Part 10 - Goldi: Survival Instinct

I stared at the front door of Smiley’s from a stoop across the street, curled up on the top step and gnawing on one fingernail. I just wasn’t quite sure I could go back in there, knowing it was the last place I saw Red, knowing that her body — the one I had worshiped with the wholesome love of a child, that I had traced with my fingertips, held in my palms, made shiver and blossom and swoon — was outlined in chalk in a circle of yellow police tape behind the shady strip bar.

The thought of her lifeless, bloodless, helpless body in that alley made my stomach turn, and when I remembered that I was the one who had killed her I turned and vomited.

“You reek,” Aurora Killjoy — otherwise known as Sleeping Beauty — wrinkled her perfect little nose at me when I leaned against the bar. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

I met her eye and said, “What do you think is wrong with me, you idiot? My fucking girlfriend just died and that asshole Smiley expects me to just shake it off and come back into work. I spent half the damn night in the clink, talking to who are perhaps the two dumbest cops ever to prick themselves with a badge.” I waved for the bartender, Peter, who gave me the stink eye as he dropped a shot in front of me. “And you ask me what’s wrong. Bitch.”

Aurora lifted one shoulder, unmoved. “Well, you better straighten up — Smiley said he wants you in his office pronto.” She gave me the once-over, her eyes as probing as any fingers. I always have considered her a closeted dyke. “Get ready to shake that ass, sister.”

I pushed away from the bar, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Glancing up, I could see Smiley pacing behind the frosted windows of his second-floor office.

“You wanted to see me?”

Smiley turned, and the look on his face stopped me just inside the door. We stared at each other for a long, crackling moment before he swiped at his red nose with his beefy paw and motioned for me to sit down. I did, carefully, skirting the broken glass on the floor but never taking my eyes off him. He was a lascivious fatass, but I had no idea if he was actually dangerous.

“First of all, I want to say I’m sorry about your loss,” Smiley said, pouring a few fingers of that cheap shit he drinks into a miniature pilsner. He regarded it before tossing half of it back, coughed and pounded his chest with a fist. “Fucking shame about Red. She was my best dancer.”

I blinked. “She was my girlfriend, you self-centered asshole.”

He waved a hand. “Girlfriends come and go, but good dancers,” he grinned at me, “they just come to Smiley’s.”

I rolled my eyes. Hard-hearted pervert. “What is it that you want?” I caught a glimpse of several patches of red on his throat, leaned closer. “Hey, what happened to your neck? Your last trick get a little too rough for you?”

Smiley’s hand went to his throat, his red pinkie ring flashing.

I laughed. “What’s your safe word? Wonderland?” I covered my mouth with my hand. “No — Red Queen!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Smiley — who was not at all smiling at the moment — roared, slamming his fists down on his desk. His face bloomed purple. “I got a little visit from your girlfriend’s boyfriend earlier, you stupid cunt.”

That shut me up, and I felt myself go still and cold. “Wolfe?”

His eyes, bulging in anger and humiliation, cut at me as he poured himself another drink. “Yeah, Wolfe. He was more than a little upset, let’s put it that way. The fucker nearly… well, he seems to think Red was into something she shouldn’t have been before she died.”

I sat back — if he suspected me, would Smiley come right out and say it? I know Wolfe would. And most likely will. I was not looking forward to seeing him. I bit at my nail again, said, “We’re all into things we shouldn’t be, Smiley — we’re goddamned performers.”

Smiley sat back; I’d amused him. He templed his fingers and pressed the tips to his wide, now grinning, mouth. “And now you’re gonna perform.”

I swallowed and felt bile churning in my stomach, daring to rise again. “No,” I whispered. It was everything I’d wanted, and yet, no. I couldn’t. Not now. Not like this.

His smile, dripping with whisky, widened, thinned. “Yes,” he countered. He stood and walked around the desk, stopped in front of me. I’m convinced he had customized chairs made so that anyone sitting in them would be on crotch-level to him. He continued talking as I leaned back, disgusted by the flickering mound behind his zipper. “I think that’s exactly what you’ll do, Goldi. You came here with your bullshit ‘I’m a singer, a crooner, a golden voice. You need me on that stage.’ Remember? Well, I just lost my prize act, and you’re my new golden goose. You’ll sing, starting tonight.”

Smiley leaned down, his face close to mine. I turned away, fighting to keep from gagging.

“You’ll don that pretty gold dress you showed up here in that night, you’ll put those black patent leather heels on, and you’ll sing sweet lullabies to those stiffs until they’re eating out of your hand.” Spit flecked on my cheek, and his breath stank of cheap whisky and fish. One of his hands pawed absently at his crotch. “You’ll sing for your supper from now on, Golden Voice.”

“Or?”

I closed my eyes as he whispered into my ear, his tongue flicking around the edges. “Or I have other uses for you and that pretty mouth,” he said, and he grabbed my hand and pushed it against his crotch.

The crowd buzzed behind the curtain. Smiley had one of his mountainous bouncers, affectionately nicknamed Doormouse, hurriedly change the marquee outside to read:

TONIGHT!!! DON’T MISS THE ONSTAGE PREMIER OF GOLDI LOCKS! THE GOLDEN VOICE WITH THE GOLDEN GAMS!

“You ready for this?” Snow White asked, scratching at an invisible bug on her upper arm. “I bet there’s a lot of people out there been waiting on this night for a long time. I know I have.” She smiled, suddenly trying to be a friend where she was just a bitch before.

We peeked through the curtains together, and I saw two things that made my heart skitter to a stop: the place was packed, and Wolfe stood tall and brooding in the back, by the bar.

“Gentlemen and ladies,” Smiley’s voice boomed over the speaker system, a slow grinding of house music behind his suddenly silky tone. “This is the night you’ve been waiting for, the night too long in coming, the night we finally see our lovely lost Goldi make her way to the stage for your entertainment.”

“Aw, fuck,” I moaned, pressing my face into the curtain. My stomach jumped, the butterflies turned to gnats.

“Ew,” Snow said, pulling me back, “don’t. Gross.”

The crowd noise swelled like a teenage boy’s midnight hard-on. I was shaking so hard, I could see the ends of my coiled gold curls trembling. Someone hollered out something, and the music started, a smooth Ella Fitzgerald number I’d heard a million times. A number I’d sung to myself since the day I’m come here.

I could picture the rainbow in the sky, the land far, far away that I’d wanted to visit as a child. Anywhere but here and now. Anything but having taken my lover’s life and her place centerstage.

“Come on out, Goldi,” Smiley purred, and I could hear the malicious smile in his voice. “Show us those gams. Let’s hear that golden voice.”

The audience roared, and Snow shoved me onstage, between the curtains. Men all over the building clamored to their feet, cheering, and I blinked, swaying unsteadily in the harsh glare of stage light, the microphone shining like solid gold, reflecting a thousand hungry eyes.

“Sing it, Locks!” some idiot yelled, and I did.

The next thing I knew, I was clutching my stomach backstage, feeling dizzy, blinking back the stars that lingered in my vision, the thunder behind me shaking me to the core. Snow was still wrapped around me, tucking loose dollar bills inside her battered wicker basket. The moment my voice fell away, money had rained from the skies, and all I could do was stand there and watch it pour.

“Goldi. They loved you!” I could hear her voice trailing after me, then her footsteps. She caught me in the hallway, grabbing my wrist and spinning me around. How she had that kind of strength I didn’t know, but maybe it from having seven little brothers, who she wouldn’t normally shut the fuck up about. “Goldi, wait. Wolfe is out there, and he wants to talk to you.”

I gaped at her. “Who are you — his errand girl?” I snarled, snatching my hand away.

“She’s no one,” Smiley said from behind me. “But I am. Paying customer. Go talk to him.”

I turned around, all too aware of his stare, how his eyes devoured me then and there in the dank hallway. “Smiley, I can’t -” I stammered. I can’t see him. I can’t talk to him. I can’t be close to him. He’ll know.

“I can do whatever I want. See the sign outside? It says Smiley’s, and I’m Smiley.” Ear to ear he grinned, and I was so horrified and confused that it seemed as if his head were floating above his body, his face nothing but the wide, bright grin of a lunatic.

Without taking his eyes off me, he added, “Snow, get her money tucked away and get her out there to see her adoring fans.” Snow mumbled something and was gone in an instant, but Smiley leaned forward and, pushing my hair away from my shoulder before I realized it, he laid his gnarled paw on my right breast. “I own you and your pretty voice. Now get out there and give them some good face. Unless you want to spend the rest of the night under my desk.”

Wolfe sat at a table in the very back, by the bar, almost invisible. His profile as I approached sharply resembled his namesake, and my breath caught in my throat when he turned suddenly and smiled.

What big teeth you have.

“Well done, Goldi,” he said, clapping slowly as I hovered beside him. “Not bad for your first show. Red always said you were something special.”

“Thank you,” I managed, a glimmer of her smile flitting across my mind. Her tears. Her quiet sobbing. What did he know? Had he seen me in the alley? Had he watched as I ran away, leaving her there lifeless and cold? “She never said anything to me.” Another lie.

Wolfe leaned forward, flicked the ashes from his cigarette. He inhaled sharply, appreciatively. “I see what Red saw in you now,” he murmured. His eyes went soft, and he looked away. “Let’s go to a private room, shall we? Somewhere we can talk.”

His speech, usually rather crisp even when I knew he was blasted, slurred in a way that made my throat close. Was he on something besides just booze? His girlfriend — or so he considered her — had just been brutally murdered behind this very bar, he was a cop on suspension for god knows what, and yet here he was, back in this dive I had strived so hard to make decent, make fun, and all it got me was a dead lesbian lover and bare-assed on stage. Going into a private room — with a door that closed but could not be locked — with this man was about as appealing as going in there with an actual wild animal, and at least a real wolf couldn’t humiliate me before he ripped my heart out with his teeth.

And a real wolf couldn’t put me in jail for killing the love of his life.

I followed him, trailing slowly behind, trying to catch Peter’s eye. The bushy-tailed bartender who knew how to set up a drink for me, but he was knee deep in trolls and their beer. Snow was on stage now and Aurora was grinding on the lap of some old geezer, her eyes suspiciously blank. I had no choice but to follow Wolfe into the lavender-tinged room and stand shaking while he closed the door. I took the moment to study myself in the mirrors that lined the round room: I was pale, red-mouthed and stunning. And fuck you, all of you. I wasn’t giving up.

A bucket of ice sweated a circle in the center of the small table, a bottle of scotch and two glasses nearby. I didn’t think Wolfe needed any more to drink, but I wasn’t about to stop him. In his state, I could drink him under the table, which was probably where I was destined to end up. The image was so strong, so visceral and real, that I could feel his huge cock in my throat. I knew what he was packing: Red and I had shared everything.

Well, almost everything.

I dropped a few ice cubes in the glasses with shaking hands, splashed in some scotch and took a deep drink. The burn through my throat and chest was welcome, and I watched Wolfe watching me from the door.

That’s when I noticed something about the doorknob, but before I could look closer he took me by the arm and guided me to the purple couch. “Sit,” he said. I watched him pour more scotch into his glass, drink deeply.

“How are you, or should I take that as an answer?” I asked, nodding at the empty glass.

He sat the glass down, eyes closed, a monolith of gray and brown in the middle of the Lavender Room. “How the fuck do you think I am?”

“Exactly! That’s what I’ve been -”

His eyes snapped open, and he was on me in a second, his hand locked around my throat. “Cut the shit, Goldi. I want to know what happened to Red, and I want to know now.”

So, he didn’t know. Or he did, and was just testing me. I didn’t struggle as he pulled me closer, breathing toxic fumes into my face, but I feel my glass in my hand, heavy crystal and empty of scotch. I wondered how much force it would take to break it against his skull. I wondered if I was capable of it.

But then again, I’d been capable of killing the one person I loved in all the world.

I’d deal with it; I’d learned how from Steve.

“What the fuck were you two into before she died?” Wolfe growled, too close, too far gone. I could barely make out what he was saying, but his grip was doing most of the talking. “I think you were in that alley last night. I think you know what happened, you lousy cunt fuck.”

I tried to swallow, to take a breath and even though he was hammered, he could blow my house down in an instant. But he was also a cop, and cops had a code, didn’t they? And instincts. Maybe he wouldn’t kill me, just scare me into singing for him. Red said he was good at making people talk, he knew when people lied. He had his hunches, and his hunch was leading him straight back to me. Glancing down, I also realized that despite being roaring drunk, he was still rock hard. I decided to change tactics.

“Now who, exactly,” I murmured, letting him in close and breathing into his ear while resting my hand on his stiff groin, “told you that I’m a lousy fuck?” I licked his ear, steeling myself to not recoil in disgust.

Despite himself, Wolfe ran a hand along my collarbone, liquor making him loose and languid in an instant. Fucking men, they’re all the same. He growled when I squeezed.

“I’m not done talking about this,” he muttered, but he let go of my throat and dropped onto the couch beside me.

I was up in an instant, standing over him, sliding the hem of the little dress up higher, higher still, until he could see my spun gold. They didn’t call me Goldi for nothing.

“My god,” Wolfe whispered, his eyes all over me.

“Why, Wolfe,” I said, walking slowly toward him, “what big eyes you have.”