But Josie Lynn managed to gather herself. “What happened after—I hit her?”
“The tall woman in her bra and panties left with the catsuit woman. You wanted to follow them, but your man here found some other ways to distract you.” The creeper licked his lips again.
Josie Lynn tried not to vomit in her mouth, and definitely not about what she might have done with Drake, but because this freaky dude had watched them. Probably not unlike he was watching her now.
“Did anything else happen?” Drake said, his tone sharp and thick with warning. He clearly didn’t care for this man’s look either.
“Then the bra-and-panties woman returned. She was upset about something. I’m not sure what. But you all left together.”
“Donald.” Another voice snapped from the other side of the table, startling Josie Lynn. “Stop pestering the guests.”
Josie Lynn turned, relieved to see the person they’d come to see had finally joined them.
Renee posed before them, in all her primped and painted glory. She’d changed from her peignoir and robe into a glittery gold evening gown. Josie Lynn’s first thought was that she was much taller and more intimidating up close.
Clearly Donald agreed, because he immediately backed away from their table.
“I wasn’t pestering, Renee,” he said, his tone somewhere between wheedling and worshiping. “I was just talking.”
“Well go talk somewhere else,” Renee said, clearly unimpressed with his sycophantic behavior.
The man didn’t say anything more as he scurried away.
“Sorry about that,” Renee said, collapsing dramatically into one of the worn, red velvet chairs. “Donald is a regular here. Such a strange little man. He’s relatively harmless, but his attention can become a bit too much. Even for me.” Then she smiled.
Then her heavily made-up eyes shifted to Drake, clearly done with the topic of Donald. She leaned forward to give Drake an air kiss on either cheek. Drake accepted the greeting comfortably, which Josie Lynn found kind of cool. Many men would not be comfortable with another man dressed as a woman being affectionate—even in such an affected way.
“So why are you here, rock star?” Renee said, lounging back against her chair.
“Do you know of a group of female impersonators who dress as Cher through the decades?”
Renee rolled her eyes, disdain very clear in her face. “Cher. So cliche. All female impersonators imitate her at some point in their career.” Then she acknowledged Josie Lynn for the first time. “Not me, mind you. I was always too old to imitate her. But then you know I never went for the easy applause anyway.”
Josie Lynn found herself nodding, although she didn’t really understand why it was any easier to dress up as Cher than any other female. In fact, Cher seemed like she’d be pretty hard to imitate. God knows, she couldn’t pull off that “If I Could Turn Back Time” getup. That took some serious balls and a really great tushy. Not to mention, in reality, Cher couldn’t be much younger than Renee.
“So you don’t know of any impersonators working together,” Drake said, trying to keep Madame Renee on track. “There would be five of them.”
Renee sighed. “Not working together, per se, but I do know several here and there. But if I had to guess what place might be doing a Cher Extravaganza, it would probably be the new club down on Royal. Queen Mary’s.”
Queen Mary’s on Royal, there was something apropos about that.
Although it was clear Renee did not think highly of this new place. Probably because it was competition. Josie Lynn glanced around, not that any place would have to be much to be competition for this place.
The waitress who’d been helping them came over and placed a three-olive martini in front of Renee, who didn’t even acknowledge the gesture. Apparently when you were Madame Renee, it was assumed your needs would be met without having to ask.
She took a ladylike sip, her ring-clad pinky extended, then she patted her ruby-red lips with a hankie she discreetly—or what she thought was discreetly—pulled out of her cleavage.
“The thing about these new, flashy nightclubs, my darling Drake,” she said, settling back in her chair as if she planned to give a long diatribe on the matter, “is that there is no appreciation for the subtlety of our art.”
“These nightclubs are all about flash and glitz, not about appreciating the intricacy of being a true lady. And performing like a true lady.”
Drake nodded, appearing to be listening with rapt attention, then Josie Lynn noticed he was inconspicuously patting his pockets, looking for his wallet, only to realize he didn’t have it. And Josie Lynn was willing to bet there was no money squeezed into those shiny, turquoise pants.
Damn, now they were really stuck listening to Madame Renee lament the days of true burlesque.
But to Josie Lynn’s surprise, Drake seemed to feel something and managed to squeeze his fingers in the tight pocket. Miraculously, he pulled out a twenty. He subtly waved it under the edge of the table for Josie Lynn to see.
“You know how it was in the day,” Renee was saying. “The talent, the delivery, the elegance, those were the things people came to see. Not just some rote imitation of someone else’s expressions and moves. Any tranny with a mirror and a record player could practice those things until they were passable. True talent is original. Unique.”
“I know,” Drake agreed emphatically. “It really is a shame.”
“A shame? My dear boy, it’s a crime.”
Drake took that segue to place the twenty on the table. “You are so very right, Renee, which is why we have to try to find these Chers. We have every reason to believe they were involved in some illegal activity.”
Renee perked up, leaning forward in her chair again. “Nefarious deeds?”
“Yes. So you will have to forgive us for not staying for your second performance.”
Renee nodded instantly. “Most certainly. I understand if you must go.”
Drake leaned down and kissed the woman’s rouged cheek. “Thank you for your help, Madame.”
“Ah, Drake, I’m happy to help any way I can. You know our kind must stick together.”
The older woman caught his hand and squeezed it briefly, more in a gesture of some unspoken camaraderie than affection.
Our kind? What did that mean?
Okay, Drake had been dressed as a pirate when she met him. And now he wore skintight vinyl pants that belonged to a dominatrix. And there were, of course, the assless chaps, but she still didn’t get any vibe from Drake that he was normally a cross-dresser.
Drake finished his good-bye and Josie Lynn mumbled her own, then followed him back through the narrow bar.
Once they were back on Bourbon, she asked him over the cacophony of people and music, “What did she mean when she said
ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE
JOHNNY remembered when he reached the front door of his apartment that Lizette had changed the locks after he had gone in and taken his drum kit. Or more likely Dieter had. But either way, his key wasn’t going to work. See what happened when you let a woman into your life? She locked you out of your apartment. Okay, so maybe Lizette had locked him out because he’d faked his own death, but the point was, he didn’t like his world being disrupted. Even if he was the one who had started it.
Damn it. Feeling aroused and annoyed all at once because he was having emotions he didn’t entirely understand, he was fully prepared to break a window to get in, but Lizette held up a key.
“My apologies for the inconvenience,” she said politely, because Lizette was always polite. When she wasn’t yelling at him. Or letting him kiss her.
