thinking and not paying attention to little details like tucking in his shirt and making sure he got every errant hair when he was shaving.
“I don’t know, Paige.” I grabbed another donut and took a bite. Glazed donuts are heavenly. Why is it that everything really bad for you tastes so good?
`She sighed. “Come on, Chanse—this is Paige here. Remember me? And this is not for publication, okay? Just tell me. Paul’s my friend, too, remember?”
“Look, I’d never even heard of Mark Williams until yesterday.” I said. It hadn’t been 24 hours yet. Jesus H. Christ. “Yesterday morning Paul and I got up, went to the gym, and had breakfast at the Bluebird. Then he said he had some errands to run, and I had an appointment with a client in the Quarter.” I sighed. “The day really went to shit from there.”
“Yeah, well.” She tossed her head. “I think Paul’s day ended up a lot worse than yours. Go on.”
“Back off. “ I said evenly. “That’s not what I meant.” I lit another cigarette. It was like I’d never quit in the first place. I’d completely forgotten about the delightful little buzz. “So, I was hired yesterday by Dominique DuPre—you know her?”
“She’s that singer opening a club on Bourbon Street.” She sat back, crossed her legs and pulled her skirt down. “So what for?”
“Well, she hired me to find out who’s causing trouble for her.” I went on to explain, without a lot of details, what was going on at Domino’s. “And who’s coming out the front door of Attitude? Paul.”
“So, you didn’t know Paul knew Mark Williams till then?”
“I’d never fucking heard of him.” The righteous indignation from yesterday began to burn back through the fog. “So, Paul tells me this Williams guy wants him to pose for the magazine cover, and we had a bit of an argument.”
She stared at me. “About what?”
It was my turn to stare at her. “I didn’t want him to pose for the cover.”
She waved her hands. “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” She leaned forward. “You’re telling me you two argued about him posing for the cover?” When I nodded, she rolled her eyes, using her whole head and started laughing. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Chanse, that’s priceless.”
I don’t like being laughed at. “I don’t think it’s crazy not to want my boyfriend half naked on a magazine cover.” I said in a cold voice.
“I’m sorry.” She reached over and patted my hand. “I shouldn’t have laughed, but honey, it doesn’t matter. I mean, really.” She clicked her tongue. “Did you stop to wonder why Paul would want to do it?”
“He likes the attention.” I said. I realized my lower lip was jutting out.
“Oh, honey.” She shook her head. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe he needs the money?”
“He doesn’t need the money!” I said. If Paul needed money, I’d know. She was really in outer space this time.
“You—“ she paused, took a few deep breaths, then went on. “Chanse, do you remember what it was to be poor?”
“I’m not rich.” I wasn’t, by a long shot. What the hell was she talking about?
“When was the last time you had to worry about making your rent? How you were gonna buy groceries? Where your next pack of cigarettes was coming from?” She lit one and exhaled through her nose.
“Paul’s not broke, Paige. I’d know.”
“Do you know how much he makes?” She scratched her head.
“No, I don’t.” We never talked about money.
“Some detective you are.” She shook her head. “Look, honey, I’m sorry if this seems harsh, but you need to know some things. Paul only makes about ten dollars an hour. That works out to about $400 a week before taxes. So, every two weeks he brings home maybe about $600 or so. He took a huge pay cut to transfer to ground crew. He has to pay his rent, his utilities, his car payment, his insurance and buy food out of that. He’s broke, Chanse.”
“I—“ I stopped
“I don’t know, Paige.” I grabbed another donut and took a bite. Glazed donuts are heavenly. Why is it that everything really bad for you tastes so good?
`She sighed. “Come on, Chanse—this is Paige here. Remember me? And this is not for publication, okay? Just tell me. Paul’s my friend, too, remember?”
“Look, I’d never even heard of Mark Williams until yesterday.” I said. It hadn’t been 24 hours yet. Jesus H. Christ. “Yesterday morning Paul and I got up, went to the gym, and had breakfast at the Bluebird. Then he said he had some errands to run, and I had an appointment with a client in the Quarter.” I sighed. “The day really went to shit from there.”
“Yeah, well.” She tossed her head. “I think Paul’s day ended up a lot worse than yours. Go on.”
“Back off. “ I said evenly. “That’s not what I meant.” I lit another cigarette. It was like I’d never quit in the first place. I’d completely forgotten about the delightful little buzz. “So, I was hired yesterday by Dominique DuPre—you know her?”
“She’s that singer opening a club on Bourbon Street.” She sat back, crossed her legs and pulled her skirt down. “So what for?”
“Well, she hired me to find out who’s causing trouble for her.” I went on to explain, without a lot of details, what was going on at Domino’s. “And who’s coming out the front door of Attitude? Paul.”
“So, you didn’t know Paul knew Mark Williams till then?”
“I’d never fucking heard of him.” The righteous indignation from yesterday began to burn back through the fog. “So, Paul tells me this Williams guy wants him to pose for the magazine cover, and we had a bit of an argument.”
She stared at me. “About what?”
It was my turn to stare at her. “I didn’t want him to pose for the cover.”
She waved her hands. “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” She leaned forward. “You’re telling me you two argued about him posing for the cover?” When I nodded, she rolled her eyes, using her whole head and started laughing. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Chanse, that’s priceless.”
I don’t like being laughed at. “I don’t think it’s crazy not to want my boyfriend half naked on a magazine cover.” I said in a cold voice.
“I’m sorry.” She reached over and patted my hand. “I shouldn’t have laughed, but honey, it doesn’t matter. I mean, really.” She clicked her tongue. “Did you stop to wonder why Paul would want to do it?”
“He likes the attention.” I said. I realized my lower lip was jutting out.
“Oh, honey.” She shook her head. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe he needs the money?”
“He doesn’t need the money!” I said. If Paul needed money, I’d know. She was really in outer space this time.
“You—“ she paused, took a few deep breaths, then went on. “Chanse, do you remember what it was to be poor?”
“I’m not rich.” I wasn’t, by a long shot. What the hell was she talking about?
“When was the last time you had to worry about making your rent? How you were gonna buy groceries? Where your next pack of cigarettes was coming from?” She lit one and exhaled through her nose.
“Paul’s not broke, Paige. I’d know.”
“Do you know how much he makes?” She scratched her head.
“No, I don’t.” We never talked about money.
“Some detective you are.” She shook her head. “Look, honey, I’m sorry if this seems harsh, but you need to know some things. Paul only makes about ten dollars an hour. That works out to about $400 a week before taxes. So, every two weeks he brings home maybe about $600 or so. He took a huge pay cut to transfer to ground crew. He has to pay his rent, his utilities, his car payment, his insurance and buy food out of that. He’s broke, Chanse.”
“I—“ I stopped
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