Page 114 of Throwing Shade
“She never mentioned that to me. Why not?”
“He called her cosplaying ‘dress up.’”
I jerked a thumb to the back door. “Terf the bum.”
“Exactly.” Eli smiled, but although he was within arm’s reach, if I tried to touch him, I expected to only encounter thin air. I didn’t want a schism in my life, but I wasn’t sure how to bridge it and get him and Sadie over to where I was standing.
I hugged him. “I love you, Eli.”
We might not be married anymore, but we’d created a kid and had built a life together. No one could ever take his place.
Eli squeezed me tight. “I’ll save you a piece of cheesecake.”
“You’ll intend to.”
“It’s the thought that counts, right?”
“Not even a little bit, Detective Chu.”
Laughing, he left.
To pass the time until Tatiana called back, I vacuumed, vanquishing a horde of dust buffalos that swarmed me from behind the couch. For an honor roll student, my kid couldn’t grasp the basic concept that some furniture was moveable and you didn’t have to bash vacuum cleaners up against things.
Tatiana finally sent a text with an address and the word “Midnight.”
I had hours to kill, but if I stayed home, I’d obsess about the overwhelming odds that were not in my favor.
After a quick stop at Jude’s favorite bakery, I drove over to Hotel Terminus, then sat outside for a good ten minutes playing out both sides of different arguments with Laurent. With each new iteration, my retorts grew progressively less angry until I was composed enough to walk in and behave like a reasonable human being.
Discussions always went better when I’d spent my anger on imaginary fights than if I confronted the person with the first draft of my argument.
I rapped on the door.
Laurent opened it and crossed his arms. He was in jeans and a fitted navy button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled up over the corded muscle on his forearms. The top two buttons were undone, exposing a triangle of olive skin. “You here to see Jude?”
“I am.”
He moved aside. “You know where she is,” he said coolly.
So be it. I handed him a cheque. “The agreed-upon fee. Thank you, Laurent.”
He shoved it in his pocket without looking at it, his eyes narrowed. “Why did you call me that?”
I stepped inside the hotel. There was no longer any sign of the vandalism. Even the radio had been replaced with a similarly art deco-styled one that played a Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald duet. “Why did I call you by your name? Are you serious?”
“You never have. It’s always that ridiculous nickname.”
“You’re insane. I’ve used your name a bunch of times.”
“Vraiment? Name once that wasn’t when I was in wolf form.”
I shook my head, crossing the floor. “Have it your way. I didn’t come here to—”
The opening strains of Sinatra’s “Come Fly With Me” came on the radio and I froze, my hand pressed to my stammering heart. “Can you turn this off?” I whispered.
“Quoi?” Laurent came over and did a double take at my expression.
The song crescendoed, the room replaced by my dad’s body falling to the ground in time to the blast of trumpets.
