Tea Leafing: A Novel (9 page)

“Not much. Got a show
this weekend.” He continued to work Sam’s cuticles with a thoughtful look on
his face.

“Did you hear about
Lena?” Grace raised her head from the headrest.

Rocky bobbed his head
in a nod, not looking up. “Yeah, that sucks. I can’t believe that shit.” He
tapped the orange stick on Sam’s nail twice as a signal to switch hands.

“How’d you hear? Have
Birdie and Mary Jane been in?”

“No, Princess Nikki was
in the other day.”

“Oh?” Sam raised an
eyebrow. “Do tell.”

Rocky shifted in his
seat and sat upright, pinching his shoulder blades together, trying to crack
his spine. “It’s just gonna piss you off, I don’t want to stir up shit.”

Sam glanced at Grace.

“BLOODY FACKIN’ ‘ELL!”
Screamed a familiar voice from a partitioned back room.

“Birdie?” Grace looked
at Rocky.

Rocky nodded without
looking up, “Brazilian wax.”

“Hey Bird!” Grace
yelled.

 
“Okay, spill it, Rocky.” Sam turned her
attention back to the beefy twenty-something.

“Well,” Rocky puckered
his lips, recalling the details “She was pretty high, which is normal.” He
hushed his voice, leaned in and rested the orange stick lightly on his chin.
“She was saying that Lena got what was coming to her.”

The pedicure ladies
exchanged a look and the older one demanded in a shrill voice, “You pick your
color!”

Rocky’s head snapped
around as he bitched at her in Laotian. He gestured at two bottles of polish
sitting on the table between the chairs. The two women stood and headed for the
back room.

“Sorry, I told them to
go have a smoke and get the paraffin bath for your feet.” he rolled his eyes
back as if to remember what he was saying “She said that Lena got what she
deserved and anyone who messes with her will get the same.”

Sam turned her face toward
Rocky and Grace, mumbling, “Was she making it sound like she had something to
do with it?”

“She was trying to act
like she was in charge, you know, like she’s the boss’s girl and that makes her
special. She just kept saying that she and Fedya are protected. She wasn’t
coming right out and sayin’ anything specific. I couldn’t tell if it was the
drugs or her talking. Too hard to separate the two.”

“EEEEEEEaaaahhhhhh.
CUNTS!”

“Hey Bird, hang in
there!” Grace yelled at the white half-wall.

Most of the women in
the salon smirked, in sympathy for the wax ritual. A few had a puckered,
distasteful look, probably for the language rather than the shouting.

Birdie yelled, “Are you
birds warkin’ tonight, Grace?”

“Plannin’ to. I guess
you’re not, huh?” Grace referred to Sam and Birdie’s suspension.

“YYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEE
Haw.”

Grace and Sam stifled
their laughter. “Wanna get some coffee? We’ll wait for you.”

“I fink a Scotch would
be more like it . . . EEEEEEESSSSHHHHH.”

The nail ladies
reappeared smelling like menthols. One of them carried a lavender scented
paraffin bath and plastic bags. Working in tandem, they began the dip and drip
process on Grace’s feet.

As if there hadn’t been
a lull in conversation, Rocky blurted, “Plus, she has shit taste in nail color
and always forgets to tip, soooooo, there you have it.” The ladies grunted
their agreement.

It hadn’t occurred to Sam
that Nikki could have had a hand in Lena’s death. She thought the comment about
Fedya had more to do with show than actual fact.

“Did she say anything
more about Lena? I just don’t get how Lena might have ‘messed’ with her.”

Rocky shrugged his
bulky shoulders, “I don’t know. Like I said, she was being all
bad-ass
. It coulda just been talk. You know, makin’ herself
feel more important than she is? Coke will do that to you.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Sam
thought back to her drug days, remembering how her own sense of self had become
over-inflated. She knew Lena and Nikki weren’t friends, but they also weren’t
enemies. Her mind turned over the information, trying to see it from different
angles. Hoping something would make sense if she focused hard enough.

Grace groaned and
motored her chair into a full recline position, head back, feet up…

Rrrrrriiiiiiippppppp
.

“Holy MOTHAH!
AAAAIIIIIIEEEEEE!”

Sam yelled “We heard
that Bird.”

“That was me fackin’
undercarriage,” Birdie huffed, trying to catch her breath.

Giggles erupted
throughout the salon. Even the sourpusses couldn’t resist.

CHAPTER 16

After a week of
reading, tanning, and organizing her apartment, Sam was ready to get back to
work. She’d taken Gio’s warning to heart and had given thought to whether or
not the Pink Pussycat was the right place for her. She put out her feelers,
looked for art directing jobs, and revised her resume. Although the legit jobs
paid a fraction of what she made dancing, she wrestled with the idea of hanging
up the
lycra
and making a go of the real world again.
She hated the process, knowing it would be months of sending out her book,
interviewing, negotiating, and finally starting a new gig.

While she was off, she
also nosed around a little about Lena, but she soon realized that without the
access the club provided, it was difficult — at best — to ask
questions of anyone or learn anything new. She wondered why information that
normally had to be hunted down, simply floated into the club.

Birdie had also returned
to work immediately after her suspension was up.
 
The tale of their insubordination had grown to epic
proportions and they were hailed as heroes by most of the girls. The few who
were sleeping with or trying to sleep with management kept quiet and doled out
nasty looks, as if they were somehow good, obedient employees.

Perched on a leather
barstool at the main bar, Sam sipped her coffee with Mary Jane, scoping the
crowd before beginning her hustle. Grace got a VIP room almost immediately with
a regular that came in every Monday night at 8:15 p.m. sharp. Birdie was still
in the dressing room, trying on outfits and muttering to
herself
about having nothing to wear.

Sam saw a familiar face
in the crowd.

“Score.” Sam smiled at
Mary Jane and slipped from her perch. Straightening her ice-blue dress and
smoothing her long black hair, she slid a five across the bar. “My cop just
showed up.”

“Go get ’em tiger!”
Mary Jane took the bill and cleared the mugs from the bar.

Striding across the
main floor, Sam flipped through her mental Rolodex. Not just knowing a name,
but remembering the intimate details of a customer’s life was helpful.
 
Peter, the po po.
Sam often used rhymes and name games to help her remember things, a very
helpful trick she’d honed over the years.
Po-po Peter’s wife,
Nita, worked as a dispatcher.
Sam thought of Peter’s house as being very
clean —
neat-a
, with lots of phones. The mental
images she’d conjure up seemed silly, but the method worked.

Sliding around the far
side of the elevators, Sam snuck up behind Peter.

“Reach for the stars!”
Sam whispered from behind him with the dramatic intonation of a film noir.

“Hey there!” Peter
turned, beaming at Sam. Grabbing her in a hug, he said, “You look beautiful!
How are you?”

“Better now that you’re
here, Peter. Did you come to save me from boredom?” Sam gave him a coy smile.

Some
regulars
were
just that — regular
. Others were what Sam
called ‘irregulars.’ The irregulars were familiar faces that would show up at
random. Repeat business that would come and go, but didn’t have a schedule. Peter
was an irregular.

Sam took Peter’s hand
and pulled him across the floor to their usual table as far away from the
bass-fueled speakers as they could get. Peter didn’t spend a lot of money, just
a table dance here and there, but Sam liked him and looked forward to his
stories. On a busy night he understood she had to make money and wasn’t upset
if she couldn’t spend time with him. Sam appreciated that he got how club life
worked, and Peter appreciated that she didn’t hustle him.

“How’s Miss Nita?” Sam
looked him straight in the eye.

Peter dropped his head
and smiled. “Pregnant.”

“Oh MY GOD, PETER!
That’s FANTASTIC!” Sam knew they had been trying to get pregnant for quite some
time. She worried a little about the danger involved in his line of work, but
took comfort knowing the two would be great parents.

“Thanks. We’re pretty
excited. We’d started to lose hope, you know?”

Sam nodded, still
feeling a rush of excitement for him.

“Hey Peter!” China had
appeared, tray in hand. “Can I get you two anything to drink?”

“His wife is pregnant,
China!” Sam blurted.

Most of the club
employees knew the return customers by name. Peter’s job was extra incentive
for people to remember him. A symbiotic relationship existed between the club
and the police department. The police provided protection and gave the girls
respect,
The girls provided information the police might
have trouble obtaining otherwise. It wasn’t oil and water like most outsiders
would have guessed.

“Shhhhh.” Peter smiled
and put his finger to his lips. “We want to keep it quiet for now. We’ll start
telling people in her second trimester.”

“Oops!” Sam put her
fingertips to her lips and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“You’re secret is safe
with us.” China winked.

As Peter ordered the
drinks and chatted with China, Sam thought she caught a glimpse of Combover.
Her heart skipped. She felt a cold prickle down her spine as her eyes tracked
the faceless shape moving through the shadow of the back wall. Time slowed. She
was aware of ambient noise and chatter around her, but every nerve in her body
stood at attention focusing on the dark shadow.

“Right, Sam?” Peter’s
voice snapped her back to reality. “Sam?”

As she looked at Peter,
his smile faltered. Her face must have betrayed her suspicions.

“What’s wrong?” He
asked.

“Um, nothing.” Sam
stopped and stared at him for a minute. “Okay, there’s a guy over there, in the
shadows. I think he might have been stalking Lena. I can’t get a good look, but
I’m pretty sure it’s him.”

Peter nodded. “What
time is he at?” he asked, referring to the clock-face method of pinpointing.

“Yours or mine?”

“Mine.”

“Two-Thirty-ish. I
think he’s moving towards the main bar.” Sam said. Turning to look for the dark
figure, Peter put a hand on her arm to stop her.

“I see him. I’ll keep
an eye on him and let you know when he comes into the light.” Peter squeezed
her arm as if to comfort and calm her.

“Speaking of,” Sam breathed,
“Any word at the office regarding Lena’s death?”

Peter shook his head.
“No. The whole thing has been kept very hush hush. Some special task force has
been assigned to handle it and they’ve been tight lipped.”

Sam felt the tingle of
excitement. “A task force? I guess that’s a good sign, huh? A sign they’re
taking this pretty seriously. I was a little worried because we haven’t heard
anything. I don’t know anyone that’s been questioned and, well,” she paused,
“I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I was beginning to think nothing was
being done. No offense.”

“None taken.” He
flashed a genial smile. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like much is happening
during an investigation, but then the whole case breaks wide open. Be patient,
Sam. They’ll catch whoever did it.”

Sam smiled and looked
at his large hands resting on the arms of the chair. His wedding band pinched
his finger tight and the flesh around it puffed into a cradle for the curved
gold. It looked like a part of him. Not like something that ever came off, but
something that had always been and would always be. She found comfort in its
permanence. Used to seeing the raisin-puckered, pale skin where men would
remove their wedding bands and tell the obvious lie. Sam loved to see the bands
worn proudly.

“Hey, your guy just
slipped out.” Peter tipped his head toward the door.

Snapping her head
towards the door, Sam searched for Combover.

Peter quickly added,
“He never came out of the dark, just wandered by the back wall.”

“Dammit.” Sam squirmed.

“Are you worried about
this guy?” Peter looked concerned. “Do you want me to follow up on him?”

“No. I mean, not yet. I
don’t know his name, but I do know that Lena took out a restraining order
against him a few months ago. He never hurt her but he was following her
around. Just gives me the creeps.”

“Say the word, Sam, and
I’ll do what I can. If you get his name let me know and I’ll pass it along to
the task force.”

“Hey, do you mind
poking around to see if you can find out anything about the investigation?” Sam
resisted the urge to bat her lashes, knowing it would be lost on him.

“Sure kid, I’ll see
what I can do.”

“Next up on main stage
is SAM!” The DJ’s voice thundered through the speakers.

“I guess I’m being
paged.” Sam hugged Peter’s neck and stood up. “Thank you. Really. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it Sam,
now go knock ‘em dead! I’ve got to be on my way.”

Sam trotted off through
the gathering crowd. Even after all this time, she didn’t love the main stage.
The floors seemed slicker than the rest of the club and she lived in constant
fear of tripping. If she got in the groove and the money was flowing, the ego
trip was fantastic, but she had to psyche herself up to get in the right
headspace. Focusing on her ‘big money’ mantra, she walked toward the side steps
leading to the main stage. At the bottom of the steps she leaned against a
wall, bouncing on the balls of her feet in time with the music.