models on the big posters were closer to porno stars, with wagging tongues and suggestive hand placement. The Bedroom Rendezvous slogan, which was centered across the buxom models’ cleavage, read: WHAT KIND OF WOMAN DO YOU WANT TO TAKE TO BED?
“A hot one,” Myron said out loud. It was again not that different from Victoria’s Secret commercials, the one where Tyra and Frederique are all oiled up and ask, “What is sexy?” Answer: Really hot women. The clothing seems beside the point.
The saleswoman wore a tight tiger print. She had big hair and chewed gum, but there was a confidence there that somehow made it work. Her tag read SALLY ANN.
“Looking to make a purchase?” Sally Ann asked.
“I doubt you have anything in my size,” Myron said.
“You’d be surprised. So what’s the deal?” She motioned toward the poster. “You just like staring at the cleavage?”
“Well, yes. But that’s not why I’m here.” Myron pulled out a photograph of Aimee. “Do you recognize this girl?”
“Are you a cop?”
“I might be.”
“Nah.”
“What makes you say that?”
Sally Ann shrugged. “So what are you after?”
“This girl is missing. I’m trying to find her.”
“Let me take a look.”
Myron handed her the photograph. Sally Ann studied it. “She looks familiar.”
“A customer maybe?”
“No. I remember customers.”
Myron reached into a plastic bag and pulled out the white outfit he’d found in Aimee’s drawer. “This look familiar?”
“Sure. It’s from our Naughty-pout line.”
“Did you sell this one?”
“It could be. I’ve sold a few.”
“The tag is still on it. Do you think you could trace down who purchased it?”
Sally Ann frowned and pointed at the picture of Aimee. “You think your missing girl bought it?”
“I found it in her drawer.”
“Yeah, but still.”
“Still what?”
“It’s too slutty and uncomfortable.”
“And, what, she looks classy?”
“No, not that. Women rarely buy this one. Men do. The material is itchy. It rides up the crotch. This is a man’s fantasy, not a woman’s. It’s a bit like porno videos.” Sally Ann cocked her head and worked the gum. “Have you ever watched a porno flick?”
Myron kept his face blank. “Never, ever, never,” he said.
Sally Ann laughed. “Right. Anyway, when a woman picks out the film, it’s totally different. It usually has a story or maybe a title with the word ‘sensuous’ or ‘loving’ in it. It might be raunchy or whatever, but it usually isn’t called something like
“Let’s assume I do. And this outfit?”
“It’s the equivalent.”
“Of
“Right. No woman would pick it out.”
“So how do I find out who bought it for her?”
“We don’t keep records or anything like that. I could ask some of the other girls, but…” Sally Ann shrugged.
Myron thanked her and headed out. As a young boy, Myron had come here with his dad. They had frequented Herman’s Sporting Goods back then. The store was now out of business. But as he exited Bedroom Rendezvous, he still looked down the corridor, to where Herman’s used to be. And two doors down, he spotted a store with a familiar name.
PLANET MUSIC.
Myron flashed back to Aimee’s room. Planet Music. The guitars had been from Planet Music. There had been receipts in Aimee’s drawer from there. And here it was, her favorite music shop, located two stores down from Bedroom Rendezvous.
Another coincidence?
In Myron’s youth, the store in this spot had sold pianos and organs. Myron had always wondered about that. Piano-organ stores at malls. You go to the mall to buy clothes, a CD, a toy, maybe a stereo. Who goes to the mall to buy a piano?
Clearly not many people.
The pianos and organs were gone. Planet Music sold CDs and smaller instruments. They had signs for rentals. Trumpets, clarinets, violins — probably did a big business with the schools.
The kid behind the counter was maybe twenty-three, wore a hemp poncho, and looked like a seedier version of the average Starbucks barista. He had a dusty knit hat atop a shaved head. He sported the now seemingly prerequisite soul patch.
Myron gave him the stern eye and slapped the picture down on the counter. “You know her?”
The kid hesitated a second too long. Myron jumped in.
“You answer my questions, you don’t get busted.”
“Busted for what?”
“Do you know her?”
He nodded. “That’s Aimee.”
“She shops here?”
“Sure, all the time,” he said, his eyes darting everywhere but on Myron. “And she understands music too. Most people come in here, they ask for boy bands.” He said
“How well do you know her?”
“Not very. I mean, she doesn’t come here for me.”
The poncho kid stopped then.
“Who does she come here for?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I don’t want to make you empty your pockets.”
He raised his hands. “Hey, I’m totally clean.”
“Then I’ll plant something on you.”
“What the… You serious?”
“Cancer serious.” Myron worked the stern eye again. He wasn’t great at the stern eye. The strain was giving him a headache. “Who does she come here to see?”
“My assistant manager.”
“He have a name?”
“Drew. Drew Van Dyne.”
“Is he here?”
“No. He comes in this afternoon.”
“You got an address for him? A phone number?”
“Hey,” the kid said, suddenly wise. “Let me see your badge.”
“Bye now.”
Myron headed out of the store. He found Sally Ann again.
She clacked the gum. “Back so soon?”
