I’m not particularly gifted at concealing my emotions, for hadn’t I just not long ago confessed true love to my three-night stand? I looked up at the ceiling and, even though crying was now a second job for me, tried to staunch the tears that flooded the corners of my eyes. When I had my face under control, I told Lily, “Well, I hope you don’t think I’m nuts, with my undercover stunt. I didn’t know if you’d let me in the door...”
“It’s okay with me. You can tell the people you’re talking to. I would ask them to use their discretion. You’re not doing anything wrong. But the boss might be a little unpleased.”
“The boss?” I replied, playing it dumb, as if I hadn’t already heard the same reference, in much the same words.
“The owner, Jack. John Marco Melodia. He owns a bunch of businesses and apartments, but he hangs out here mostly, and he has his business meetings here. We call him Tony Soprano.”
“Is he a bad guy?”
“What does that even mean? I don’t know. He’s a nice guy really. He has good manners. I guess he’s not somebody you want to mess with. Like I said, it’s not a library.” Lily continued, “She was not well-known here, but she was well-liked. She was modest and kind. She would come in for people who had emergencies or hold a baby for Kitty while she danced.” My eyes must have widened, but Lily nodded. “People need to work, especially if they’re single moms. Felicity was only herefor a couple of months before she went into, well, private practice. What happened hit these women hard.”
Lily continued, “I would do what you’re doing. If I were you, I’d try to see her context too. But this wasn’t her context, Reenie. She was as out of place here as... as Princess Diana would have been. Not quite that, but you know what I mean.”
Then she told me how Felicity always had a notebook. “And in the notebook were these columns of numbers, sums, like my great-aunt would do with double-entry bookkeeping. And she also wrote down what looked like chemistry, like chemical formulas. She was always working away on something, and you’ll think I’m nuts here... but I would look over her shoulder and she’d be writing down these odd facts about birds... I remember some of them. Like orioles are very social, they want their nests to be like condominiums, so they can visit. Albatrosses go for six months at a time without ever touching ground, just riding the air above the sea. And raptors, like hawks, are the best parents.”
“I don’t think you’re nuts. She loved birds. It was her passion,” I said, only then realizing that I was speaking in the past tense, as if Felicity had died. “Birds were what she wanted to study. Before. Before all this.”
She headed toward the door of the dressing room, but then stopped. I stopped too. She appeared to be thinking it over before she shrugged and asked, “Did she do it?”
“I don’t know. She pleaded not guilty. But everybody always pleads not guilty... I thought I would be able to tell, but I can’t. And she won’t talk to me. At least, not yet.”
“Well, you’re her friend. She needs friends now. When she does talk to you, will you tell her Lily Landry is praying for her?” My eyes stung again.
Later that night, I said to Lily, “So he named a strip jointafter his niece?” Lily shrugged. I asked her, “He’s a Shakespeare fan? Does he know that she dies at the end?”
Lily didn’t know anything about Jack’s reading or theater preferences—or those of his relatives. She did say, “Everybody dies at the end. Not just in Shakespeare.”
Nine
American Robin
Turdus migratorius.The quintessential early bird that often gets the worm. American robins show up on lawns across North America, as well as in mountain forests and even in the Alaskan wilderness, popular for their warm orange breast, cheery song, and their funny habit of “listening” for worms underground. Robins can produce three successful broods in one year but only a quarter of fledglings survive to November. So while a hardy robin can live up to fourteen years, the entire population turns over on average every six years. Seen as signs of spring, many American robins actually spend the whole winter in their breeding range. In British folklore, robins bring a messenge from a lost loved one.
By the time Sam called to tell me that the trial would begin a week from the following Monday, of course, I already knew, and I also knew he’d called me just to be able to call me.
My time at Ophelia was up.
It had barely begun.
Lily was correct: I would have loved to write a story about the place, which most people probably thought didn’t exist outside Las Vegas.
I still wanted to chat for a moment with the other strippers who’d known Felicity, but since I was running out of time, I let Nell come to work with me.
“I’m interested in the show but what I really want is food,” Nell said as we opened the door. She sat at the bar, where I set her up with a beer and some nachos, but it quickly became clear that in the beer-versus-show equation, what Nell thought was exactly opposite to what happened.
She was instantly mesmerized by the sight of Archangel onstage, which I had become used to, so I didn’t remember how startling that could be. Sprinkled in glitter from head to toe and wearing only a sheer black body stocking, Archangel was doing a sort of reverse strip, pulling scarves and boas from a box on a stool next to her while simultaneously removing the body stocking, a task I could not have accomplished even while sitting on the stool, much less dancing in heels to the old Blondie song “Rapture.” It was with a start that I recognized how much Archangel resembled the young Debbie Harry, in face if not in stature.
“Do you know that this was actually the first rap song?” I said to Nell. She didn’t hear me, so I went off to find Lily and explain that my departure from the club was imminent. Then I took my place behind the bar, replacing a clearly pissed-off Raquel, who paused only long enough to point out the two customers who were already overserved and to add that she was late for her babysitter. “‘Now he only eats guitars,’” I sang along with Debbie. I told Raquel, “I’m sorry.” She flounced away. I checked the chili, scooping up a cup for Nell, who accepted it gingerly, only after I reassured her that it was prepared under perfectly sanitary restaurant guidelines. She took a tentative bite.
“It’s amazing,” said Nell, who’d finally turned to the food. “It’s so good! The chef could be making this anywhere.” I agreed. But I bet that if I had checked, the cook was either probably related to Kelly or Lily or somebody else at the club, or in some other jam. Short-order cooking was one of the top jobs for parolees; I had no idea how I knew this.
The overserved guy asked for a double and I provided himtwo frosty glasses of unspiked Diet Coke, betting he was so smashed he would not notice. Archangel left the stage, replaced by Dovey, who continued with the Blondie music.
“‘Someone’s love had a heart of glass,’” I sang and did a little spin to grab the brandy. I’d convinced Lily to offer a sweet brandy old-fashioned, the most requested drink, easy to fix, and more expensive than the usual fare. I felt a tap at my back and there stood Lolo, in a red spangled minidress and high-heeled red boots.
“Archangel said you might want to talk to me about Felicity,” she told me, her smile at once shy and mischievous.
“I do. Are you on the way out?”
