Mary, Queen of Scotch Read online

  “I think there’s more to it than that,” I told him.

  “This case of yours?”

  I nodded. “This case, it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with what you just told me, and yet, I think it has everything to do with what you just told me.”

  “Doesn’t make sense.”

  “Nope.”

  “And you want me to help you make some sense of it?”

  “Yep.”

  He sighed. He sighed like he sighed when I was fucking him. The familiar sound of it made my cock twitch. “You seeing anyone, Barry?”

  I shrugged. “Sort of.” Again, our eyes locked. “Ray Charles.”

  He squinted at me. There had been a sort of smile on his face; it suddenly vanished. “The bartender?” My nod returned. A pit the size of a lemon plopped into my belly. It quickly grew grapefruit-sized. “I hear bad shit about him, Barry. Him and Lester, something about those two together, sends up warning flares.” He put his hand on my knee. “I’m just saying, tread lightly.” Funny, Ray warned me about Chad, and Jeff warned me about Ray. Funny, but not hah-hah funny. Anyway, I stared down at Jeff’s hand on my knee. It travelled upward, until his fingers were tickling my nylon-covered balls. “Sorry, old habits.”

  I shrugged. “That phrase finishes with the word hard.” I grinned. “Seems apt.” He squeezed my stiffening prick. “Thanks for telling me all that. I know it wasn’t easy. And I’ll be careful with Ray.” Yeah, good luck with that. Talk about not being easy.

  “Can we finish that jog now?”

  I stared down at my crotch. “Give it a second.” Or sixty. Or a hundred and twenty.

  * * * *

  Thirty minutes later, and glistening with sweat, we made it back to his apartment. Now then, when two guys are glistening with sweat, and both of them need to get to work, both glistening guys need to take a shower. And when there’s only one shower and two glistening guys, expediency seems the smartest course. Which is me trying to explain why me and my ex were soon naked in the shower together. And when two guys are naked in the shower together, and when those two guys just happen to be gay guys, and when those two guys are hot gay guys, there are quickly two naked, hard gay guys in the shower together. Which is the long way of me trying to explain why me and my ex were soon having sex in that shower of his. The short way: my ex and I spewed together in the shower.

  “I feel better,” said Jeff, once we were dressed again.

  “Coming will do that.”

  He shook his head. “I feel better that I told you the truth. I feel better just saying the truth. That was the first time. To anyone. Ever.” He was smiling. He looked happy. I still chalked it up to the coming. “And us,” he added. “The animosity seems to have simmered down to a low boil.”

  I nodded. “Definitely the coming.”

  He shrugged. “Probably.” He closed the gap between us. He kissed me. I kissed him back. It was nice. Familiar. “And I’ll help you.”

  “With my case?” He nodded. “Might be just a little dangerous.”

  “You’re telling me that now, after I agreed to help?”

  “Seemed like the best time.”

  “And what is this case of yours?”

  I wondered if I could tell him. Would it be breaking some sacred vow? Was being a detective like being a lawyer? Was I sworn to secrecy, some sort of client confidentiality? I didn’t see that on the online school website, didn’t sign an oath when I sent in my check for my detective’s license. And so…“Lucy’s husband is paying me to find out if she’s cheating on him.”

  He looked at me in a way that seemed to say, you’ve got to be kidding me. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  I shook my head no. “He’s paying me quite a lot.”

  “Still.”

  My shoulders went all shrug-like. “In any case, I think there’s some sort of tie-in to my case and all of you being ex-cons.”

  “How can there possibly be a tie-in to Lucy cheating on her husband and all of us being in prison together?”

  My shrug reshrugged. “That’s why I need your help.”

  “And that’s going to be dangerous?”

  “Possibly.”

  He sighed. “I think I need to come again.”

  “You have to get to work.”

  Now it was his turn to shrug. “Takes a lump of coal millions and millions of years to become a diamond.”

  I reached out and pulled him in. “Meaning, work can wait?”

  He nodded. He put his arms around me. Like I said, nice. Familiar. “And just so you know, Chad is so not cheating on that ancient husband of his.”

  “And you know this how?”

  He smiled. “He’s seen me naked. I hit on him before I knew he was married. He turned me down. You do the math.”

  “Maybe you’re not his type.”

  He shook his head. “We work in a gay bar. He’s freakin’ hot. Everyone hits on him. He always says no. Always. I’ve seen it countless times. Even when they come up to tip him, he gets propositioned. He’s definitely not cheating. Or else he’s really good at staying on the down-low.”

  “That’s what I’ve told his husband. Guy doesn’t believe me. Doesn’t seem to want to believe me.”

  “Weird.”

  I touched fingertip to nose. First mine, then his. Jeff had a cute, button nose. “That’s what I said.” And more than once.

  “Great minds think alike.”

  “Hence both of us wanting to come again.”

  He touched his fingertip to my nose. “Exactly.” Me being Jewish, my nose is anything but buttony. Not unless buttons come with a hump.

  In any case, coming is exactly what we did.

  Twice.

  FYI, it actually takes one to three billion years for coal to become a diamond, so what was one more spewing in the grand scheme of things?

  * * * *

  I worked three more nights at the club over the course of the week. That is to say, I hosted, had one number each night, and made less tips than everyone else. Still, it was exhilarating. Maybe it would’ve been more exhilarating had I had two numbers, but I wasn’t complaining. Any more than usual. Which is a lot. Also, the cam was on the entire time. Arthur heard all my interactions. I steered most of my conversations toward the subject of Lucy. Lucy, according to everyone—literally, everyone!—was uber-hot and exceedingly off-limits. I stopped calling Arthur with my reports; he could see them for himself. I also gave up trying to dissuade him from his beliefs. In fact, while I was doing all this work for him, I was really casing the place, looking for my in. That is to say, my in into that office of Lester’s.

  Lucy, I knew beyond any reasonable doubt, wasn’t cheating. But Lucy was up to something. And maybe that something had something to do with my case.

  So, here’s what I found out after that first week:

  When Lester was at work, the office was unlocked.

  When Lester was not at work, the office was locked. Combination locked, in fact. And while I could pick a simple key lock, I couldn’t pick a combination lock. They don’t teach you that on YouTube.

  When Lester was on stage, the door was also locked.

  So that meant that the only time I could get inside the office was when Lester was at work and not in said office. But that was risky, me sneaking into the office when he could barge in at any moment.

  And so that’s what I’d have to use Jeff for, to help keep Lester busy, so that I had time to snoop.

  But there was one more thing that stuck in my craw. And as soon as I made it home, I’d be sure to ask Google where my craw was. Or what a craw indeed was. But, for now, something was sticking in it, and that something was the drag show itself. See, everyone, including me, thought it strange that Lucy, the star of the show, only worked two nights. Why only two nights, and why the same two nights? Well, that wasn’t the only strange thing. See, what I also learned was that Lucy made the schedule, who went on when and in what order, with Lester/Auntie enforcing that s
chedule. But why? And why did she care who went on when? The audience certainly didn’t care. In fact, Lucy raked in the dough no matter when she went on, be it first, last, or in the middle. Lucy took in so much dough, in fact, that she could start a bakery.

  So, yeah, that’s what I learned that week.

  As to my personal life, I also went out with Ray a couple more times. On real dates. Nice dates. Hot dates. Hot as with Jeff? Hmm. Let’s say that one was apples and one was oranges. Jeff and I had been like fire and ice, inevitably making enough ensuing steam to power a friggin’ city block or two. Ray and I got along like gangbusters. No fire. No ice. Nope, the porridge was just right. To mix my metaphors even further, the ship was always on course, the sailing smooth, not a wave or a rocky shore to contend with. Like I said, nice. And since Ray was hot, the dates, too, were hot. Nice and hot.

  Still, Jeff had told me to be careful when it came to Ray. Or in Ray. Or on Ray. I mean, there was a lot of coming, after all. Jeff, of course, could just as easily have been jealous, but given all the odd events at the bar, I was prone to listen to my ex. In fact, I was also prone with my ex that first week. Which is to say, I liked a well-balanced fruit salad, one with both apples and oranges in it.

  Was that emotionally confusing? Sure. Mainly because I liked both men. I had a history with Jeff; I wanted a history with Ray. I also only had a couple of weeks left to work at the bar. What would happen at the end of my employment? Would I wind up with one of them? Wasn’t once enough with Jeff? And what if once with Ray was risky business?

  It gave me a headache just thinking about it. Luckily for me, sex was the perfect pain reliever—and cheaper than a bottle of ibuprofen.

  As to me dating two men, judge not lest ye be judged, plus some sort of crap about casting stones, usually of the first variety. I mean, I was young. We were all adults. I had no commitments to either men. I knew what I was getting myself into. Mostly. Kind of. Sort of.

  I wondered if Google could give me relationship advice.

  Then again, Google thought with its head. As did I. Except I thought with the little head, not the big one. Then again, the little head wasn’t all that little. Especially Jeff’s. Jeff’s was especially large.

  But I digress.

  Back to the case.

  “It’ll never work,” said Jeff. We were blouse shopping at the time. Drag, it seemed, made strange bedfellows. “Auntie would never do a number with me.”

  “Promise him all the tips.”

  Jeff momentarily stopped perusing the rack. Discount rack, that is. Drag, it also seemed, made cheap bedfellows. “But the tips are the whole point.”

  “Exactly.”

  He sighed. He went back to perusing. “You’re exasperating, you know that?”

  I did know that, in fact. I found it endearing. Other folks, not so much. “It’s one number, Jeff. You can have all my tips. It’ll be a trade-off.”

  “A date,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “I want a date.”

  “With Lester?”

  The perusing again stopped. “With you, you idiot.”

  “But we were talking about Lester. About you inviting Lester to do a routine with you.”

  “Exasperating again.”

  “Not trying.”

  “Succeeding, nonetheless.”

  In fact, I was trying. He was asking me out on a date. My ex. Exes are exes for a reason. “We’ve been on a bunch of dates lately.”

  He held up a pink chiffon number. “What do you think?”

  “Not your color.”

  He put the blouse back on the rack. “Those weren’t dates; those were fucks. Nice fucks, but not dates. I’ll ask Lester to do a duet with me in exchange for a date.” He held up his index finger lest I be exasperating again. “With you, not Lester.”

  I held up a champagne-colored blouse with darling ribbons down the sleeves. It was cheaply tacky. In other words, perfect for a drag queen. “What about this?”

  He grabbed it from my hands. “It’ll look better on me.”

  I pouted. I didn’t argue. We were in uncharted waters here and I didn’t have a compass. Or my champagne-colored blouse with darling ribbons down the sleeves. “Did you love me, Jeff? Before?”

  He nodded. That was when we locked eyes. That was when the butterflies were released, tickling my kidneys. “I did.”

  “Did you hate me, Jeff? Before?”

  Again, he nodded. “I did.”

  “Uh huh.” I already know both those answers. I loved him, too. I hated him, too. There was that fire and ice thing. And steam makes it hard to see, sometimes. “Then why do you want to go out on a date?”

  He shrugged. “Lightning rarely strikes twice.”

  “Meaning, the storm might not hit this time around?”

  Most things travel in threes. Nods, apparently, included. “Something feels different this time.”

  “Older, wiser, and all that bullshit?”

  “And all that bullshit, right. In any case, no date, no duet. No duet, no plan of action.”

  “But you promised you’d help.”

  “I did. And I will. But with strings attached.”

  I thought about Ray, picturing those eyes of magnificent blue, that hirsute Michelangelo’s David body, the wink that sent me into overdrive. Would dating Jeff screw that up? It’d barely been a couple of weeks since I’d met Ray. Was there even something there to screw up? God, life could be confusing.

  “It’s dangerous,” I said.

  “The whole Lester thing? I know, you already warned me.”

  “No, us.”

  He reached his hand out and put his over mine. Mine was on a red button-down with ruffled sleeves. I hoped he wasn’t going to take that one, too. It was fifty-percent off. It was hideous. I loved it. Then again, I’d loved him, and look how that turned out. “Look down, Barry.”

  I looked down. Somehow, in the midst of perusing, stealing, and extorting, he’d managed to release the beast. In the ladies’ blouse section. In the middle of the day. In the middle of a sale. Even dangling, it was Minotaurian in scale—in other words, half man, half bull. “Fine, one date.” I reached across the divide and held it in my hand. It was warm. Halfway between fire and ice. Seemed like a compromise to me. Which is why I’d compromised. Again, mostly, kind of, sort of. Which is to say, I was confused, but at least I was holding a Minotaurian dick in the middle of the ladies’ blouse section.

  “You think we should try the blouses on now?” he asked.

  “In the dressing room? Together?”

  He nodded. “Uh huh.” He held up a finger again, also again before I said something exasperating. “And that doesn’t count as the date.”

  “Just to be clear, we’re going to fuck in that dressing room, right?”

  “Uh huh.”

  I shrugged. “Fine. But at least let me try the champagne-colored one on.”

  We headed to the dressing room. His dick was temporarily stuffed back in his jeans. “While you’re fucking me?”

  “Sounds kinky.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it.”

  FYI, the blouse looked horrible on me. FYI, it looked awesome on him. FYI, too bad we ruined it with both his and my spooge. Last FYI, lesson learned: don’t spew on a blouse in a dressing room in the middle of the day during a sale.

  I said it was a lesson; I didn’t say it was a valuable one.

  * * * *

  “She said yes,” said she, she being Mora, as Jeff was now in drag and we were once again at work, and my pronouns had switched from masculine to feminine, just as I had done the same.

  “You said she’d say no.”

  She shrugged. She was dressed in Little Bo Peep garb at the time. She looked adorable. And as odd as it sounded, I wanted to fuck her silly right there and then. “I promised her my tips and yours.”

  “Hey!”

  “All’s fair in lo….” She stopped herself. Smart move, all in all. “It’s not about the money, Mary. It�
��s about the case. Remember?”

  I did. It didn’t make it any easier. Tips are like ambrosia to a drag queen. “When do you start rehearsing?”

  She smiled. Did I mention that she was adorable? Did I mention I wanted to fuck her silly? I did? Oh. “Tomorrow. Two o’clock. Think you can find a reason to be here at two o’clock tomorrow?”

  “The bar is stocked with alcohol,” I replied.

  “That’s your reason?”

  I shrugged. “It’s as good a one as any.”

  She shrugged. She looked even more adorable. And so I took her to the bathroom and fucked her. Quietly. In the stall. Thankfully, I’d left the cam at home. I was horny; I wasn’t stupid. Meaning, I got a show; Arthur did not. I also got spooge on my blouse. In other words, I hadn’t learned my lesson. Go figure.

  * * * *

  The next day, I arrived at the bar close to two. Ray was working.

  “Howdy, barkeep,” I said.

  “Howdy yourself, cowboy,” he replied with a wink, and boing popped my boner.

  “Your winks are very effective, you know.”

  He nodded and tilted an imaginary Stetson my way. “So I’ve heard.” The Stetson got pushed back in place. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” He frowned a bit as he put some rocks glasses away.

  “Been busy. Tax season.” Fortunately, it really was tax season. And I had been busy. And it had been taxing.

  “Missed you.”

  I felt guilty. I was glad he missed me. I wished he hadn’t. “Missed you, too.” Which was the truth.

  I had a cat and a dog when I was a child. I loved them both. I think that meant that the heart was capable of loving more than one being at a time. I was justifying, sure, but it seemed to temporarily assuage that guilt of mine.

  “Why are you here in the middle of the day, though, if you’re busy?”

  Fuck. Hoisted by my own petard. And like the word craw, I’d have to ask Google what a petard was. “I, uh, left some of my paperwork backstage. Must’ve set it down before the show. I came right from work yesterday.” It was a good answer, though a lengthy one. I was taught to keep it simple, but in an emergency, any excuse is a good excuse.

  He shrugged. “Well, either way, glad to see you. Care for a movie tomorrow?”