Cat in a Jeweled Jumpsuit (3 page)
Read Cat in a Jeweled Jumpsuit Online
Authors: Carole Nelson Douglas
But why should anybody get my drift? I know enough
to keep my ears open and my lips buttoned. What
they
do not know that I know will
not hurt me. If you can follow
that,
you are welcome to assume you have gotten my
drift as much as anybody ever will.
Chapter 2
(You
Were)
Always on
My Mine
("You Were Always on My Mind" was written
for Elvis and he recorded it in 1972. Willie
Nelson's hit 1982 version was named song of
the
year in both '82 and '83)
"I'm
sorry to have
bothered you," Aldo
Fontana
greeted
Phoenix Hotel.
“
It's
no bother; it's my job. And I've been a little delinquent of late," she
admitted.
Aldo,
tall, dark and deadpan, took the opportunity to
look her up and down, all five feet of her, appreciatively.
"I
have always considered you a little delinquent,
But I wouldn't have said it."
“
I
meant that I've been busy and have neglected the hotel project."
“
That is why I hesitated to disturb you." He shook the sleeves of
his chablis-colored designer suit until the left
cuff
brushed the face of his Piaget watch.
What did the
of them-
excluding
Nicky, who didn't run with the pack—do for
a living anyway?
Liquid lines of Aldo's suit proclaimed
it an Ermenegildo
Zegna.
with pricey boutiques carrying
such exotic and costly goods.
a confirmed win
dow
shopper, had long before learned what was afford
able
and what was stratospheric.
Aldo was
likely packing something even more im
pressive than an invisible high price tag. She eyed the
impeccable flow of his wool-silk blend
for a bulkier ac
coutrement
beneath the Dairy Queen–smooth exterior.
Like a Beretta.
Aldo
fidgeted as much as his tailoring allowed. "I
called you because I knew the boss lady wouldn't
want
to deal with this.
Not that you're not a very boss lady,
only you're not
the
boss lady, if you get my drift.”
The only
drifts in
at the notion that
she was a mere second banana.
Van von
Rhine, who managed the Crystal Phoenix
with elegant ease, was also married to its owner,
Nicky
Fontana, Aldo's
"little" brother. Since all the
feet tall, such distinctions were
pretty moot outside
the family.
“
What wouldn't Van like?"
“
The, er,
nature of the crisis. For one thing, she would
have to wear a hard hat that would muss up that
neat
French roll on the back of her head."
“
And you figure I can't muss."
hand over waves of unabashedly undisciplined red hair.
“
No
muss, no fuss with
grinned as he parroted the name and title on her
business
card. "Besides, I need
to check this out with a cool head
before
I report to the management. They tend not to
believe me because I'm
family, you know."
“
I
know. My big brothers never did believe me about
anything either, but
you are
the big brother here, Aldo."
“
And I
am up to the job." Aldo patted his breast
pocket.
have been eyeing my
suit, which shows that you have not
lost your impeccable
taste since last we met.
I
wish to
assure you that not
only my software is first class, but my
hardware also.”
This
statement had a certain sexual connotation nei-
ther she nor Aldo chose to notice. One thing about the
brothers
be: they always treated
datory
tolerance of Great Danes babysitting a Yorkshire terrier. Of course, in the dog
world, the tiny Yorkie dom
inated anything
bigger than itself when whatever breed
it
was . . .
wasn't looking.
“
So you think there might be dirty work in the mine?"
tains,
and crystal objects that comprised the hotel lobby.
"Mines are always dirty work." Aldo
sighed and
looked down. "Your footwear is most attractive, but
I
fear
it wasn't made for underground exploration."
“
Listen, these high
heels aren't just for looks. They
give me terrific traction. You ever
heard of pitons?"
“
But we will not be climbing,
we will
be descending."
“The
story of our lives and all human striving, right?"
the huge emerald-cut-shape of pool-blue water.
Scaf
folding draped in dusty plastic
hid the entrance to the
vast reconstruction project underway below.
“
Lucky that all those tunnels from Jersey Joe
Jackson's heyday allow the
expand
below the
surface,"
Aldo mused. "Land along the Strip is going for
a
hundred grand a square foot these days.”
her
shoes. According to Aldo's latest statistics, just
standing
here was awfully expensive.
Aldo offered her a hand, while his other hand swept
back
a dusty swath of plastic.
They suddenly stood in a shrouded world of long iron
rods and lumber stacked around an elevator that was
little
more than a skeletal crate on pulleys.
the wooden floor and tried not
to
watch while Aldo lowered the boom, so to speak.
Rays from underground work lights seeped through
the cracks in the elevator floor. Soon they were bumping
to
a stop in a cavernous space housing generators and
worktables and machines that resembled sluggish giant wasps, so streaked
with black grease were their yellow-
painted casings.
The
scene was indeed no place for high-rise heels.
"It's time to
exchange my hardware for softwear,"
She tugged Aldo's sleeve to stop him while she sat
down on what passed for a tuffet down here, a
newspaper-strewn bench. She slung her ever-present tote
bag to the ground. No spiders for Miss Muffet. Unless
you
considered Aldo....
“
I can't
imagine what you're packing in that major
knapsack," Aldo said, more than
somewhat in awe.
“
For one thing, tennis
shoes." From the wide mouth
of her tote bag she delivered a
mushroom-pale pair of
high-topped sneakers,
the massive galoshes that passed
for
leisure footwear nowadays, and began fighting the
laces open.
“
These things make my shoe size look like 'number
nine,' which is what the miner's daughter
Clementine
wore in the old
song," she grunted as she bent over to
lace them up.
“
I would assist you," Aldo said, "but I
might crease
the suit.”
at real risk down here. That suit couldn't take one amok
dust mote, and this place is a sawdust factory." She
sneezed in coincidental testimony to her comment.
Aldo
whipped a silk square of exquisite design from
his breast pocket.
“
Save it. You may need
it to sit on later, and my
handy tote bag has plenty of tissues.”
Aldo gazed in admiration as
aloe-soaked rectangle of white and blew her nose.
"You
are like Indiana
Jones; you always have the right tool
with
you.”
In a couple of minutes she was smaller in stature, but
better outfitted for mine shaft exploration. Standing,
"They certainly made it seem like an excavation for a
mine,
so far. But where are the workmen?”
Aldo shrugged as he lifted two yellow hard hats off a
rack
and handed her one.
“
This is gonna fit like an open umbrella," she
pre
dicted, and despite the smaller
inner lining, it did indeed
sink down on her head almost to her nose.
Aldo paused, smoothed back his patent leather hair
and
subjected it to the encompassing indignity of yellow plastic.
“These
dome lights are neat."
the dusty dimness like a light-sword blade.
Man-made constellations on the rocky walls flashed
in
phosphorescent spurts.
“
This really feels authentic,"
where are the workmen?"
“
That's just it." Aldo shook his head
mournfully, the light atop his hard hat casting a beam that swayed like
a rope bridge over the fake rocks. "They're
not working
much since the ... incident.”
A raised voice down the empty tunnel interrupted
them.
clear:
admonition.
She
mushed along on her marshmallow-soled shoes,
consoled
that at least now they could pussyfoot onto the
scene unheard.
The man
who was speaking obviously felt no fear of
being overheard.
“
You gutless
wonders," he was railing. "You call
yourselves a work crew?
This here's supposed to be an
attraction,
guys. It's supposed to be scary, huh? That's
what we're here for. So why're you all shakin' like a set
a gag
teeth? Light shows are what made Vegas famous.”