Shelter
Page 34
Funny.
The huge man—a bouncer—frowned at me and pointed to another weathered sign: NO ONE UNDER 21 PERMITTED.
I was going to ask the bouncer whether he knew Antoine LeMaire, but that seemed like the wrong move. I took out my wallet and produced the fake Robert Johnson ID saying I was twenty-one. He looked at it, looked at me, knew it was probably a fake, didn’t much care. It was five P.M., but business was brisk. Men entered and left in drifts and waves. There were all kinds—jeans and flannel shirts, sneakers and work boots, suits and ties and shined shoes. Some fist-bumped the bouncer as they came and went.
“Thirty-dollar cover charge,” the bouncer said to me.
Wow. “Thirty dollars just to enter?”
The big man nodded. “Includes buffet dinner. Tonight is Tex-Mex.”
I made a face at the thought. He let me through. I pushed open the door and was greeted by darkness. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. A bikini-clad woman/girl who looked about my age stood by a cash register. I gave her thirty dollars. She handed me a plate, barely looking up at me. “For the buffet,” she said by way of explanation. “That way.” She pointed to the curtain on the right.
I looked at the plate. It was white with the same voluptuous silhouette as on the awning, plus the rather obvious slogan: Plan B—Where You Go When Plan A Doesn’t Work Out.
My mouth felt dry. My step slowed. I will make a confession to you now. I was nervous, but I was also, well, I was curious. I had never been in a place like this. I realize I should be above that and be mature about it and all that, but a part of me felt pretty naughty and a part of me kind of liked that.
The music was loud with a driving beat. The first thing I passed was an ATM that let you get your cash in fives, tens, or twenties. This, I could see, was to tip the dancers. Men hung at a stage-bar, mostly drinking beer, while the women danced in stiletto heels so high they doubled as stilts. I tried not to stare. Some of the dancers were indeed beautiful. Some were not. I watched them work the men for tips. A sign read: YOUR STAY HERE IS TOUCH AND GO—TOUCH AND YOU GO. Despite that, the men jammed the paper money into G-strings with little hesitation.
Behind me was the buffet. I took a quick glance. The chips were Doritos. The ground beef was marinating in so much lard it looked as if it were encased in Jell-O. The whole place, even in the dark, felt more than looked dirty. I wasn’t a germaphobe, but even without the warning, I didn’t want to “touch” anything.
So now what?
I found an empty booth in a dark corner. Seconds after I sat down, two women approached me. The one with the plunging neckline and fire-engine-red dye job slid next to me. It was hard to tell her age. Could be a hard twenty-year-old or an okay thirty or a good forty. I bet on the youngest. The other woman was a waitress.
The fire-engine redhead who sat down smiled at me. She tried her best to make the smile real, but she couldn’t hide the fact that it was an act, that it was like someone had just painted it on her face. None of it reached her wary eyes. It was a bright, wide smile and yet one of the saddest I had ever seen.
“I’m Candy,” she said to me.
“I’m M—uh, Bob,” I said. “I’m Bob.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. Bob.”
“You’re adorable.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Even when I’m nervous, even in a place like this, I still know how to deliver the smooth lines.
Candy leaned forward a little, making sure to offer a peek. “Buy me a drink?”
I didn’t quite get it, so I said, “Huh? I mean, I guess.”
“This your first time here?”
“Yes,” I said. “I just turned twenty-one.”
“That’s sweet. See, it’s customary to buy a drink for yourself and one for me. We could just split a bottle of champagne.”
“How much would that cost?”
The smile flickered when I asked that.
The waitress said, “Three hundred dollars plus tip.”
I was in a booth, which was good—if I was in a chair, I would have fallen off it.
“Um, how about if we both have Diet Cokes?” I asked. “How much is that?”
Now the smile was all the way gone. Clearly I was no longer adorable.
“Twenty dollars plus tip.”
That would pretty much clear me out, but I nodded. The waitress left me alone with Candy. She was studying me now. Then she asked, “Why are you here?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you had really just turned twenty-one, you’d be here with friends. You don’t look like you really want to be here. So what’s your deal?”
So much for working undercover, but maybe this was better anyway. “I’m looking for someone,” I said.
“Aren’t we all?” Candy replied.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Who you looking for, honey?”
“A man named Antoine LeMaire.”
The color drained from her face.
“You know him?”
A look of pure terror came to her. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” I said, putting my hand on her arm. She pulled away fast and hard, and I remembered the Touch and Go sign. She hurried away. I sat there, not sure what to do. Unfortunately my mind was made up for me. The big bouncer from the entrance was hustling his way over to me. I took out my cell phone, prepared to call someone, anyone, so I’d have a witness, but I wasn’t getting service. Terrific.
The big bouncer leaned over me like a lunar eclipse. “Let me see your ID again.”
I dug into my pocket and handed it to him.
“You don’t look twenty-one,” he said.
“That’s because it’s dark in here. Outside, in the good light, you let me in, so I must have.”
His whole being seemed to frown at me. “What are you here for?”
“A good time?” I tried.
“Come with me,” he said.
There wasn’t much point in arguing. Two other bruisers were lined up a few feet behind him and even on my best day, I couldn’t take out all three. Or even one probably. So I stood on shaky legs and headed toward the exit. My visit had failed—or had it? Clearly Antoine LeMaire was around here. Clearly his name struck a chord. So now I could go home and regroup . . .
A giant hand fell on my shoulder as I reached the exit.
“Not so fast,” the bouncer said. “This way.”
Uh-oh.
Keeping his hand on my shoulder, he steered me down a long corridor. The two other bouncers followed us. I didn’t like that. There were posters of “showgirls” on the walls. We passed the bathrooms and two more doors and made a left. There was another door at the end of the corridor. We stopped in front of it.
The huge man—a bouncer—frowned at me and pointed to another weathered sign: NO ONE UNDER 21 PERMITTED.
I was going to ask the bouncer whether he knew Antoine LeMaire, but that seemed like the wrong move. I took out my wallet and produced the fake Robert Johnson ID saying I was twenty-one. He looked at it, looked at me, knew it was probably a fake, didn’t much care. It was five P.M., but business was brisk. Men entered and left in drifts and waves. There were all kinds—jeans and flannel shirts, sneakers and work boots, suits and ties and shined shoes. Some fist-bumped the bouncer as they came and went.
“Thirty-dollar cover charge,” the bouncer said to me.
Wow. “Thirty dollars just to enter?”
The big man nodded. “Includes buffet dinner. Tonight is Tex-Mex.”
I made a face at the thought. He let me through. I pushed open the door and was greeted by darkness. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. A bikini-clad woman/girl who looked about my age stood by a cash register. I gave her thirty dollars. She handed me a plate, barely looking up at me. “For the buffet,” she said by way of explanation. “That way.” She pointed to the curtain on the right.
I looked at the plate. It was white with the same voluptuous silhouette as on the awning, plus the rather obvious slogan: Plan B—Where You Go When Plan A Doesn’t Work Out.
My mouth felt dry. My step slowed. I will make a confession to you now. I was nervous, but I was also, well, I was curious. I had never been in a place like this. I realize I should be above that and be mature about it and all that, but a part of me felt pretty naughty and a part of me kind of liked that.
The music was loud with a driving beat. The first thing I passed was an ATM that let you get your cash in fives, tens, or twenties. This, I could see, was to tip the dancers. Men hung at a stage-bar, mostly drinking beer, while the women danced in stiletto heels so high they doubled as stilts. I tried not to stare. Some of the dancers were indeed beautiful. Some were not. I watched them work the men for tips. A sign read: YOUR STAY HERE IS TOUCH AND GO—TOUCH AND YOU GO. Despite that, the men jammed the paper money into G-strings with little hesitation.
Behind me was the buffet. I took a quick glance. The chips were Doritos. The ground beef was marinating in so much lard it looked as if it were encased in Jell-O. The whole place, even in the dark, felt more than looked dirty. I wasn’t a germaphobe, but even without the warning, I didn’t want to “touch” anything.
So now what?
I found an empty booth in a dark corner. Seconds after I sat down, two women approached me. The one with the plunging neckline and fire-engine-red dye job slid next to me. It was hard to tell her age. Could be a hard twenty-year-old or an okay thirty or a good forty. I bet on the youngest. The other woman was a waitress.
The fire-engine redhead who sat down smiled at me. She tried her best to make the smile real, but she couldn’t hide the fact that it was an act, that it was like someone had just painted it on her face. None of it reached her wary eyes. It was a bright, wide smile and yet one of the saddest I had ever seen.
“I’m Candy,” she said to me.
“I’m M—uh, Bob,” I said. “I’m Bob.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. Bob.”
“You’re adorable.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Even when I’m nervous, even in a place like this, I still know how to deliver the smooth lines.
Candy leaned forward a little, making sure to offer a peek. “Buy me a drink?”
I didn’t quite get it, so I said, “Huh? I mean, I guess.”
“This your first time here?”
“Yes,” I said. “I just turned twenty-one.”
“That’s sweet. See, it’s customary to buy a drink for yourself and one for me. We could just split a bottle of champagne.”
“How much would that cost?”
The smile flickered when I asked that.
The waitress said, “Three hundred dollars plus tip.”
I was in a booth, which was good—if I was in a chair, I would have fallen off it.
“Um, how about if we both have Diet Cokes?” I asked. “How much is that?”
Now the smile was all the way gone. Clearly I was no longer adorable.
“Twenty dollars plus tip.”
That would pretty much clear me out, but I nodded. The waitress left me alone with Candy. She was studying me now. Then she asked, “Why are you here?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you had really just turned twenty-one, you’d be here with friends. You don’t look like you really want to be here. So what’s your deal?”
So much for working undercover, but maybe this was better anyway. “I’m looking for someone,” I said.
“Aren’t we all?” Candy replied.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Who you looking for, honey?”
“A man named Antoine LeMaire.”
The color drained from her face.
“You know him?”
A look of pure terror came to her. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” I said, putting my hand on her arm. She pulled away fast and hard, and I remembered the Touch and Go sign. She hurried away. I sat there, not sure what to do. Unfortunately my mind was made up for me. The big bouncer from the entrance was hustling his way over to me. I took out my cell phone, prepared to call someone, anyone, so I’d have a witness, but I wasn’t getting service. Terrific.
The big bouncer leaned over me like a lunar eclipse. “Let me see your ID again.”
I dug into my pocket and handed it to him.
“You don’t look twenty-one,” he said.
“That’s because it’s dark in here. Outside, in the good light, you let me in, so I must have.”
His whole being seemed to frown at me. “What are you here for?”
“A good time?” I tried.
“Come with me,” he said.
There wasn’t much point in arguing. Two other bruisers were lined up a few feet behind him and even on my best day, I couldn’t take out all three. Or even one probably. So I stood on shaky legs and headed toward the exit. My visit had failed—or had it? Clearly Antoine LeMaire was around here. Clearly his name struck a chord. So now I could go home and regroup . . .
A giant hand fell on my shoulder as I reached the exit.
“Not so fast,” the bouncer said. “This way.”
Uh-oh.
Keeping his hand on my shoulder, he steered me down a long corridor. The two other bouncers followed us. I didn’t like that. There were posters of “showgirls” on the walls. We passed the bathrooms and two more doors and made a left. There was another door at the end of the corridor. We stopped in front of it.
