The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(55)
I flush. “No, just me. And a friend here for a bachelorette party. I needed to refabulous myself. I wilted a little this week.” I lean in like I’m telling him a secret. “I learned from the best.”
And it’s true. I learned the art of super-dramatic makeup from Lawrence. Shockingly, there aren’t many places I get compliments on my Violet Femme purple lipstick. Yet another reason I love drag shows. No one appreciates drama or makeup quite like queens.
“Well, my drag mama would be proud. And, girl, you’re never anything less than fabulous. You just wear it different sometimes.” Lawrence gives me a squeeze, then pounces on the fabric I have in my hands. He’s already wearing the foam padding around his rear, reined in by layers of panty hose to make the look complete.
Outwardly Lawrence is completely normal, seemingly unfazed by his recent apartment scare. I’m trying to follow his lead, but inwardly I’m at war with myself. I want to talk to Lawrence, but there are so many queens around, I don’t dare do it here. “Do you want to try it on in case I need to adjust it? Maybe the bathroom could give us enough room if we need to pin it.” At the very least sans eight queens.
Lawrence beams at me, then makes a shooing gesture. “Nonsense. You just go get yourself a table before one of these queens steals you from me. One of these bitches can help me if I need to pin something.”
I nod, swallowing my panic in an awkward gulp.
“Girl, what’s wrong? You feeling okay?”
I open and close my mouth, unsure of how to approach this. No big deal. The police are going to show up and question you, and I’m worried you might be playing superhero. “Just something I wanted to talk with you about. It’s nothing . . .” I turn to leave but think better of it. I need to know. Rip off the Band-Aid. “Actually, where were you today? Around five o’clock?”
Please have an alibi. Please have an alibi.
Lawrence pulls back, looking surprised. “Did something happen?” He taps his chin. “I think around three I was out getting lashes for tonight, but I’d have to check.”
So . . . nothing solid, but my shoulders relax. There’s nothing in Lawrence’s face that suggests he’s lying. Maybe I’m all bent out of shape with my suspicions for nothing. Yet there’s still the police stuff to tell Lawrence.
L reaches out and rubs my shoulder. “Seriously, girl, are you okay?”
I almost divulge the whole story right there in the backstage area. I want so badly to come clean to L, but the plump Filipino queen sidles up to us and leans over the gold lamé.
“So this is your secret weapon, La-tee-tee!” The queen flicks a nonexistent wig and gives me the once-over. “Girl, your costumes are on fleek. I need a new one next show. Any chance you take food stamps?”
The nearby queens laugh at the joke, and I crack a smile.
“Sorry, I only deal in lifelong indebtedness and firstborns, but I’ll let you know when I start accepting Visa.”
“You will not,” L says firmly.
This isn’t the time or place to discuss matters with the show about to start. I highly doubt Matteo is going to show up and pull L offstage mid-act, so I decide to let L perform without worrying. I pat Latifah on the padded rear before I leave. “Maybe we can chat after you’re finished. We’ll go to IHOP and have pancakes. Right now, you go show them how it’s done.”
I make my way back out to the table, where the girls are already enjoying another round of drinks. I slide in next to Nina and sigh, leaning my head against the booth back. The end of the night looms over me, and I hope I’ll be able to enjoy the show. But I keep reliving opening that study door, catching a glimpse of the person in black. Ruminating about what the Golden Arrow knows and what he or she is looking for, trying to figure out just how I can help solve this case, especially now that Rideout seems to be gunning for me as a suspect. I need to start at the beginning. If this is all about Casey Senior, I need to start there.
Which is where Lawrence comes in.
Just as I finish this thought, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Matteo. We need to talk about the case. New development.
With an apologetic look at Nina, I type back, Not a good time. With some friends at Hamburger Mary’s. Can I call you later? I have got to explain to my best friend why the police are after him first.
We’re plunged into darkness as a voice booms over the loudspeaker, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hamburger Mary’s famous Drag Review.”
A spotlight pops on, and there’s Latifah Nile standing center stage, hip thrown back, gold sparkly heels perfectly apart in a dramatic stance, and one ridiculously fantastic sequined top hat pulled down over her eyes. The sequined tailcoat I designed fits L perfectly.
“I am your host for the evening, Latifah Nile.” L repositions the hat dramatically atop the afro wig, and the crowd cheers and catcalls like crazy. “And we have quite the show for you tonight. You can see we’re doing some updating.” L sweeps a hand in suggestive curves over her gold lamé and sequined bodysuit down to the gold sequined skirt and panty hose–clad legs. She looks like a mix of vintage twenties, sexy temptress, and a nod to Egyptian style with her signature eyes. “And tonight I’ll be”—L produces an old-fashioned cane from somewhere behind her, cracks it on the floor, leans over it to better show her taped cleavage over the top of the bustier, and pouts—“putting on the Ritz.”