy restaurant, where everyone was rushing and yelling would just frazzle him. He doesn't have the stamina for that kind of job. He really isn't very strong. Look, you're rid of me, isn't that enough?”

“Don't you think it would be a little unfair if you were the only one to suffer because of this situation?”

She snorted her disgust. “I didn't expect anything else. At least you were decent enough to find me another place.”

I put the sticky-note with the name and number on the desk. “Call Brenda Cappone at this number, she'll tell you when you start. Go up to the office now and get your paperwork. And for heaven's sake try and resist upsetting EffingBliss. He's already like a gator with a toothache and we all have to live with him.”

She took the number and said, “I didn't touch her car.” Strangely enough I believed her. So who had put those two wavering lines down the side of the Jag?

Back in Terry's office the phone rang and I stopped caring about anyone at the B&T.

I rolled the highball back and forth between my hands and waited, feeling the grin spreading across my face as Clay walked towards me. “Can't stay away, can you Adams?”

“The meeting got cancelled.”

This man was never going to give an inch.

Later, as the sweat dried and our bodies cooled Clay said, “I want to ask you something.”

Just like in one of those trashy romance novels Ruth Ann was always reading, my heart fluttered, I swear, and I couldn't breathe as I waited for the question.

With an arm under his head, Clay stared up at the ceiling.

“Well, I was thinking…,” he paused. I nodded like crazy, encouraging him. “We get along, don't we?”

I wanted to yell, “For god's sake get on with it.” What I said was, “Of course we do.” “Well, I was thinking.” Nothing more.

I propped myself up on an elbow. “ Clay Adams, if you don't spit it out right this second, I'm going to do you an injury.”

He grinned at me. “How about the two of us buy the Sunset together?”

I tossed back the duvet and got out of bed. “Well, I'm glad that's over.” I'd been trying to decide if I wanted a sapphire or a diamond engagement ring.

“What?” He sat up looking confused, which made two of us.

“I thought you'd go ape shit,” Clay said. “Isn't it what you've always wanted? And you have to do something with Jimmy's insurance money.”

I pulled on the red silk dressing gown Clay gave me for my birthday, lifting my hair out from under the collar and wrapping the belt around me. “You don't like the idea?”

“Sure! Sure I do, Clay. I like it just fine. It's just a surprise.” I stuffed my feet into the matching mules. “I need to think.”

But I didn't need long. By morning I'd made up my mind. I wasn't real sure I could run the Sunset but at least it was a commitment of some kind. Maybe not the one I'd been looking for but still we'd be tied together by dollars, and money might just prove to be a tighter bond than a wedding ring. Just so long as he had a good reason for sticking around, it worked for me.

“Four days,” he said, kissing my forehead. “ I'll be back.”

“Four days,” I repeated.

“And then we get our lives back,” he said. “Go back to normal.”

At eleven o'clock, I laid a long box of white Phalaenopsis orchids on the counter behind the bar with a tray of bud vases for the tables. Except for coffee and muffins, we didn't start serving until eleven-thirty and even then people generally ordered out by the pool so this was the quiet time.

I was looking forward to Deanna coming in and talking over buying the Sunset with Clay. She'd give me a clear-eyed second opinion. Some of her daddy's money-making sense had rubbed off on Deanna and while people were working on her nails and hair and body, her brain was scheming on how to increase her millions. While I gave her bartending advice, she'd been giving me financial advice.

I was cleaning off the debris from the orchids when Ethan Eames came into the bar. “Morning, Ethan,” I said.

“Hi.” The word was flat and heavy as if it taxed him to get it out. His boundless good cheer was gone and the shine had faded from his goods looks. Even his hair looked less glossy, his skin drier and his eyes tired — Ethan had been jettisoned into the real world with the rest of us. He put three cups and saucers on a tray and began filling a thermos jug from an urn on the serving table. “Ethan, we need to talk.”

“I know,” he told me in a flat emotionless voice without looking up. Unhappiness had entered every cell of his body. “I'm not to see Deanna Weston again. I already agreed, all right?”

“More than that. You have to stop fraternizing with the clientele.”

“Fraternizing?”

“Dating. Look, what you do in your free time is your business, but when it intrudes on the club it has to stop.”

He looked confused. The truth was everyone knew about the pool boys and no one cared unless there was some disagreement that brought it out in the open.

“Okay,” he said and stared at me in puzzled uncertainty.

“Okay.”

I went to the bar fridge and took out three small pitchers of cream and added them to his tray. Ethan stared down at the tray as if wondering what else should be there. The problem occupied his total attention. I added a small bowl with packets of sugar and sweeteners and three spoons.

“Go,” I told him.

He picked up the tray. Then his face went white. He set the tray down hard.

Styles and another man, a black guy built big and square, came through the arched doorway.

A high-pitched sound, between a moan and a keen, came from Ethan. Styles walked unhurriedly towards us, stopped in front of Ethan and calmly said, “I'd like you to come with us, Mr. Eames.”

The black guy walked around Ethan and grasped hold of him by the elbows and handcuffed him. Ethan winced but he didn't offer any resistance nor did he ask any questions, he just looked whipped and defeated.

The cop led Ethan back towards the terrace where the members sat in the sun.

“Wait!” It came out loud. “Wait,” I said more quietly.

The two policemen looked at me. “Please use the back way. There's no reason to embarrass him more than necessary.”

The black cop looked to Styles. Styles nodded and pointed a hand to the door to the hall. The cop started for the hall and Styles turned to follow.

I put out a hand to stop him. “What is it? What's happened? Why are you arresting him now?”

“Deanna Weston was found shot to death in her condo this morning.”