Alison Kaine: Tell Me What You Like Part 8

"They found her business card on one of the...," Beth gulped, "...dead women. But why did they come? She told me that you already talked to her."

Alison hesitated a moment before answering. "We're going to have to keep on coming back," she said finally, a true though somewhat evasive answer. "Until Dominique...Denise...tells us the truth."

"She did tell you the truth!" The woman was becoming more agitated. Alison looked away. The trick with this kind was to handle her gently, not excite her to the point where she wouldn't speak. Playing it right was crucial; this woman would tell her everything she knew if she thought it would protect her girlfriend. Carefully, not pressuring, Alison looked down at the coffee table. It, too, was rattan, with a piece of gla.s.s over the top. Under the gla.s.s were a number of photographs, mostly of Dominique, who photographed well.

"We're going to have to keep coming back," she repeated, without looking up, "and eventually we'll find out what it is that she's keeping from us. And then, even if it's the most innocent thing in the world, even if she was just keeping quiet because she was embarra.s.sed or because she didn't think it was important, we'll have to look into it as thoroughly as if it were a motive, because we'll wonder why she didn't tell us to begin with."

"Oh." Beth looked across the room. Alison looked at the photos. There were several of Dominique holding a fishing pole and wearing a squashed, cloth cap. Her face was sunburnt.

"She didn't do anything wrong!" Beth burst out. "She didn't kill anyone! She couldn't have! She couldn't harm anyone like that! Oh, I know that you think differently because of her job, but it isn't like that. That's like saying...like saying that if you shot someone in the line of duty-have you shot anyone?" Alison nodded. "Well, it's just as foolish to come after Denise thinking that she hurt someone as it would be for the police to come after you every time there was a shooting. Do you see the difference?"

Alison nodded. "Well, everything is reported and reviewed, but yeah, I understand...what consensual is. I don't know if these other guys are going to understand, though."

"Then you have to explain it to them! That she is very gentle, that she would never harm anyone. Pain on a job, something a customer requests, that's playing. It's not like sneaking up behind someone with a knife."

"I see the difference," Alison repeated, "I have a friend in the same line of business." She said it in part to create confidence, but also because she was dying to toss this questioning to one side and ask instead: how do you stay with her and does it bother you, and are you into the scene yourself? For this was obviously the household of two people who had been together a long time.

Beth relaxed visibly. "Then you know." She sat smiling across at Alison as if everything were solved.

Alison hated to delude her. "But she still has to tell us everything. Even if she couldn't have done it. The detectives didn't say she was a suspect, did they? But she might know something, she might know something without even knowing she knows it, and if she would just tell us everything then we could sift through it. If she doesn't, we can't help but be suspicious she had something to hide."

"It's not that she has anything to hide... it's been a hard couple of months for Denise. For me too. If we hadn't been together for so long...if it hadn't been such a long time. But it has been hard for her. Her dad died, and there was a fire at the cat center. There were alarms...she and the other woman saved everyone they could, but they couldn't get them all. She was burned, too, she was in pain. In a way I don't blame her...but it really only makes it worse and she knows it..."

Alison knew better than to cut her short, but she tried gently to guide her. "Why did the two women terminate her services?"

Beth looked at her in a helpless way. "She's been sober for ten years," she said, almost whispering. "This was her very first slip."

Oh. Click. Like a line of dominoes it started falling in place. Stacy's voice in her head saying, She started doing things like ignoring safewords and, honey, that just isn't done. And how Becky said that the last cut was more like a hack. Alison flashed back on the workshop she had furtively attended at the music festival. A woman, wearing nothing but a squash-blossom necklace and a pair of blue gym shorts, had lectured them about s/m safety, saying, "No drugs or alcohol during a scene. Never."

"She's dry now," Beth said hurriedly. "She's been going to AA two or three times a day even." Her voice was anxious, saying without words, 'please don't think she's bad, please don't think she's weak.' Alison tried to smile rea.s.suringly, but she knew that 'dry' could only cover a few days at the very most, for she remembered smelling liquor on Dominique's breath in the Blue Ryder bathroom.

"So she started working drunk," she said slowly, "and it made her careless-maybe even mean?" She glanced at Beth who gave a small nod. "And clients left her. The night of the leather contest-did she come home drunk?"

"I don't know. I was asleep."

"Did...."

The front door flew open.

"Beth, I'm home!" cried Dominique. No, thought Alison, Denise. She'd never thought of her by anything but her working name, but it didn't fit into this tidy, comforting house. Her head was bent over a bundle in her arms. "Did you-" She looked up and stopped suddenly. Alison, who did not know whether a smile or a severe scowl was more likely to keep from getting the stuffing beaten out of her, braced herself for being yelled at. But, "Ah, honey," said the butch dom, exactly like Ricky Ricardo, "I told you I would take care of this!"

"But you weren't," said Beth firmly.

"We were talking about the murders," said Alison cautiously.

"No s.h.i.t! I thought you were over here selling Tupperware!"

"Denise," Beth warned as Dominique dropped down on the couch.

Alison decided that jumping in with quick questions was the best strategy. "The night of the contest. You said you were there. Was Tamara there? Did you see her?"

"Oh, yeah, she was there." The top of the bundle, now on Denise's lap, had come undone. A small black head popped out. The kitten did not attempt to struggle free, but lay listless as Denise stroked him. "Everybody saw her. She was in the contest. Came really close to winning, too. She was a beautiful woman and loved being the center of attention. She was great on stage, and funny. She could handle remarks from the audience." Now that Denise had decided to speak she was full of information. Alison tried to sort it quickly. How did this description of Tamara Garrity fit in with the one her neighbor had given of the woman who was so private? Really, it wasn't such a hard picture to put together. It was no different from Stacy, who was all flash and glitter at the bar but who worked at home in a ratty old T-shirt, or Liz the lawyer/soccer player.

"There were demonstrators there, the Crusaders. Did you see them?" Alison had long learned from Robert that bouncing from one topic to another was a good ploy, startling people from their predictable line. Sure enough, Denise blinked and snapped her mouth shut over already formed words.

"Yeah, they were there when I came in, and when I went out."

"Did you talk to them?"

"Not talk, really. Yelled at them when we came in. They've been around a whole lot lately-it seems everywhere I've been. One guy got all fired up and preached a little."

"Did you talk to Tamara?"

"No." She hesitated and then said, "Look, I'm sure Beth has told you about the problems I've been having. Tamara and I didn't exactly part on the best of terms. I was p.i.s.sed off. I called her at home once to have it out. I was very uncool." Which would explain why Tamara had given a false name to Stacy who couldn't track her if things went bad again. "Anyway, she avoided me like the plague. I saw her across the room. I was with friends, working a little on the side."

Lawrence had said that quick, sometimes semi-public tricks were Dominique's specialty. Alison bet that she'd done a hot trade that night, that is, with women who were wet from watching the show and couldn't wait.

"So you were in and out of the parking lot quite a bit?"

"Some," said Denise, glancing sideways at her. Alison thought of her using the bathroom at the Blue Ryder. She seemed to remember, from the one time she had been to the Rubyfruit, that the bathrooms were more private there, just one room which could be locked. That would be exciting, having Dominique in her leathers holding you with one hand against the door, thrusting up hard and deep, while on the other side someone shouted for you to hurry. The fantasy changed, becoming not Dominique and some faceless woman, but Alison herself and Stacy. Alison crossed her legs, glad she had been questioning randomly, for she could not for the life of her remember where she had stopped.

"Uh, the man who preached. Did you hear what he said?"

"The regular stuff. 'Get thee behind me Satan,' and 'G.o.d loves the sinner but hates the sin' and did 'we want to burn in h.e.l.l just for a little p.u.s.s.y'...."

"Denise!"

"Sorry, baby, just condensing. I think he really said 'pleasures of the flesh.'"

"But you never talked to Tamara that night?"

"No," Denise answered, far too quickly.

"Never went outside with her?"

"No!" She was almost shouting now.

"Honey," Beth began, but Denise interrupted.

"I said no. How many times do I have to say it?" The kitten in her lap mewed weakly, and she picked him up. "Look at this little guy," she said to Beth. "He's so afraid of the other cats that I had to bring him home just to give him a break."

"w.i.l.l.y's not going to like that," warned Beth.

"I know. I'll try to keep him upstairs." She was being deliberately distracting. Obviously she had not yet told everything, otherwise why all the fuss about admitting that she was drunk and on bad terms with Tamara?

"Was Tamara there when you left?"

For the first time Denise hesitated. "Yeah, I think so. Yeah."

"When was that?"

"Well, I don't really know. It was late."

"Like how late? Was it closing? Was it before midnight?"

"I just said I didn't know! What, do you think that if you ask it again I'm going to remember all of a sudden?"

"Were the Crusaders still there when you left?"

"I didn't notice." She was sullen again.

So you were drunk, thought Alison, and the end of the evening isn't quite so clear as the beginning.

The kitten had gotten up the courage to do some tentative exploring. Cautiously, he climbed down onto the floor and sniffed Alison's foot.

There was a rustling sound. "Oh, no," said Denise. "It's Wild w.i.l.l.y." She grabbed for the kitten and missed. There was a terrible snarl followed by an earsplitting wail. The kitten shot under the couch. A huge grey cat, his ears flattened to his head, was advancing towards them, pulling himself by his front feet. His paralyzed back legs dragged behind him. He gave Beth a look that, more clearly than words, asked what she had been thinking of to allow a vile intruder into his house.

"Oh, w.i.l.l.y," Beth said, picking him up and cradling him against her chest, "you know that I'm always going to love you best. You're always going to be my boy." She scratched him under the chin and his threatening expression changed to one of pure, silly, kitty bliss.

"Put him in the kitchen," suggested Denise, down on her knees in front of the couch. Beth walked out murmuring kitty endearments. A moment later the sound of an electric can opener was heard.

"How did you get home from the bar?" Alison asked Denise.

"A friend dropped me off."

"And how did you get to the bar?"

Dominique laughed humorlessly. "Boy, you just don't miss a trick, do you? I drove my van. I had to go back and get it the next day. There, there, baby." Dominique had stroked the trembling kitten and was cradling him gently.

"I don't know if this is going to work." Beth returned from the kitchen without w.i.l.l.y. She looked anxiously at the kitten, who had hidden his head beneath Denise's arm.

"He's so afraid," said Denise. "He really needs to be in a one cat home where he'll get lots of attention." There was a moment of silence, and then, as one, both women turned towards Alison with smiles on their faces.

"I have a cat," she said, holding up her hands. "He is vile tempered and jealous. He would eat this one right up."

"But didn't you say you were looking for a friend?" pressed Denise. "That was just...." Alison hated to say 'a ploy'-it sounded so sneaky. The kitten moved a forepaw feebly and she looked at him closely for the first time. He was all black, except for one tiny, tiny spot of white just to the side of his mouth. His eyes were round and blue. He looked absolutely exhausted and forlorn.

"I have a cat," she said again, and then she remembered the black cats that had stalked across Stacy's mugs and the half-empty bag of cat food beneath her sink.

"Well," she said, and Denise, who had doubtlessly done this type of thing many times before, took swift advantage. Without knowing quite how it happened Alison found herself holding the kitten in her arms. Tentatively she stroked the little forehead with one finger and was rewarded with a tiny purr. She looked up at Beth and Denise and they smiled sure, satisfied smiles. Alison sighed, knowing that she had been beaten.

Eight.

"Oh, hi!" Stacy seemed happy to see her, but anxious as well. "You can only come in for a second. I've got someone coming soon." She was holding a Swiss army knife with the scissors extended. As she let Alison in, she clipped a cuticle and then put the knife away in the pocket of her blouse. Stacy was partially dressed for work, wearing the black skirt Alison had seen her in that first night, the night she had flashed back to so many times in her fantasies. This time her top was black, too, a funky denim blouse that fit tight at the waist and wrists, and was ornamented with silver zippers and studs. The top three snaps were undone and she appeared to be wearing nothing underneath.

"That's okay. I should have called first. I just wanted to bring you a present." Alison licked her lips, not entirely because she was nervous about the cat reception.

"Oh, I love presents!" Stacy squealed like a little girl. "Come in while I finish getting dressed." Alison followed her into the living room and sat with die swaddled kitten on her lap. Two black stockings and a pair of black spike heels were lying on the couch. Alison felt herself flush, but kept a carefully blank expression on her face as if she were just watching Mich.e.l.le change out of her sweats. Stacy carefully rolled one of the sheer stockings and pulled it over her foot, her ankle, her thigh. Her skirt was too tailored to reach beneath. She had to push it up, bunch it around her waist, to reach for her garter. Black garters, attached to a black and red lace belt spanned Stacy's waist above black satin panties that were cut almost as high as a g-string. It was all Alison could do to keep her mouth still. She could not keep from staring. And she wasn't meant to. Stacy was teasing her, putting on a show for her, suggesting that she was just as wet beneath her satin panties as Alison was beneath her jeans. Every move right down to the way she strapped on her shoes was beautifully planned. Captivated, Alison sat to watch the other woman dress.

Stacy picked up a pair of earrings and sat down next to Alison. She handed them to her. They were heavy.

"Put these in for me," she said, looking into Alison's eyes, and Alison obeyed without thinking that the request was ridiculous. She brushed back the curls that cl.u.s.tered around Stacy's ears, trailing her fingers over her neck and even down her shoulders. Stacy turned her head for the second earring, sitting sideways, but Alison did not comply. Instead she reached across to clasp Stacy's arm above the elbow, and then to slowly run her hand up to her shoulder. She pushed away the open shirt and touched flesh. She pulled her towards her, one hand on the shoulder, the other on her jaw. As she brought Stacy's face close and began to brush her mouth with her lips she thought again of the fantasy she'd had at Dominique's, the thrill of the quick, illicit encounter. Only this time she imagined that it was she in control, that her thrusts were making Stacy moan aloud, were making Stacy's earring jingle as her head was pushed. She wanted to tease Stacy the way she had been teased, to run her hands and lips over her body with a thousand promises until she was begging for more, and then to push her away with a smile, saying I have to go now, didn't you say you had a client coming? And then she would go home and lie in bed with her hand between her legs, imagining Stacy with a soft whip, crooning, 'Tell me what you like,' and all the time wet and swollen herself, wanting.

The kitten that Alison had all but forgotten gave a small mew and Stacy jumped as if she had been shot. She leapt to the other end of the couch.

"What the f.u.c.k was that?"

Before Alison could answer the kitten struggled out of the blanket. He gave another teeny mew and took one step towards Stacy.

"Urn, I said I had a present for you." Alison was anxious. Maybe she had overstepped. Perhaps the toys and cat food were being kept as a kind of shrine or were a sign of a wound not yet healed.

"My cat was black," whispered Stacy. "Did you know that?" Alison shook her head, though it had not been hard to guess. "He got cancer. I had him for eight years, ever since he was a tiny baby, littler than this one. I had to feed him with a bottle." Tears were running down her face, dripping off her chin and making dark spots on her shirt. Alison sat still, unsure of how to comfort her.

The kitten was watching Stacy with concern. He took a few steps forward and then retreated to Alison who was at least a known. Two steps forward, and this time he completed the length of the couch, going up onto Stacy's lap. He put his paws onto her chest, and then climbed high enough so that he could first sniff and then lick her face.

Stacy put one hand over him, just holding, not petting. She gave a watery smile, wiped her nose on the back of her expensive sleeve, and then looked horrified when she realized what she had done. Alison opened her mouth to speak, but was cut short by the doorbell.

"Oh, s.h.i.t!" Stacy stood, placing the kitten gently on the couch. "Come on, I'll have to let you out the back way, gotta be cool about privacy." She grabbed Alison's hand and pulled her up. "Just a minute," she called.

"Wait, wait!" Alison spoke in a whisper, but dug her heels in. "I want to ask you something first."

"There isn't time for this, Alison!"

"It's quick, it's quick!" Stacy was hustling her through the string of rooms. "It's just something I want to know about Tamara Garrity."

"I'm not going to tell you anything else about her. It's confidential!" Stacy unbolted the door of the playroom.

"It's not that, it's just an opinion, a guess about what you think she would do in a certain situation." Alison was trying to eyeball as much of the room as she could without actually doing a 360. It was warmer than the rest of the house and lit by candles so that it was hard to take in details quickly.

"I have somebody waiting!"

"Let her wait. You're topping the scene." I know you have somebody waiting, Alison thought. That's why I'm asking, because right now you would tell me anything to get me out of here.

"All right, all right, but hurry." Stacy had not let go of Alison's arm and she was very aware of the firm way she held it. "What is it?"

"What kind of person was Tamara?" Alison asked. "She broke off with Dominique because she was drinking on the job." Stacy raised her eyebrows but said nothing. "After that, do you think that it would have been likely that she would have changed her mind and hired Dominique for a quick job at the bar the night of the contest?"

Stacy furrowed her brow. "Laura-Tamara-liked to be center of attention," she said slowly, echoing Dominique without knowing it. "She told me once that she even liked going to the dentist, and getting her hair cut because of that. And she liked things a certain way. She liked certain things done and said at just the right time. One-night stands frustrated her. She didn't get off unless she was with someone who knew just exactly what to do. And she liked s.e.x with a scene. She had basically told me from day one that I was just a fill-in until she found someone who would f.u.c.k her, too. She was really excited by being in the contest, I could see that, and she wasn't there with anyone. Yeah, maybe if she'd wanted a quickie that night she would have gone to Dominique in spite of their history."

"Even if Dominique was drunk?"

"You haven't seen Dominique drunk. She's not a fall-down-and-puker. She holds a lot of liquor, and sometimes you can't even tell. And a car f.u.c.k's not like a private cutting scene-people all around if anything went wrong. Look, I really have to go now." She thrust Alison towards the door. It was set with a deadbolt, and there was no key in the lock.