Cat In A Zebra Zoot Suit

8

Off Market

“What a dump,” Temple said once they were through the double entrance doors, using an iconic Bette Davis line from an old movie.

“Beyond the Forest,” Electra said.

“What?”

“The name of the movie Bette Davis said that ‘dump’ line in. I saw it.”

“In first run?”

“No, on Turner Classic Movies, silly. I’d have to be a zillion years old to have seen the first run.” Electra looked around and bit her lip. “The building does look awful stripped down and empty.”

“Dump” was too good a word for the interior space.

The exterior looked like an abandoned factory, but they hadn’t realized the second-story windows had been painted over. They stood inside a dim, gray cube divided into smaller dim gray interior cubes facing onto a wide central aisle.

Temple gazed up the central staircase to the second floor and the dust-dulled giant glass chandelier overhanging. The U-shaped second-story balcony overlooked the wide central aisle downstairs. Most of the temporary walls that divided vendor spaces were still up, creating an impression of ticky-tacky one-room housing units in endless rows on two stories, like jail cells.

“So sad.” Electra shook her head, her fanciful hair the only vivid color in a place of concrete floors and naked cinder-block walls. “All the dealers gave their spaces and the dividers so much personality when it was an antique mall. Cornelia used a folding screen with fabric panels to suspend her vintage hats, all velvet and feathers. Georgia kept a huge stuffed black panther over there. It was studded with a rainbow of rhinestone pins. Hank used stackable cubes to hold his old chrome toasters and other quaint appliances. Everything shone and sparkled and radiated new life for old things.”

“What’s the story on the ten-foot-long chandelier?” Temple turned her neck back as far as it would go to take in the tower of dusty glass that hung over the top of the stairs, and over her and Electra, like an elegant unused guillotine.

“It was from some old movie. George never sold it because he wanted four thousand dollars for it.”

“He just left it here when the mall closed down?”

“I think he made a deal with the woman who rented the building after that. It would be murderously hard to move.”

“All these funky items were a hop-scotch jump away from the Circle Ritz, and a vintage-hound like me never got a whiff of its existence? I must be losing my touch.”

“You’ve been a little busy, dear, with your job and the occasional diverting murder and the always diverting two beaux.” Electra sighed. “I once needed to juggle boyfriends myself.”

“Well, one of them has diverted himself out of the country, so I’m finally and inexorably and permanently a one-man woman.”

“I find that a bit…boring, to be honest.”

“You had—what?—five husbands. That was more than diverting, Electra, it smacks of being hooked on weddings.”

“I finally did find a way to have as many weddings as I wanted without all the messy men-stuff involved.” Electra winked and patted her hair. “I’ve told you before that some of my generation had Elizabeth Taylor disease.”

Temple’s wrinkled brow prompted an explanation. “If we liked a man and he liked us, we married him, to avoid any example of wrong-doing.”

“Even if the man was married to someone else first, I suppose. Did you know Elizabeth Taylor quoted that Bette Davis ‘dump’ line in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”

“No, but I’m sure that Elizabeth Taylor wasn’t afraid of any wolf in Hollywood. Anyway, the antique mall went under before you gifted Las Vegas with your presence. A woman who provided Strip shows with costumes and wigs then used this place as a storage facility for a short while.”

“Even worse!” Temple exclaimed. “I’d have loved to see her collection of all that glittery stuff. The costume department was my drug of choice when I did PR for the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis. Ah, the scent of the grease paint and rhinestone glue, the roar of the crowd and the rustle of the costumes.”

“I guess that Vegas was your cup of cake, then, even though your family felt that Max had ‘dragged’ you away with him to Sin City.”

“My family was more than a smidge overprotective of the only girl, and I was also the youngest. I needed an escape clause and Max—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’d sign on the dotted line with him in a heartbeat. Poor boy. Aced out now. If you and Matt move to Chicago, it’d be nice to have him back at the Circle Ritz.”

“I don’t even want to think about that! What I need to think about is Matt and my looming trip to Minnesota. My family has been beastly to any boy who’s been involved with me since Terrence Schulenberger as a maple leaf danced around my daisy face in the kindergarten program.”

“You’d make an adorable daisy! I don’t see Matt, or Max, as a maple leaf, though.”

“Electra! I’m asking advice here, since you’ve gone through the engagement process five times. Should I wear this Art Deco engagement ring Matt bought me from Fred Leighton’s at the Bellagio? Maybe I should slip on a more modest Midwestern ring for the trip.”

Electra grabbed Temple’s left hand to study the scintillating flash of dueling diamonds and rubies, of ice and fire. “Fred Leighton? That’s where the movie stars shop. How much did it cost?”

Temple retrieved her hand. “More than you should know, or I should wear without carrying a gun. Just think. This from the man who talked his talent agent into committing a portion of his commission along with Matt’s assigning ten percent of his fees to charitable causes. I don’t know what he was thinking when he splurged on this.”

“That he knows you love vintage things, and, like the Clairol ads say, you’re worth it. Or do the ads still say that? I fear my decades are showing.”

“Here in Vegas flash is common, and often taken for a good fake. I put it on for that disastrous dinner, but my folks seemed too dazed to much notice it. So what should I say about the ring if they comment on how expensive it is?”

“That Matt picked it out for you and you love it and it’s both something old and something new for the wedding.”

“That’s the perfect answer. Thank you, Electra!” Temple embraced her, then withdrew, shaking out her red-gold waves of hair. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous about this meet-the-fiancé ritual.”

“They didn’t approve of the last one, did they? But you’ve been independent and away on your own now for a couple years. You don’t answer to anyone but yourself.”

Temple nodded. “Why do the people who want only the best for you become the last to admit that you know what you’re doing?”

“It’s the parent thing. It’s hard to let go of feeling responsible. That’s why I do this.” Electra swirled one hand over her wildly color-enhanced hair. “If old Mom can be an unconventional free spirit, there’s nothing my grown children can do to shock me. Right?”

“Right.” Temple looked around the forlorn space. “Why would anyone buy this sad mess for a strip club? The defunct Neon Nightmare club building. I can see that. But this? I don’t get it.”

Footsteps interrupted her monologue.

“Excuse us,” a woman’s voice said, “but what are you doing here?”

“I might ask the same thing,” Electra said, stepping forward.

The man answered. “We’ll be managing this new joint.”

Temple jumped into the awkward moment of this standoff. “You must be Mr. Adcock and Miss Zydeco. So glad you dropped by. I talked with Mr. Nemo just now. Your plans for the building and site are wonderfully intriguing.”

While laying down her PR patter, Temple did a fast read of the managerial couple.

Katt Zydeco was showgirl tall, wearing the riding habit look so popular: skintight jeggings and high boots. Her long hair was frankly dyed jet black. Pancake makeup couldn’t disguise the badly pitted complexion some unlucky teenagers carry for life. Katt must be in her late thirties.

Punch Adcock. Hard to say if he was chubby or beefy, but his expression was petulant, and his lips pursed like a rather nasty Cupid’s. His eyes were too close together and his huge shoulders hunched. All in all an unappetizing actor, as the cops might say.

Challenge radiated off both figures. Who are you? Why are you here? We’ll handle you, toots, don’t worry.

Temple had immediately dropped Nemo’s name, sure he was the boss of the operation. Now she had to patty-cake these two unforgiving characters into pretending to be the professional managers they could never be.

Piece of angel-food cake.

“I’m Temple Barr. I do public relations for several on-Strip businesses.”

“Well, we’re in the public relations business ourselves,” Punch said with a smirk at Katt. “We have to beat our customers off with a stick. Like what do you rep?” Punch asked, unconvinced.

“Like Gangsters, both the limo service and hotel-casino, and the Crystal Phoenix Hotel.”

“Sniffs like all Fontana operations. Pure bottled spaghetti sauce.” Punch snorted in distaste. His nose did indeed look hard used from his boxing days.

“It’s true Mama Fontana’s Italian sauce empire underwrote most of the family businesses,” Temple said. “Still, it’s one of the most profitable brands along the Strip, and this project, being a bit off-Strip, could use extra PR promotion.”

“So you’re sneaking around here looking for a job.” Katt Zydeco put one booted foot before the other as she stalked toward the two women.

Electra gave a little mewl of warning and grabbed Temple’s arm.

Temple agreed. These were tough customers. Time to show them a bit of T as in Teflon.

She stepped out on her steel-heeled Weitzman’s to match Katt Zydeco step for step and meet her in the middle.

“Nice boots,” Temple said.

“Nice booties,” Katt said. “I do like the ankle accessory.”

Temple didn’t wear ankle bracelets. Then she felt the velvet brush. She looked down. Midnight Louie, of course, putting one sleek black velvet foot ahead of the other at a pace that had matched the two women’s.

“Something I picked up in a dark alley some time,” Temple said, stopped and shrugging.

“Hope it didn’t require medication,” Katt said. “Nemo is interested in your services?”

“He likes my pedigree.” Temple cocked an eyebrow.

Katt Zydeco stopped her catwalk advance and shrugged in her turn. “If you’re good enough for Nemo, you’re good enough for me.”

“Hey,” Punch said. “What just happened here? We okayed Nemo hiring this little clueless redheaded dame and her cat and her grandmother? Or what?”

Temple flashed one of her cards at him. “Looks like it. Expect to see a lot more of us as the Lust ‘n’ Lace empire expands. We are the total package when it comes to viral social media expansion.”

Punch’s jaw remained dropped at hearing Temple’s jargon, as if hit by a heavyweight. Temple turned Electra around and they left.

She hoped Midnight Louie had followed suit and left with them (but she didn’t look back because it would ruin their exit), so Punch would really be confused.

She was sure Louie’s chronic curiosity would not allow him to leave such a mysterious building unexplored.