“Oh, that’s not our concern. We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right.”
“I suppose so.” She gestures over to a gray door behind the jazz trio. “My office is in there. After you.”
We walk inside, and true to form, Lucille’s office is on theme, all grayscale just like the rest of the club. Harrison and I take seats in plushy black armchairs across from Lucille’s gray birchwood desk.
Lucille sits down in a white atomic swivel chair and faces us. “How can I help you two?”
Harrison leans forward. “We’re investigating some disappearances that may have something to do with Bianca’s sister.”
Lucille bites her lip. “Sorry?”
“A few friends of ours took off last-minute over a month ago on an extended vacation and we haven’t seen them since,” he goes on. “One of the last places they were seen was Aces Underground, but I’m not a member, so it’s been hard to find intel. Since the Noir Parlor is not as exclusive as Aces, we thought we might have an easier time asking around here.”
Lucille crosses her legs. “I can assure you I’m not at all aware of any odd goings-on here at Noir. I’m here every night, even when Rouge is around, and I’ve never witnessed any funny business.”
“When was the last time Rouge was here?” I ask.
“Last Tuesday,” Lucille says. “That’s usually her day, though she sometimes makes surprise visits to keep us all on our toes.”
“Does Rouge hire all the waitstaff?” Harrison asks.
“She does,” Lucille says. “Because our waiters and waitresses have to wear extensive makeup to keep on theme, Rouge usually ends up finding struggling actors from California or New York. People who already have a good grasp of stage makeup.”
“Is there a lot of turnover with waitstaff?” he continues.
“A decent amount. Most people work five years, and then they go back to California or wherever they came from.”
That perks my ears up. The waitstaff at Aces has a similar deal. I’ve never thought much of it, but I rarely interact with them. Every so often I have one of them grab a hot toddy for me to bring to my dressing room after a long night, but that’s about it. I made friends with one of them—the Jack of Hearts—the first week I was here, but it didn’t end well. I have no idea where they go after their five-year terms are up.
I nod. “These are actors and actresses, so some of the people who have worked here might have gone on to have great acting careers, right?”
Lucille shrugs. “I suppose. The bulk of working actors are people who you wouldn’t recognize. Only the top tenth of a percent attain recognizability.”
“Do you ever hear from former waitstaff? Any updates on career successes?”
“Very rarely,” Lucille says.
“Rarely?” Harrison asks. “So you do hear every so often?”
“Yes. Once in a blue moon. But most people who work here are probably glad to be out?—”
“Name a specific person,” Harrison says. “Who precisely have you heard from since they left Noir Parlor?”
“I’m a former actress myself,” I add. “I might know them. It might be helpful to see if we can use them to connect the dots of our little search.”
“I’m sure you do know him, but not because of his former career. He’s an older man, used to work as a character actor before he turned to the bottle, became a bit of a washout. He met your sister in the nick of time, got a job here and then transferred to Aces.”
Harrison raises his eyebrows. “He did? What’s his name?”
“Alban Night,” Lucille replies.
Harrison widens his eyes. “Mr. Night? From the Clubs section?”
I shrug. “I had no idea. He’s been at Aces as long as I can remember.”
Lucille gets to her feet. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. I wish I could be more help, but I should be getting back to the club.”
“Absolutely.” Harrison extends his hand. “Thank you, Lucille. We’ll give you a call if we have any more questions.”
