“Oh, God, thank you,” Gabby said.
Lucy smiled and strolled out the door. Given how things had ended in Tupelo, Lucy had thought she’d run her last con. But New Orleans, with its long history of voodoo practitioners and believers, was ripe for the picking.
CHAPTER FIVE
There were advantages to working in a beauty salon. In addition to hearing the latest gossip, if you could read people like Lucy could, you could learn their deepest, darkest secrets. All it took was asking questions and letting them do the talking.
One day, a woman popped into the salon and wanted her blonde hair changed to red. A dramatic move, the beautician told her, but if she had the time, they would stay late and satisfy her request. Lucy had a chance to pick the woman’s brain during the long drawn-out process and learned her name was Darlene Davis and that she worked at a free health clinic in the Ninth Ward. Not the type of woman you’d expect to be running a free clinic. Given Darlene’s shapely body and long blonde hair, Lucy would have bet she was a high-priced call girl or a nightclub dancer on Bourbon Street.
As it turned out, Darlene had won an audition as a nightclub singer, and the owner had given her a six-week commitment under the condition that she change her hair color to red. A little freakish, Lucy thought, but it wasn’t her place to say. The club owner told Darlene there were too many blondes performing in the area. He wanted someone to light up the stage, and red was his choice.
Lucy set the hair dryer for thirty minutes and sat in front of Darlene, giving her a complimentary manicure, hopeful she’d tip generously for Lucy’s efforts. With all her commitments, it sounded like Darlene had a hectic work schedule, and Lucy had to ask, “How can you keep up the pace working at the clinic and three days a week singing at a club?”
Darlene whispered, “I can get just about any kind of pills I want from the clinic. I’ve got pills that can keep me up for days.” She leaned forward. “Now, don’t tell anyone.”
“Of course not,” Lucy said, giving her a girlfriend smile. “Some days I could use a pill around here. Just to feel better.”
Darlene pulled a business card from her purse and slipped it to Lucy. “Call me. I can get those types of pills too.”
Drugs weren’t Lucy’s thing; she had enough hangups in life and was afraid drugs would only exacerbate her paranoid side. She declined Darlene’s offer for pills but planned to keep her close. She just might have use for her in the future.
The timer went off, and the newborn redhead came alive. The club owner was right. Darlene as a blonde was beautiful, but as a redhead, she was gorgeous. The owner might have had an eye for beauty, but Lucy still felt his request was a little creepy.
The next morning, Lucy took a shot and called Darlene for help. Evidently, Lucy’s request wasn’t going to be a problem, and Darlene agreed to meet Lucy that afternoon at Café Beignet.
When Lucy arrived, a parade of students, all looking too young to be ordering coffee at the counter, filled most of the café’s entryway. A school down the street often had field trips, and of all days, they had to pick today to jack up the students with some caffeine. Lucy managed to find a seat at a table in the back. Even through the maze of students milling around the entrance, she was able to spot Darlene’s newly red mane. Darlene made her way through the tightly packed tables, excusing herself as she bumped into people.
Lucy greeted Darlene with a kiss on the cheek. “You’re looking beautiful.”
“Oh, please. I just left the clinic. I’m a walking germ fest,” Darlene said. Then she slipped Lucy an envelope. “I believe this covers everything you asked for. It looks very official.”
Lucy dropped two hundred dollars into Darlene’s purse. “I appreciate your help.”
Darlene gave her a smile and said, “Anytime.” Then she walked out as fast as she’d arrived.
Lucy sipped on her latte, and waited for her friend Barry. She wondered if she would even recognize him, never having seen him in anything other than a pair of blue jeans, a T-shirt, and a white apron with the Café Beignet logo on the front.
A whistle came from the front counter. “You sure clean up good, Barry,” a coworker shouted. Barry blushed.
“Well—what do you think?” Barry asked Lucy, standing in front of her like a department store model. He wore a tailored suit, a white shirt, and a fancy tie. His shoes had even been shined.
With flirting eyes, taking him all in from head to toe, she said, “If I knew you cleaned up that good, I would have had you park your shoes under my bed months ago.” She said it only for shock value; she had no interest in men.
“Take a seat. Let’s go over this again,” Lucy said, patting the chair next to her.
“Lucy, its simple dialogue. How hard can it be?”
She looked Barry in the eyes. “You have one chance to sell this story. This isn’t one of your low-budget films—there are no retakes.”
“Don’t worry. This will be an Academy Award-winning performance,” Barry said. “I’ve got to go. I promised to get the suit back to wardrobe before they closed.”
Lucy slipped him an envelope and some cash.
He looked inside. “Two hundred? Must be really important.”
“Just follow the script,” Lucy said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
“Wish me luck.”
“The luck is in that envelope.”
Barry tucked the envelope away and walked out to the curb. He flagged down a taxi at the corner for the short ride to Magazine Street.
When Barry arrived, a doorman held open the massive glass door to the entrance of an office building. Barry went into acting mode. He walked and talked
