Aphrodisiac (15 page)

“But I’ve never been to a perfume launch,” I whined. “If we get thrown out, I’ll miss all the free samples.”

“Calm down. Any hassles, I just flash my badge.”

“Badge?”

“Yeah. You remember my cop outfit from Gina’s costume party.”

My life was turning into a Ben Stiller movie. “Between the gun and phony shield we’ve gotta be talking nine years. Maybe you could box in the pen, but they’d probably have me doing some kind of handiwork, and you know I hate arts and crafts.”

I sat on the bed and folded my arms. “I have a better plan.” I had no clue what it was going to be, but I had to think of something fast to make Benita leave her gun at home. “If Drummond’s the one who hired Curtis, then he knows my name and has probably seen my face on my website. So, we’ll use sheer intimidation. Let him see we’re onto him. Get him nervous enough to say something incriminating while your recorder is running.”

“That is the most ridiculous plan I have ever heard,” she said.

“Then how about this? Tim put Dr. Oz and friend on the guest list. Your name is
not
on it. If you don’t leave your gun home, I’ll deny you’re with me.”

Her jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

I nodded, smiling victoriously.

Glaring at me and cursing in Spanish, Benita took the gun from her bag. “Fine. Have it your way. Only do me a favor. Rinse off. I don’t want people at the launch pointing at us and whispering, ‘She pooped herself .’ ” Benita turned to her pet mynah, who was in the process of chewing the laces off her newest pair of boxing shoes. “Stop it, Petey. Saylor, would you put him back in his cage while I finish dressing?”

I held out my hand. Uncle Pete hopped on and climbed to my shoulder. The intercom buzzed. “I’ll get it.” I hurried from the room, my foul-mouthed feathered friend hanging on for the ride.

The doorman informed me that a Mr. Mace was here to see me. This was odd. Not that I was complaining. Thanks to our plans to lure Drummond I was dressed to raise testosterone levels. “Send him up, Caspian.”

I checked my makeup in the foyer mirror and answered the door. Eldridge stepped in without a word, his eyes devouring me, making me nervous. He’d obviously showered at the gym and put on fresh jeans and a sleeveless tee, which by now I recognized as his uniform.

I struck a pose. Hot New York sex shrink in her DUMBO loft with exotic bird on her naked shoulder.

“She pooped herself. She pooped herself.”

A soon-to-be-dead exotic bird. I scrambled for damage control. “Just ignore him. I had a little mishap. No! What I mean is, well, I, um…” Oh, that’s a sexy intro.

“She pooped herself!” Uncle Pete went for an encore and added a chorus of, “Big butt. Big butt. Big butt.”

Forgive me, fellow PETA members, but does anyone know a good recipe for mynah bird soup?

Eldridge started laughing. My stellar performance went down the drain.

“It’s not funny,” I snapped.

“You’re right. It’s not. In fact, you got a real problem.”

“Do tell, Prince Charming. Is it my bad smell or my oversized caboose?”

“Forget the second part. Hell, you’ve got the prettiest fanny I’ve ever seen.”

I turned red. The Ozyutikoffsky inverted heart.

Confused, but remembering my manners, I escorted Eldridge to the living room. He sat on a bentwood chair without making the typical remarks about the great loft or Lana’s one-of-a-kind art deco pieces. To prevent anymore delightful samplings of Uncle Petey’s latest hits, I excused myself and delivered the loquacious mynah to his cage at the far end of the loft. I closed the door behind me and joined Eldridge, taking the love seat across from him. I needed the security of a coffee table between us.

He started right in. “When I saw you down in the park, I noticed your strange odor.”

“What?” How rude. “Don’t you ever use a liniment? I injured my back.”

He shot me a glance that told me he didn’t believe a word. “You did not.”

Try another route. “Okay, Mr. Nosy, I’m experimenting with healing oils for my therapy business. Why should it matter to you?”

Eldridge stood up, gracefully edged his way around the coffee table and sat next to me. His thigh and shoulder touched against mine. Extremely disconcerting. He brought his face close and spoke in a low, intimate tone. “You’re a very unconvincing liar. I know what protective oils smell like. My father was of the Kanienkehaka tribe. My grandmother guided distressed folks with herbal medicines. Something’s going down that ain’t good. You should let me help.”

So, it wasn’t my sex appeal that brought him here. I looked into the oddly handsome face Inez had described and saw genuine concern. How could I not appreciate the attention? Every therapist gets tired of being the eternal caretaker. But I wasn’t sure I knew how to relate to a guy if I wasn’t in that role. “Eldridge, were you the oldest child? And by chance did you have a younger sister?”

“No and no.”

“Hmm.”

“Who’s threatening you? Tell me. I’m no stranger to trouble.”

Having already leaked our story to Raffy and Tim, I was sleepless with worry over what Curtis might do to them if he found out. At least they were already involved with Gwen and had

crucial intel that could end this thing. But there was no reason to draw an innocent outsider into this dangerous loop. Besides, we might actually entrap the mastermind behind Gwen’s murder before the night was done.

I shook my head. “Believe me. There’s nothing more I’d like than to take you up on your offer. But I can’t.”

“I get it. That guy you’re involved with, Mr. Hollywood, will get all pissed off if he sees me hanging around you.”

“Alan and I are not ‘involved.’ ”

“That was the word you used at the gym yesterday. Involved.”

“And you’re not? What about Tara?”

“I didn’t come here to discuss my love life, or yours.”

“Love life? Don’t tell me you’re in love with Tara Buckley?” I looked away, totally mortified that he once again brought out the jealous fourteen-year-old in me. (Notice I put the blame on him.)

“I told you, I don’t do relationships,” he said. “And Tara knows that.”

The intercom rang. Petey added some whistles.

“I’ll take it,” Benita said, jogging in from the next room. No doubt she enjoyed eavesdropping on our conversation.

She returned and gave me a funny look. “You got a visitor. Mr. Walsh Plunkett. ”

Oh great. He’s upped it from phone calls to visits.

Eldridge stood up. “Competition for Mr. Hollywood?”

“We’re not discussing those things, remember?” I followed Eldridge to the door, hoping he’d catch a down elevator before Plunkett arrived.

No such luck. Shortly after we entered the hallway, the elevator door slid open. Inside the softly illuminated chamber stood the short, graying gentleman in black-rimmed glasses and a poorly fitted banker’s suit that must have been purchased in the days of Eisenhower. I once again noticed his extremely large feet. Well, it probably meant at least he had really good balance. In his hands, Walsh carried a bouquet of red roses and a paper bag that read BLAZING DONUTZ. Eldridge gave him a curious look and tossed me a thumbs up. My soul yearned to return his salute with a middle finger.

Plunkett stepped off the elevator as Eldridge stepped on. My unexpected admirer peered over the top of his specs, scrutinizing Eldridge, then turned to me. “I hope I’m not intruding, Dr. Oz.”

Whether he was looking for free therapy or a girlfriend, it was not a good idea to encourage him. But I’m such a sucker for troubled guys, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the awkward, unpolished Mr. Plunkett. “Of course not. Please come in.”

Poor man didn’t even look me in the eye when he handed me the flowers and the bag of donuts. “I realize it’s last minute, but I thought perhaps you might let me take you out for dinner tonight.” He recited his words in a slow and careful monotone. Knowing he must have rehearsed his lines several times, I almost felt bad refusing him.

“I’m sorry. I already have plans. Although I’ve got a little time before I leave. Can I offer you a glass of wine?”

“No, thank you. I don’t drink.” He glanced around the loft with admiring nods. “But I’d love a cup of tea. And one of the cinnamon crullers in that bag. Do you ever eat at Blazing Donutz? The food is quite good.”

Don’t tell me that’s what he had in mind for our dinner date. Benita came to my aid, greeted Plunkett and took my gifts, saying, “I’ll handle these. And the tea.”

I showed Walsh our view of the Manhattan skyline and caught him wrinkling his nose. Uh-oh. Here it comes again. “That’s some perfume you’re wearing.”

Too bad, I thought. I wasn’t about to enter the lion’s den with Drummond minus my protective powers. “Forgive me,” I said. “It’s a healing oil. For my back problem.”

That didn’t stop him from moving closer and whispering, “You’re quite a woman, Dr. Oz.”

Yup. I’d reeled in yet another rescue case. The kind who just happened to be deeply attracted to nurses and therapists. The kind I’ve dated most of my womanly life.

And then there was Eldridge Mace.

FOURTEEN

Our destination was close by, but it was raining. And after our recent adventures, nighttime walks on DUMBO’s quiet streets had somehow lost their charm. We took the Camry and parked half a block from Ten Jay Street. Benita and I pranced up the sidewalk to join a line of people waiting their turn to be screened by a man at the club’s entrance. Next to him stood the usual security in the form of two oversized doormen in tuxedos. We gave our names and rode the freight elevator to the ninth floor.

The enormous space had once been New York City’s largest wine warehouse, cement girders and cinderblock still in evidence. I’d been to the original Club Moonbase before it closed, so I wasn’t surprised to see flame dancers on platforms or performers twirling from ropes attached to the two-story-high ceiling. Tonight they wore scanty floral patterned costumes and moved to the sounds of a swing band playing Cole Porter’s “Begin the Beguine.”

A blissful scent filled the air. I assumed it was Beguine, the new perfume. I’d read that companies spent millions launching a new fragrance, and the Caribbean island motif that transformed this place into a tropical splendor must have cost a bundle. Blue laser lights crisscrossed over live palm trees and white, orange and red tropical flowers. A long, low wall of sea green Lucite waves moved in rhythm to the roaming Jamaican drummers.

A waiter approached us with a tray of bubbly blue drinks in tall glasses. I took two and handed one to Benita. She peered sideways at the glass. “Looks like Sani-Flush.”

The waiter grimaced. “The champagne is tinted blue to match the perfume’s label. Gift bottles are on the trees. Help yourselves.”

Glittering like jewels, tiny bottles of the fragrance dangled from the palm fronds. I walked under a palm and managed to pick off a six-pack of the samples. Discreetly, of course.

“There’s Leonardo,” I said, trying not to be conspicuous. Wherever a camera flashed, we saw another celebrity. A familiar face caught my eye. “Binnie, I see Alan Grossman. What’ll I do if he wants me to hang out with him? We’re here on a mission.”

“I don’t think you have to worry. He looks pretty occupied with those two aspiring actresses hanging on his arms.”

“How do you know they’re aspiring actresses?”

“Easy. They’ve got that ‘I’ll screw both you and your pet Labrador for a part in your next movie’ look on their faces.”

We began wandering through the crowd, scanning for Tim Donnelly, who was probably searching for us somewhere on the other side of this twenty-thousand-square-foot space. We passed a table with bright green and yellow plates of finger food. I sometimes ate fish, but never meat, so Benita usually tested party food for me. She handed me a plate of coconut shrimp, sweet mango cheese and rum-soaked kiwi. A waiter refilled our glasses with blue-green champagne.

“No sign of Tim,” I said, doing a one-eighty on the crowd.

“Never mind. Look over there.” She nodded toward a man standing near the band. Maybe six feet tall, mid-fifties, a little paunch at his waist, lemon yellow tie. “That’s our guy.”

“Yep,” I said. “On target. And no sign of his wife.”

Benita reached into her bag and switched on the recorder. “Systems set to go.”

That’s when it came back to me. “Binnie, I just realized we might have a secret weapon. The guys in the Hummer used a nickname for their boss. Chub Dubs. Could be a name only those in his closest circle know. I’ll spring it on him and watch him start to unravel.”

“Good. When he talks you should watch to see if he rubs the back of his neck. Or if his eyes start moving all over the place. That means he’s lying.”

“What if he has an astigmatism?”

We inched our way through the crowd. A few yards away, the grand CEO of Milotech Pharmaceuticals held court with a pair of Japanese businessmen. We allowed Drummond to see us observing him. Sure enough, he began casting intermittent glances our way. My roommate looked beautiful and sultry, her dark features blending perfectly with this tropical atmosphere. I saw her catch Drummond’s eye. I aimed a teasing smile at him.

After a few more coy exchanges, he was all ours. Drummond made a short bow, left the two Japanese men and headed toward us.

“Let me handle the interview,” I said.

She nodded. “He’s all yours.”

Drummond flashed us that big come-on grin. “Have you ladies begun the Beguine?” He wiggled his hips and snapped his fingers. This guy was set to boogie.

I went to work immediately. “We know.”

That stopped him in his tracks. “Know what?”

I stepped closer. “We know what you know that you think we don’t know.”

That jubilant look on his face vanished. Suddenly he was very uncomfortable. I thought we’d scored a bull’s-eye until Drummond said, “Pheeeuu. What is that awful smell?”

As the CEO checked the bottom of his shoes, Benita silently mouthed, “Told you so.”

I kept my focus. “Look at my face. I think you’ll remember. You’ve probably seen my website.” I tilted my head and smiled, freezing in the same pose I had in my online photo.

His brows lifted. “I go to a lot of websites,” he purred.

I met his eyes. “Mind if I call you…Chub Dubs?”

He tipped his head back and laughed.

Big joke, huh? Murders my friend and thinks he’s going get away with it. I threw out some key phrases about the perfume and Gwen to make our point and shake him up. “Sexual enhancement? Keep you going all night? Even better than Erosynol? So good, it’s worth
killing
for? And how about…down by the docks?”

“Whoa. You girls don’t play around do you?”

“No. We don’t,” I said, wondering what his next move would be. Like maybe he’d turn ugly.

But instead he looked delighted. “Love it,” he said, and placed his hand on my back. Very low on my back. “A threesome would make my night. How much for both of you together?”

Sudden panic. “Uh…um…a thousand apiece.”

The fury in Benita’s face could have singed the hair off my head.

“Give me a moment, ladies, and I’ll have it all arranged.” Kyle Drummond walked off to the side of the room with his mobile pressed to his ear.

Benita hissed at me. “What did you say that for, you idiot? Now he thinks we’re a couple of
putas
.”

“I got nervous, okay?”

“Wait until he sticks his
pinga
in your face, then you’ll really be nervous.”

“We’ll distract him,” I said. “Keep him busy with stimulating conversation.”

“Judging by the bulge in his pants, I don’t think he needs any more stimulation.”

“At least he doesn’t recognize me. That gives us a perfect opportunity to pick his brain.”

“Shh. He’s on his way back.”

“Meet me out front in ten minutes,” Drummond said. “Look for my limo. My plates read MILO-1. It’ll take us to my suite at the Carlington.”

MILO-1. Cute. “But we brought our car.” I was in no mood for a backseat maul job.

“Not a problem,” he said. “My driver will bring you back here to pick it up afterward.”

Benita looked like she was about to go comatose. This called for some fancy footwork. “Actually, after a few drinks I get carsick. And I wouldn’t want to vomit all over your suit.”

Kyle caught that line like a deer in the headlights and took a moment to process the information. “All right. Simply bring your car to the hotel’s main entrance. I’ll tell Enrico, the valet, you’re my guests. I’ll have room service send up some Pepto-Bismol.”

“Well, look who it is.” Unmistakable voice.

I turned to see Alan standing behind me. “Oh. Hi.”

Kyle practically pushed me aside. “You’re Alan Grossman. The director.” He proudly introduced himself as the CEO of Milotech.

They shook hands and greeted each other politely. Alan aimed a dimpled smile at me. “I really loved that Do-Me-Good sex toy party of yours.”

Kyle lit up like a neon sign over an adult bookshop. “Then you’d recommend a party with this little lady?”

“Oh yeah. She’s the best.”

Ohmigod. How could I make Alan go away before either man found out what the other was talking about? This was worse than the roller coaster at Six Flags.

Scooping up my hand, Alan continued to shower me with admiration. “There must have been twenty-five of us there. And this little lady handled everyone like the professional she is.”

Drummond uttered a breathless, “Incredible.” I swear I could almost hear him panting.

A woman’s arm from nowhere grabbed Alan and whisked him off, just in time to avert my oncoming seizure. He joined a group of yapping people, faces glowing from good blow and excessively high incomes.

Kyle beamed at us. “Time for
our
little do me good party. What are you names?”

“Names?” My voice cracked. “Right. Our names…”

Benita cut in. “Patty and Maddy.”

“Love it,” he said, taking aim at us with his index finger. Kyle waved to a man I guessed to be his bodyguard standing by the wall and then strolled off for the elevator.

“Patty and Maddy?” My turn to hiss. “Sounds like a pair of D train hookers to me.”

Her hand went to her hip. “Pardon me. I’ll try to come up with something better next time you sell my body off to a horny businessman.”

I heaved out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, but at least we get him alone this way.”

“Well, we better decide on a game plan, because in a very short time Mr. Kyle Drummond will be expecting us to perform wonders on his dingaling.”

We went to the ladies’ room and debated our strategy. Ten minutes later Operation Gotchya Scumbag was born. Benita would leave the recorder running in her pocketbook while we took our time sipping wine and asking him if he was planning on any new sexual enhancement drugs. From there we’d try to skillfully manipulate the conversation to the subject of ancient aphrodisiacs. What we needed was some incriminating evidence; even one single sentence would do. Then, before things got too intimate, my stomach would act up, and we’d say we had to leave. There’d be no charge, of course.

A chilling thought sent a wave of trepidation through me. “Binnie, what if he’s acting? What if Drummond does know who I am? And knows that we’re onto him. Maybe he guessed that we intend to hand him over to the police instead of handing him the tablet. Not that I have any illusions our lives would be spared if we came through with it. But what if this little trip to the Carlington is part of a trap?”

Benita opened the ladies’ room door and looked back at me. “At this point we’ve got no choice but to play along.”

With Beguine’s launch still in full swing, Benita and I took the elevator down and stepped out into a dark and rumbling summer storm. We ran half a block. The rain was coming down in sheets and soaked us through by the time we got to the Camry.

“Now I not only smell like a muskrat, I look like one, too,” I said.

Benita took the driver’s seat. “And I’m a dishrag. That ought to slow the big guy down.”

“I doubt it. Being wet is very erotic.” My sopping dress stuck to my skin, making me feel cold and clammy. The car clock read 10:45. “Raffy told me the Jewel would be open until four. We’ll do our best. If things get complex with Drummond and it takes us forever, our meeting with her will have to wait.”

“Man that chick’s head must be made out of cement. I caught her with two good shots. I want a rematch.” Benita’s boxer ego was clearly still bruised.

“Will you please learn to let go? Now is not the time for your obsessive-compulsive tendencies. There will be no rematch. Got that? Raffy’s our new friend. Without her help we’d still be going in circles.”

We drove down Jay and turned onto John Street in order to go around the block and head back to the bridge entrance. Suddenly I heard a chorus of sirens. Benita pulled to the side as four patrol cars raced past us. Up ahead, police cars and two ambulances blocked our path. Light bars sent their strobes bouncing off buildings, transforming the murky block into a carnival of flashing colors. We slowed to a halt.

The epicenter of all this attention was a silver limousine, its windows totally blown out. Shattered glass covered the street and sidewalks, wet and sparkling in the rain.

“Looks really bad,” Benita said.

With brusque gestures a disgruntled uniform guided us past the action, ordering us to hug the side of the curb up to the next corner. As we drove by, I stared out at the grisly scene. The limo’s license plate read “MILO-1.”

“Wait a sec, Binnie. Slow down. That’s Kyle Drummond’s limo.”

Her jaw dropped. “Check out the door. Those are bullet holes. It could have been us in there.”

Now I really
was
carsick. I crossed my arms to minimize the shudder that began in my body.

“Somebody wanted him out of the way,” Benita said. “Those big, powerful dudes get into all kinds of sleazy deals. So much for our undercover work at the Carlington.”

“So much for catching Gwen’s killer.”

Benita turned left at the corner, which happened to be Pearl Street. DUMBO was a pretty small neighborhood, just a handful of blocks near the bridges. She parked in a space along the curb not far from the nondescript gray door of the Jewel. “Guess we’ll be checking in with Raffy earlier than expected.”

“Give me a minute.” I sat there listening to the tinny sound of rain on the car roof. My body was wet and shivering, my mind, numb and confused. Had some enemy of the corrupt pharmaceutical bigwig unwittingly done us a favor? Did this mean our seven-day ordeal was over? Or had someone just tried to kill the woman who was supposedly the keeper of Gwen’s tablet? Me. Inez would say the
orishas
saved us. Maybe she was right.

Trying to clear my head, I rubbed my bare arms to get my blood moving. I pulled down the visor and checked the mirror. My topknot was still in place, but my hair was even curlier now, with red-gold tendrils shooting out all over. I unfastened the barrette and shook my hair loose. “Okay. Ready to go.”

Dim lights, Patsy Cline on the jukebox, quiet women at tables, maybe five at the bar. I was a bit overdone for the Jewel in my one-shouldered silk dress, and the looks I got from the other ladies as I walked in confirmed it.