17
"I'm going to need a little more than that."
Three sandwiches, two bowls of soup, and half a peach pie later—he'd missed lunch—Jack finally felt able to tell me the entire story.
"Okay, first, it would surprise you to learn how many strippers are called Bubbles."
"It's not something I ever really thought about, so I'm not sure I'd be surprised one way or the other, but go ahead." I picked at my sandwich. I hadn't had much of an appetite since Lorraine was first arrested, really. Maybe once we solved this, I'd start to feel better. Right now, my stomach was roiling around like I had a mini blender in there stirring things up.
"There was even a court battle between two of the Bubbles, because one claimed the other copied her act, which involved, unsurprisingly, bubbles. I guess she strategically popped them and—"
"Jack." I gave him a narrow-eyed glare. "I really don't need to know the logistics of it."
He gave me a sheepish smile. "Sorry. I was trapped between these two old guys who were dead set on explaining every detail, since I was buying drinks for as long as they gave me information. They're drunk now, and I know the name of every Bubbles to dance in Orlando in the past sixty years."
"How many are there?" I was caught up in spite of myself.
"Seventeen! But I didn't pay much attention to sixteen of them, because the seventeenth? Or the first chronologically. Was our Bubbles."
"OurBubbles. Just when I think life can't get any weirder…"
"Yeah. I heard a lot about 'that SOB Earl Packard' too. Turns out our Bubbles was famous and bought the club she danced in with her earnings. She lived a grand old life, and after she sold the club—it's called the Bubble Bath, by the way. Catchy, right?—after she sold it, they named her favorite pole the Bubbles McHotpants Memorial Stripper Pole."
"Is she dead?"
"Nope. She moved back to Vegas. Ask me why this is important," he said smugly, snagging another piece of pie.
"Why is this important, Jack?"
"Because she worked the Vegas circuit every single day in September 1970. Not only did the old guys tell me this, but they pointed to a framed flyer on the wall advertising it."
"So, you were actuallyinthe Bubble Bath?"
He suddenly found his plate very interesting, to judge by how hard he concentrated on it. "Only in the interest of research. The dancers don't even work on Mondays."
I couldn’t help it. I started laughing so hard I could barely catch my breath. "What you're telling me is that you spent the day in the Bubble Bath and then a water nymph tried to drown you. Well, you always—you always say tigers like w-water."
I gave up, put my head down on my arms on the table and laughed till I cried.
At some point, Jack cleared his throat. "It's not actually all that funny."
"Oh, no, it really,reallyis," I choked out, before another fit of laughter swept through me. "The Bubble Bath. Oh my goodness. I can't—I can't—I can'tbreathe.”
By the time I could finally stop laughing, Jack had already cleared up after our dinner and he was brewing a pot of coffee.
"Are you done?"
I tried to speak but giggle-burped. "Oh, boy. Wow, I needed that. Okay, yes. Yes, I'm done. Tell me about Erin."
"I'm overwhelmed by your sympathy for my near-death experience," he said dryly, handing me a cup of coffee.
"Hey, you're clearly okay, so I reserve my right to find it funny." I added cream and sugar to my coffee, took a long sip, and then waved a go-ahead hand at him. "Proceed."
"Shall we take this outside? After our altercation in the lake, I think we're safe from Erin for at least the rest of the evening."
Lou and Jack and I moved outside to the porch swing, where Jack and I drank coffee and Lou plotted the hypothetical imminent capture of any number of small rodents.
"I had a pretty strong feeling that Erin/Phaedra was the one behind the attempts on our lives. She was so angry."
