Page 24 of Peach Cobbler Confessions
I glance over at Meg and she offers an indifferent shrug.
“I’ll make sure they have a steady supply of nachos while you work the Jungle Room,” she offers.
“Sounds like a plan.” I frown over at Keelie and Lainey looking like they’re ready to pop. “Tonight’s the night.”
Sammy Brewer, I’m meeting you in the Jungle Room.
Chapter 9
Red Satin Gentlemen’s Club is located in the sweatiest, stinkiest orifice of a town that sits just below Honey Hollow, a scallywag of a place called Leeds.
Evie is at the movies tonight, and then later she’ll be having a sleepover at Everett’s place, so I don’t have to worry about her following me down there. In an odd turn of events, back when we were still looking for Evie, a mobster named Luke Lazzari brought Evie here in an effort to turn her over to us. The reason he chose this nefarious locale is because it just so happens to be owned by his mob rival, the Canneli family. And since Jimmy Canneli was out looking for Evie, too, it was sort of an in-your-face move.
But thankfully, I don’t see a single Canneli or Lazzari at the moment. Instead, Red Satin is saturated with men of every age and tax bracket, shape, and size, ogling the scantily clad women on stage. The place is drenched in one hue and one hue only. From the stage and the carpet to the Naugahyde chairs and booths, everything screams a sultry shade of red.
The music is thumping, the girls are jumping, or bouncing as it were, and the men are tossing dollar bills in the air as if it were a tickertape parade. I’ve already collected sixteen dollars walking through the place and Keelie snapped up two twenties.
No sooner do we arrive than Meg skips her way over. As much as I love having her work next door at the Honey Pot Diner, for some reason, she seems most at home right here at this horny thorny establishment. She’s never shaken what her mama gave her up on that stage, but since she’s the dance instructor—and perhapsstuntcoordinator—she’s just as responsible as those scantily clad women for their naughty moneymaking moves.
Both Lainey and Keelie waddle their way in her direction with their blooming bellies leading the charge like a couple of food-seeking missiles.
“Lookie here, boys,” Meg howls, garnering the attention of a smattering of men. “The eight o’clock lineup has arrived.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes, but the men let out a riotous hoop as if a maternity-based strip tease wasn’t a bad idea.
Meg and I help settle Lainey and Keelie near the back, just a few steps from the women’s restroom should nature call—and it will in precisely eight-minute intervals.
“We made thirteen roadside stops on the way over.” A sarcastic grin freezes over my face. “And as luck, and quickly filling bladders would have it, both Keelie and Lainey are about five minutes off schedule from one another. Oh, the joys of public restrooms. I think we just experienced them all.”
Keelie nods. “Interestingly enough, we shared tips and tricks on how to be more expedient in the effort. For instance, Lainey shared she no longer takes off her undies to do the urinary deed. She simply pulls them to the side.”
The smile melts right off of Meg’s face.
Lainey nods. “And Keelie shared an equally stunning yet interesting nugget. She simply straddles the toilet while standing because it’s easier than getting up and down.” Lainey high-fives Keelie. “Amen, sister, amen.”
“Oh, the thrills of pregnancy,” I tease as I look to Meg. “Did you know they’ve both got a case of leaky boobs?”
Lainey nods frantically. “I can beam Forest in the side of the head from a three-foot distance some mornings. My mama milk just comes squirting right out.”
Keelie snorts before straightening in her seat. “I think I just tinkled.” She waves it off. “Oh, who the heck cares. Meg, bring on the nachos.”
Lainey snaps her fingers. “And keep ’em coming. We’re not here to watch a bunch of naked and nimble women glide down a greased pole, you know.”
“All right, all right.” Meg makes a face at the two of them. “Keep your udders in your shirts. Let me figure out what to do with this one”—she nods my way—“and then I’ll make sure you each get an extra helping of nacho cheese sauce.”
The two of them hum with delight at the prospect of drowning in processed dairy. I’m with them on that one. Nachos made with regular shredded cheese are fine, but it’s the ooey gooey orange stuff that I could drink by the gallon. In fact, I’m half-moved to join them, but Dane Gannon’s investigation is in the bounds. I need to talk to Sammy and see why she smacked him that night.
Meg starts to pull me along, but I pause to lean toward my very pregnant older sister, and bestie.
“Don’t do anything that will make me regret bringing you along for the ride,” I say it sternly like a warning and the two of them break out into cackles.
“Oh, Lot,” Keelie says while trying to get comfortable in her seat. “Outside of stuffing my face with nachos, the only thing I wanna do is give birth.”
Lainey grunts in agreement. “Me too. I’m not entirely opposed to giving birth right here on the table. It would serve these men right to see the result of their naughty intentions.”
Meg shakes her head. “I don’t know, Lainey. We’ve had a few baby bumps on stage and the men seemed to give a little extra. The dancing mamas like to call their routinethe college fund.”
“Hold off on any bright ideas,” I tell them. “I’ll host a bake sale when the scholastic time is right.”