Cat In An Aqua Storm

“The only thing worth tossing at your table is the cookies.” She eyed the large brown circles, whose pink icing clashed with the peach tablecloth. “How can you do an objective job of public relations for anybody when you’re writing a column for the Las Vegas Poop? That’s gilt-edged conflict of interest. You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“Thanks. That’s what you PR girls are missing out on. All your hen parties won’t make up for some self-interested enterprise. This column”—he picked up the inky tabloid, his thumb under a front-page column titled “Buchanan’s Broadside”—“gets me lot of attention and more business. Got the stripper competition at the Goliath because of it. That’s worth a lot of money and contacts.”

“I’ve got news for you. They asked me to handle it first.”

“I turned it down.”

“Why the hell would you do that, T.B.?” Buchanan seemed genuinely shocked, his big melting brown eyes wet as fresh-baked chocolate chips. “That’s self-employment suicide! Broads, glitter, bodies—a baby could get A-one news coverage on an event like that without dampening a diaper.”

Temple sighed. “If the word ‘ethics’ doesn’t mean anything to you, I don’t imagine the word ‘exploitation’ would either.”

“These stripper babes aren’t exploited. They love the attention, take it from me. The stripper guys may be a little bent, and I’m not too crazy about spending time around them, but—”

“Crawford, you are too Neanderthal for words. Your attitudes toward women and gays are going to get you tarred and feathered someday.”

“You sound like those hatchet-faced dames picketing the competition.”

“Have you checked their signs? Maybe they’re just picketing you.”

Before he could answer with his usual amused calm, Temple turned on her heel, literally, and marched away. She stopped inside the ballroom doors, unsoothed by the civilized surroundings, briefly regretting the lucrative assignment Crawford was handling with all the sensitivity of a number fifteen sandpaper. She could have used the money even before Midnight Louie had turned up in her life.

But money wasn’t everything, Temple told herself, or she’d be a high-paid stripper and someone else could be a struggling PR free-lancer. Maybe that was why she had a headache. She sipped her Virgin Mary down to the melting ice cubes, and left.

3

Dial “M” for Matt

“Hello.”

“Brother John?”

“Yes,” he said.

“It’s Sister Sue.”

“I recognized your voice.”

“Me, too, I guess. Only I had to make sure. You never know.”

“How are things going?”

“Not... good. I don’t know how much longer I can take it sometimes. Sometimes I just wanta freak, you know?”

“I know. But you shouldn’t have to take it at all.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Once it wasn’t. You know why you call?”

“Because I need help. I want out. But...”

“ ‘Buts’ are excuses, not answers.”

“I know. I hate myself sometimes—”

“Worse than him?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I think all the things he says are right.”

“You know they’re not. You could leave tonight. The women’s shelter—”

“Shit! I can’t hide somewhere. My business is going great. That’s my ticket out of here, not running away, hiding out. Not yet. I’ve got this big chance, in my business. Maybe that’s why he’s so mad.”

“Is it worse?”

“It always gets worse. You know that. But... I can make it. Just another few days. If I get lucky next weekend, I’ll have the money to drop out for a while. Take the kids. A week from today.”

“Then why are you calling tonight? And gambling is no real way out. Sister Sue? Don’t hang up—”

“I’d never hang up on you, Brother. Unless he came in and made me.”

“I’d call the police then.”

“God, no! Not the police. He just gets madder, badder, and he’s always out so soon. Bigger, badder. He... smashed up the living room, hit me in ways it won’t show. He’s so good about that, so smart when he’s crazy. And little Ria—”

“He’s hitting the kids now, too? You’ve got to get out. You can’t wait for a week from today.”

“I know, I know! Just a week. Help me hang on for a week. If I didn’t have this number, have you to call, someone who knows...”

“My knowing can’t help you until you help yourself. Until you leave.”

“A week from Friday. Honest. If you only knew what a chance I’ve got, how hard I’ve worked for it. I’ve made my plans, my escape plan. I’ve kept it secret. Not even his big fists and feet can pry it out of me. Only a few more days. I can make it. I can take it. Just a little bit longer.”

“Don’t take that risk. He’ll only escalate. Don’t—Sister Sue, are you there? Answer me!”

“...I gotta go now. Baby’s crying. Baby’s always crying. Maybe baby will cry until Saturday, sweet Saturday. Bye, Brother John. God bless.”

“Wait—don’t hang up. Wait...”

4

Crawford Sees Red