'In my act?'
'Yeah. Swamp blues. I never heard it before. Louisiana?'
'Florida. It's an old record. I don't even know the singer. I found it in a store in the city.'
'How do you know it's from Florida?'
Belle got off the couch. Walked over to the darkened bed. She hit a light switch. The bed was low, covered in white, a white rug on the floor. It was the bed in her act.
She came back to the couch, pulling her bra over her head as she walked. Turned off the two lamps on the end tables, one by one. She stretched out full-length on the couch, her head in my lap, facing up at me, eyes closed. Even with her arms at her sides, her breasts stood straight up at me, carved in flesh.
Her face was indistinct in the soft light, her eyes lost in the sheaf of taffy-honey hair. No lipstick on her mouth. Only the tiny chin with its sharp point moving.
'I'm from Florida. When I heard that song, I knew it was a home call. Understand?'
'Yeah.'
She took my hand, pressed it to where her breast covered her heart. I could feel the beat. Strong, slow, steady.
'What did you think of my act?'
'I never saw anything like it before.'
'Each girl gets to design her own. As long as our clothes come off before the lights go out.'
'It's a psychiatric mirror.'
'A what?'
'A psychiatric mirror. You do your act - people watch it - they all see something different - if you knew what they were thinking, you'd know them.'
'Like that inkblot test?'
'
Belle sighed. A tiny slash of white across her face where she chewed her lower lip. 'It's true. Men send notes backstage.'
'You ever answer them?'
'No. I'm like you.'
'What does that mean?'
'I don't work for pimps either.'
'You could work for yourself.'
'I do work for myself - I'm not for sale.'
She reached for my cigarette, ignoring her own. Put it in her mouth, took a deep drag. The smoke shot out her nose. I watched her stomach muscles flex.
'Did it work on you?'
'What?'
'My act - did you think of something?'
I bit into the cigarette filter. 'I saw it like a play. Young girl coming into herself. Things pulling at her. Evil calling.
'Tell the truth - you saw a play?'
'Like a play. It all meant something.'
'Not what you think.'
'Yeah, exactly what I think. That's the way the mirror works.'
Belle pulled herself into a sitting position, her back to me. She got to her feet, took my hand. 'Come on,' she said.
She walked over to the bed. Put a hand against my chest. 'Stay here,' she said. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the shorts, pulling them over her hips, dropping them to her feet. She stepped out of the shorts and padded to the bed. She fell to her knees, bent forward onto the bed, her hands clasped in front of her.
'Tell the truth,' she said again, her little-girl voice almost hissing. Demanding. 'What did you see?'
I looked at the shadows play over her body. 'I saw a young girl. Praying.'
'What did it make you want to do?' she whispered, looking back at me over one shoulder, wiggling her butt.
I took a breath. Telling the truth. 'Answer your prayers,' I told her.
Her little chin came up, smile flashing. 'Come on,' she said
35
She stayed on her knees, watching me over her shoulder. She cocked her head to one side, listening as my clothes hit the floor.
'Where's your gun?'
'I don't have one.'
'Marques did.'
'I know - in his left-hand pocket,' I said, standing next to her, my hand on her shoulder.
She came to her feet, facing me. Without the heels, she was maybe a half-inch shorter than me. Her eyes were set so close together it was hard to look into them. I ran two fingers along her jawline, feeling for bone lost in the soft flesh, cupping her little chin. I kissed her softly, feeling her lips swell. Her teeth clicked against mine.
'How'd you know he had a gun?' she asked, her tongue darting out, whispering into my mouth.
I moved my hands to her waist, and down to her sculptured butt, feeling the soft skin, squeezing the hard muscles beneath the surface. She locked her hands behind my head and fell backward, pulling me down with her.
The bed was hard. No springs squeaked when our weight came down. I landed on top of her, but she slid out from underneath me slick as an otter leaving a rock in the water. She snuggled into my chest, nudging me onto my back with her shoulder, one hand trailing across my stomach, throwing a thigh over mine. She burrowed her face into my neck, her whole body quivering.
'You have to tell me,' she whispered. 'I have to know those things.'
'Why?'
She reached her free hand between my legs, wrapping it around me, rubbing the tip with the pad of her thumb. 'You think this is the answer to my prayers?'
'I had hopes,' I said.
'Come on, honey. How'd you know?'
'When you walked up with him, he didn't want you on his left side. When you moved away, he was more relaxed.'
'So?'
'So either he was carrying on his left side or you were holding a piece for him.'
'How'd you know I wasn't?'
'You kept your hands free. The clothes you had on - that sweatsuit - you couldn't get to it in time. Besides, you weren't his woman.'
'Because I said so?'
'The way you carried yourself.'
She stroked me gently, her mind somewhere else. Mine wasn't.
'What if you were wrong?'
'Huh?'
'What if I was carrying?'
'You're not fast enough to make it work.'
'Not fast enough for you?'
'For Max.'
'Which one was Max?'
'The guy that didn't speak.'
