Death Turns A Trick (Rebecca Schwartz #1) (A Rebecca Schwartz Mystery) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

about propositions.
    I looked around for Parker, but I didn’t see him, and I didn’t like the way a big blond guy was watching me, so I sat back down and started playing.
    I tend to forget everything else when I’m playing, so I was in a sort of trance for about the next forty-five minutes, but it wasn’t so deep that I didn’t observe two things: The FDOs knew how to have a good time, and my clients were perfect ladies.
    Some of the guests were excellent dancers and a good many of them had hollow legs, if the number of empty glasses was any indication.
    As for the hostesses, they were equally gracious to guests of both sexes, and they did not behave in a bawdy or provocative way—which is more than I can say for a good number of the guests. Of both sexes.
    When I stopped playing again, I made another stab at trying to find Parker. I didn’t find him, but for some reason it didn’t bother me. I don’t think it even entered my head that he’d leave the party without telling me why. I just assumed we were somehow missing each other.
    There was champagne at the bar, and I poured myself some. “Cheers,” said a male voice, and a glass clinked against mine. “You been in this business long?”
    The voice belonged to a tall, broad man, probably in his late thirties but not very well preserved, the same man I’d seen watching me earlier. He had sandy hair and a face that missed being handsome because it was overly florid and a little on the mean side.
    I saw no reason to go all fluttery and say I knew he wouldn’t believe it, but actually I was a Montgomery Street lawyer helping out a friend. So I lied. “Not very,” I said.
    “I thought not. How'd you happen to get into this line of work?”
    I told Elena’s story about the woman professor who’d taught her everything she knew.
    The man laughed and offered his hand. “My name’s Frank. What’s yours?”
    “Rebecca.”
    “May I call you Becky?”
    “AbsoLUTEly not. Never. Not if you paid me a thousand dollars.”
    He leaned over and whispered, “How much would it take?”
    “To get me to—oh. You mean to…”
    He nodded.
    I laughed, trying to recover my equilibrium. “The going rate’s a hundred dollars,” I said, as if I were used to saying it. “But this isn’t that kind of party.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean it’s just a party. Music, dancing, champagne. That’s it. Didn’t you bring a date?”
    “No.”
    “Too bad. Some other time then.” I picked up my glass and sauntered back to the piano, perhaps swinging my hips the least bit more than strictly necessary.
    It was getting late, and I thought something moderately quiet might be nice. I played “Sentimental Journey,” then “Cry Me a River.” But somehow a romantic mood didn’t fall like a mantle over the party, so I gave in and tried some livelier tunes. It was the right thing to do; those FDOs were in a mood to boogie.
    Since Elena had told me the place was soundproofed, I packed up my inhibitions and played “Rock Around the Clock.” That was such a hit, I let loose with a spate of oldies-but-goodies that had every foot in the house tapping and most of them dancing. I was giving them a rest with “Blueberry Hill,” when I saw Parker come in the door. He looked strained and a bit unsteady. I was afraid he was ill.
    The foyer was crowded with dancing couples, among them a rotund FDO and Kandi, entwined drunken-sailor-style. Kandi had her head on the fat chap’s shoulder, and her eyes may have been closed. I don’t know if she saw Parker or not.
    Parker sunk a hand into the folds of Fatty’s neck and came up with Kandi’s wrist. She looked up, and he said something to her, but I couldn’t hear what it was. I heard her, though. She said, “Parker. What are you doing here?” She disentangled herself from Fatty as if he were a stuffed animal she was bored with, and led Parker out of my line of vision.
    I heard both their voices, angry and getting angrier. I couldn’t distinguish the words, but I imagined the dancers could, so I stopped in the middle of “Blueberry Hill” and again swung into “Rock Around the Clock,” which is the loudest song I know.
    And that’s when those fun-loving FDOs staged their adorable phony raid. You know what happened after that—I rescued one of California’s most prestigious perverts and wound up in the slammer.

Chapter Seven
     
    Elena turned up to get me out just before 2 a.m., proved she was actually Elena