House of Blues

of gold.
    Quickly, she wrenched herself out of it. She thought
about her father, how he took her to the restaurant and showed her
things; how he called her his "little smart girl."
    She had made him a cake when she was six.
    When she was a teenager she was already working at
the restaurant, already planning to go to Cornell to learn how to run
it. The thought of him—his smile when she did something right, his
big, heavy features, the way he spoke so softly when her mother
yelled at her—all that was so sad now.
    She had nearly forgotten him in her fear for Sally.
    Was he dead? Could he really be dead?
    She hadn't seen, she had left too soon, but the
answer weighed heavy inside her.
    Yes, he was dead. Her dad was gone.
    She cried for him now, and for her daughter, but
furtively, feeling guilty and inept; worried that the Dragon would
catch her.
 
 
    9
    Maya's house was actually an apartment not far from
the bar, a large apartment with high ceilings and big rooms. Skip
could see only the first two, which had once been double parlors and
now seemed to serve much the same purpose. The furniture was minimal
but effective. An ancient sofa had been draped with some sort of
covering to make it presentable, yet a table with a wonderful antique
lamp stood next to it.
    It was dark, what light there was coming partly from
candles, partly from very dim bulbs. All the lamps were of lacy
metalwork like the ironwork on the city's balconies.
    There was a table in the second room, which might
sometimes have been used as a dining room—though Skip doubted
it—and there were a few chairs in both rooms. The drama came from
the lamps and from the walls, which were decorative by virtue of
exuberantly peeling paint. A few darkish paintings hung, probably
found in thrift shops.
    The peeling paint may have been left that way on
purpose, and the dim light, the dark paintings, were certainly for
effect. But if the idea was to create a storybook den of iniquity,
there were two even better effects—a slight scent of mildew under a
few layers of incense, and a thick coat of dust over every surface,
including the floor.
    On the mantel was an altar of sorts. There were
flowers and a few leaves, and a couple of framed photos, one of
Marilyn Monroe, another of Tom Cruise, the logic of which was lost on
Skip. There were also Mardi Gras beads, a ceramic figure Skip
couldn't identify, and five or six of the colored candles poured into
glass and marked for success, riches, or various saints that can be
found in occult stores.
    What Maya was into wasn't instantly clear, other than
drama, drugs, and, very likely, some informal version of
prostitution. The phrase "coke whore" came to mind.
    There were a lot of people in the two rooms, ten or
twelve at first glance; which one was Maya, Skip couldn't tell. What
she could see was that this was a very hip scene, and biracial, which
probably indicated musicians hung here. That and a couple of
instrument cases. There was a good sound system, too, currently
playing music with a lot of fairly subtle percussion.
    The women were all young, thin—maybe a little too
thin—and wearing something figure-flaunting. From what Skip could
see in the dim light, they were fairly attractive, as Toni was, and
had a kind of hungry look about them, as if they were looking for
something but not quite sure what.
    The men were less attractive. But how they fit into
the world was a little unclear. They weren't young professionals.
Some were probably the suspected musicians—the black ones, maybe.
Others could have been waiters or bartenders or hairdressers, or
srnall-time hustlers and thugs, or people who had smallish jobs for
performers or clubs. A lot of them had a hanger-on kind of feel to
them; an uneasy posturing.
    Like the women, they seemed hungry, on the make; Skip
wasn't sure for what, and she wasn't sure they knew.
    For the most part, they were older than the women.
Some were overweight, some muscular, some had a tough, streetwise
look that Skip wasn't crazy about. One of them, Skip was willing to
bet, paid for Maya's apartment.
    A group was sitting in the living room, mostly on the
floor around a coffee table. One of the women wore an unbuttoned
blouse, revealing her bra. A couple of loners sat in corners,
probably too loaded to socialize.
    A few people stood around the table in the dining
room, as if there was food there. One couple were leaning against a
wall, going at it fairly heavily.
    Toni said, "Damn. He's