“YOUR MOTHER?” Paxton Dane shouted to be heard above the wind.
“Contrary to popular opinion, I was not hatched from an egg,” I said.
“Did you spring fully formed from The Big Boss’s head, like Athena from the head of Zeus?”
“No, although I like that analogy. Unfortunately, I do indeed have a mother.” Driving a bit too fast, I darted in and out of traffic on the 15. I noticed Dane’s white-knuckled grip on the armrest, but I didn’t slow down.
“Miracles never cease,” Dane remarked. “But I wasn’t really commenting on whether you have a mother or not, but on the fact that you buy porno movies for her. Most people I know spend half their lives hiding smut from their mothers, not buying it for them.”
“My mother is unique.” And a good thing, too—the world would never survive more than one Mona.
I slowed, but not much, took the off-ramp for the Blue Diamond highway, then hung a right, heading west out of town.
The Blue Diamond highway is another Las Vegas exaggeration. A four-lane with traffic signals every few hundred yards, at the edge of town it shrinks into a two-lane blacktop that bears little resemblance to a highway and has nothing to do with blue diamonds. Stretching across the Mojave Desert, it snakes through the Spring Mountains (another bit of wishful thinking) before dropping into the desert again.
We said nothing as we inched through traffic and around seemingly endless road construction. The heat of the beating sun radiated off every surface, smothering, suffocating, and turning the convertible into an oven of stagnant, superheated air almost impossible to breathe. Thirst, a mere discomfort anywhere else, triggered a survival instinct impossible to ignore in the desert. I pulled the two bottles of water out of my bag, handing one of them to Dane. We both drank deeply.
Finally, we reached the edge of town. The transition from city to abject desert startled me each time I ventured out of civilization. Without water, the desert quickly reclaimed all that man abandoned, and the land reverted to uncovered sand, dotted with patches of low grasses and prickly cacti. Everything about the desert was inhospitable, if not downright dangerous, including some of the flora and most of the fauna—a lesson I learned at an early age when I decided to run away from home.
Most of the traffic had filtered away when the highway narrowed, and I found myself faced with an open stretch of blacktop. A slight pressure on the accelerator and, like a horse ready to run, the car surged forward. The speed climbed. The dry desert air raced past, bringing tears to my eyes.
The fast car was my sin, Mother, my penance.
“You going to tell me where we’re going?”
I glanced at Dane. He still gripped the armrest, but his knuckles weren’t as white as before.
At first blush, I’d pegged him as a fast-car, fast-woman kind of guy. The look in his eye told me I was right about the fast-car part. “Pahrump. It’s a small town just across the county line. Mother is expecting us for lunch.”
“I hope she’s not going to make us watch videos.”
“First lunch, then a movie? You never know with Mother. She does like to shake things up.”
“The apple didn’t fall far from the tree then,” Dane said through clenched teeth as we reached the mountains and I threw the car into the curves.
Too soon, we dropped down to the desert floor again and, thinking of the looming meeting with my mother, I eased up on the throttle.
“Tell me about this mother of yours.”
“She can’t be described. She has to be experienced.”
Dane released his grip on the handles, then, like a kid, stretched his arms up into the flow of air. “Okay, she likes porn, and she defies description. Does she work?”
“She’s owns a business called Mona’s Place.”
His head whipped around, his eyes big as saucers. “You’re shittin’ me. The Mona’s Place?”
“Guess you’ve heard of it.” I refused to ask him if he’d been there—I didn’t want to know.
“Heard of it, who hasn’t? It’s the best whorehouse in Nevada.” Incredulousness crept into his voice as the light dawned. “Your mother is Mona? I’ll be damned.”
“You and me both.” I eased off the accelerator as we approached the outskirts of Pahrump. “And, if you value your manhood, I wouldn’t refer to her place as a whorehouse.”
Dane made a rude noise. “What does she prefer? Bordello? Pleasure Palace? Fuck for a Fee? The Bang Barn?”
My fingers worked the paddle shifters, dropping the car through the gears until I hit second, holding the twenty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit. “You know, you’ve got a real bad case of foot-in-mouth disease.”
“Sorry, it’s a gift,” Dane said, not looking the least bit sorry.
“That’s not exactly what I would call it. She is my mother—remember that. And bordello will do.”
“While I extract my foot from my mouth, why don’t you tell me a bit about Mona?”
“She’s a businesswoman running a legitimate, legal business and she expects to be treated as such.”
“You make running a bordello sound like owning a Jiffy Lube.”
“It’s closer than you think. The bordellos pay licensing fees and purchase business permits. The girls all must be registered with the sheriff’s office, and they too buy business licenses. In fact, the survival of many of the rural counties in Nevada depends on revenue from the bordellos.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Dane squirming in his seat. An often uncomfortable topic, prostitution polarized everyone.
“Mona’s Place is the most successful house in Nevada, and she’s proud of that,” I said.
“If you believe the papers, the bordellos are all jails where the girls are trapped and forced to do things they don’t want to do.”
“I’ve never seen one like that, and Mother would rather walk stark naked down the Strip than have people thinking that’s the kind of place she runs. In fact, she believes she’s running a halfway house for hookers. She takes in girls off the streets, cleans them up, and gives them a safe place to live and work. In addition, she makes them go to school, so those who want out can get out and not end up back on the streets.”
“They have a school for hookers?”
I shot him a warning look.
He held up his hands. “Sorry.”
“The girls who are in school work at night to pay for their room and board. Believe it or not, most of them earn their GEDs, then enroll in either a trade school or job program. Some have even made it through college.”
“A madam who helps her ladies get out of the trade—that’s an interesting business model.”
“She keeps the ones who want to stay, and she feels good about the ones who leave.”
“And it works?”
“More or less.” Lyda Sue had me feeling a little less confident about Mother’s exit strategy.
“A halfway house for hookers?” Dane shook his head. “Is everyone in this town one bead out of true?”
“Just a bunch of square pegs. Mother’s latest project is to become classified as a charity. Income taxes really cut into her bottom line.”
“I can’t tell if you’re feeding me a line or not.”
“Ask her yourself. She got this whole charity idea after reading a story about a guy who personally ‘donated’ his sperm to interested females. Apparently, the guy felt his services were of a charitable nature—I guess he screwed only women who couldn’t get it anywhere else; I don’t know. Anyway, I have no idea how all of that turned out, but it got Mother started, and once she gets the bit in her teeth, she can’t be stopped.”
Dane stared at me. “Do you ever feel like you’ve been transported to a parallel universe?”
“All the time.”
Pahrump had been a small town when I lived here. Now, fueled by the recent double-digit annual price escalation in Vegas, houses were sprouting like weeds on the outskirts of town and extending across the desert. Like a new Detroit, Vegas real estate had out priced its workforce. Pahrump, and a few other outlying towns, gratefully absorbed the overflow. The town had certainly changed, with new schools, a championship golf course, brand-name fast-food joints—the streets had even been paved. The locals were all atwitter over the arrival of a Walmart Supercenter. A long time coming, civilization had found my hometown, and I’m not sure that was a good thing.
Despite all of the changes, Mona’s Place was still hard to miss. A rambling, three-story, bright purple Victorian, it sported hot pink trim, a wraparound porch, and a neon sign announcing the daily special. Today apparently was “two for one” day. I didn’t even want to know exactly what that referred to. I prayed Mother wouldn’t tell me and that Dane was smart enough not to ask.
As I pulled into the half-full parking lot, angled the Ferrari across three spaces and cut the engine, Mona burst through the bright yellow front door. Dressed in a tailored gray business suit that had “designer” written all over it, no blouse, a lacy black bra, and purple high heels—this season’s Ferragamos—she stopped at the edge of the porch and waved. Her long brown hair was tastefully pulled back, her makeup understated and impeccable. Huge square-cut diamonds twinkled at her earlobes and a single strand of peach-colored South Sea pearls ringed her neck and dropped strategically between her breasts. Not a trace of yesterday’s tears remained.
Next to her, I felt invisible.
Mona was only fifteen when I was conceived. It had taken her years to figure out how to be a mother, and by then I’d left. We had made our peace, but some of the old scars remained.
I waved back. I’d inherited her height, but not her figure; her brains, but not her discernment—especially when it came to men; her high cheekbones, but not her smoky gray eyes; her long legs, but not her tiny ass. I have never met my father, but if that ever happens, he has some explaining to do.
“That’s Mona?” Dane hissed.
“My mother, the poster child for plastic surgery. I hear she’s in a neck-and-neck race with a woman from Brazil to see who can have the most procedures before they die. The Brazilian had a head start, but Mother’s pulling abreast.”
Dane opened his door and levered himself out of the car, then leaned in so I was eye to eye with his emerald greens. God, he even smelled good. “You weren’t by chance the inspiration for the slogan ‘Sarcasm, just another service I provide’?”
“If not, I should have been.” I felt the heat rise in my cheeks under his penetrating stare.
“They say sarcasm is a defense mechanism.”
I stepped out of the car, grabbing the sack from Smokin’ Joe’s. “I prefer to think of it as the armor I wear. Makes me sound more well-adjusted.”
We both tossed our ball caps into the car. I fluffed my hair—Mother would not tolerate hat hair, and I didn’t want to hear about it.
He took my arm, leading me across the parking lot toward the porch steps. “Or it’s the wall you hide behind.”
So, he was smarter than he looked. Men are pigs; smart men are dangerous pigs. Perhaps The Big Boss knew more than I did. However, I let Dane hold my arm. It felt good.
“Lucky! Sweetheart! Miss Patterson told me you were bringing a guest, but she neglected to mention he was such a dish.” Mother gave me a squeeze, one that lasted just a fraction longer than necessary.
I squeezed her back. “Mother, this is Paxton Dane. He works in Security at the hotel.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she leveled her gaze on him, then she shook his hand.
Mother could size up a man in a millisecond. If she could bottle that, we’d all be rich. “Mr. Dane.”
Dane nodded in return.
I handed Mother the sack. I knew better than to come to Mother’s house empty-handed. Today I brought her two treats—new porn and a handsome man. Maybe I’d get extra daughter-of-the-year points, although I doubted it. “Here’s the new batch. Smokin’ Joe put three stars next to Going Down on the L.A. Subway. Guess he thought it was the best.”
“Sweetheart, how thoughtful! The girls are so tired of the last batch you brought.”
“These ought to liven things up.”
“I thought you might forget or not have time. I called Miss Patterson earlier to remind you, but you had already left and you know there is no cell service between here and Vegas.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have too long. I have to be back for a two o’clock meeting.”
My mother nodded.
For a moment, I thought I saw disappointment in her eyes.
“I understand, dear. You two must be parched from the trip. Why you insist on riding in that car with the top down, I’ll never know. That dry desert air sucks the moisture right out of you. If you’re not careful, dear, you’ll be a wizened old prune by the time you’re fifty.”
“Something to look forward to,” I said.
Mother gave me a disgusted look. “You know, sweetheart, sarcasm is so unbecoming.”
“I play to my talents.”
“I guess you have to make the most of what you have,” she shot back.
“Did somebody declare it Pick on Lucky Day, and I missed it?”
She opened the front door and motioned us inside. “I have lunch set up in the solarium. I thought that would be nice.”
The main floor of the house was empty as we trooped through the foyer with its grand sweeping staircase, white Italian marble floors, and gleaming white walls. It smelled of gardenias and Pine-Sol. Snatches of music drifted down from the upper floors.
Mother had spent hundreds of thousands updating the decor to resemble a contemporary, luxury home. Two VIP suites with fireplaces, plasma televisions, DVD players, and state-of-the-art sound systems occupied most of the main floor, in addition to the kitchen and a playroom with a whirlpool bath. Each girl had her own room, some in the main house and others in the additional building out back, with a shower and bath and maid service from one in the afternoon until six in the morning. A gourmet chef and a small army of drivers, with cars to pick up patrons and then return them when they wished, rounded out Mother’s staff. In the interest of protecting clients’ identities, Mother had even installed a private VIP entrance and helipad so high rollers could come and go undetected. I had a feeling this feature was turning out to be more of a liability than an asset.
A table replete with white cloth, silver, and crystal awaited us on the screened porch, or the “solarium” as Mother called it, that stretched the length of the back of the house. Once seated, and Mother was satisfied with the arrangement, she picked up a small bell from the table and shook it demurely.
A young lady I had never met before appeared like an apparition. Skin the color of coffee ice cream, silky dark hair, and piercing blue eyes that challenged rather than welcomed, she was tall and lithe and couldn’t have been a day over sixteen.
I raised my eyebrows at my mother.
She shook her head. “Don’t be silly, dear. This is Tamara. She helps out around the house when she’s not in school. Right now, she’s home for lunch. Tamara, honey, would you bring us some nice iced tea? Maybe with some of that mint you picked this morning?”
The girl nodded, then drifted away like smoke on the wind.
My mother, the rescuer. After I left home at fifteen, a parade of girls about the same age took my place. They usually lasted through high school. Mother sent to college the ones who wanted to go. None of them were ever allowed to return and work for her when they became of age.
“Mother, you look divine in your battle dress. Whom are you crossing swords with today?”
“I have to be up in Carson City tonight. The legislature is back in session. There’s a possibility they will hear arguments on the tax bill this week or next.” She smoothed her pencil skirt and checked her cleavage, then she turned in her chair to extend her legs out from under the table. Her legs always were her finest asset, and she used them to full advantage. She crossed them suggestively, her short skirt riding even higher on her thigh.
Dane’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs. Apparently, he was no different than all the others.
I hadn’t yet met a man immune to Mother. She feasted on men like a lioness on baby gazelles—hungry, but indifferent. Why couldn’t somebody develop a Mona vaccine? Competing with her for men totally sucked.
“The tax bill?” Dane finally found his voice.
Unable to help herself, Mona preened at his attention. “The legislature is thinking of taxing our business much as they do all the other businesses.”
“Mother is a lobbyist for the Nevada Brothel Association,” I added.
Dane looked dumbfounded, but retained his composure. “I see. And you are working to defeat the bill?”
“Oh, no. We want to be taxed like everyone else. That would give us some respectability, some legitimacy, if you will. At least that’s the general consensus.”
“Do you think you have a chance this time?” I asked.
“There’s always a chance, dear, but it’s not looking very good. Prostitution is still such a hot potato. The counties love the income, but the politicians like to pretend we don’t exist. Afraid to be seen as proponents of the industry and afraid to outlaw such a revenue maker, all of them have parked their fat behinds on the fence.”
“That explains why they all walk around like they have sticks up their asses,” I said.
Mother hid her smile behind her napkin. “Crude, dear, but accurate.”
“I need some help here,” Dane said. “You want to be taxed?”
Mother shrugged. “It’s tiresome always being the bastard child.” She reached over and patted his hand. “You’ll get used to Sin City. The people who don’t fit anywhere else find their spot in Vegas.”
“Square pegs and round holes?”
“Precisely.”
“Lucky, too?”
“Good heavens, no. She’s my iconoclast—she strives to be normal.”
Dane threw back his head and laughed. “Exceptional, maybe. But normal? Never.”
He thought I was exceptional—okay, maybe exceptional? Who knew? For some reason the thought pleased me. I tried to remind myself that all men are pigs, but I was having a hard time believing myself.
My mother settled back in her chair, a smile lifting one corner of her mouth. “I think I’m going to like you, Mr. Dane.”
High praise indeed.
Tamara materialized with three frosty glasses of tea decorated with sprigs of bright green mint. The tablecloth, silver, crystal, and now the mint, I had no doubt our lunch would be dainty and served on bone china. My mother was seriously entrenched in a Southern-belle phase. I had no idea what she was trying to prove—nor to whom.
I took the opportunity to alter the course of the conversation. “Mother, can you tell us about Lyda Sue?”
Dane snapped to attention. “Lyda Sue?”
“One of the reasons for our visit. She used to work for Mother, and apparently she’d been coming out here to meet a high-rolling John. I’ll let Mother explain.”
“You keep your cards close to your vest, don’t you?” Dane said out of the side of his mouth.
“Vegas survival skill.”
The look he threw my way gave me the impression he was rethinking that “exceptional” remark. Ah me, it was nice while it lasted.
Mother waited for us to finish before she started. Basking in the klieg-light glow of our attention, she patted her hair, sat up straight, played with her pearls until they hung just right, then satisfied, she held us spellbound, she began, “Lyda Sue—”
“Wait. Her John? You mean she was a hooker?” Dane interrupted.
Mother hated being interrupted. She cast an imperious look down her nose. “Mr. Dane, I can assure you, this is not the place to trot out your prejudices.”
“Sorry, Ma’am. That’s not what I meant. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“I see. And why are you surprised? Did you know Lyda Sue?”
I knew I could count on Mother. Arms crossed, we both looked at Dane and waited.
Gazing over Mother’s shoulder, he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Of course not. I’m just not used to this whole prostitution thing and sex being so out in the open here, that’s all.”
It was a lie, and all three of us knew it.
Mother and I said nothing. We waited.
Most men don’t last twenty seconds under the heat of Mother’s stare, but Dane was made of sterner stuff—he lasted a full minute. “Okay, here’s the deal. Lyda Sue was from my hometown. Her older brother married my kid sister. A couple of weeks ago, Lyda Sue called her parents, said she was in some kind of trouble, but wouldn’t give any details. She told them she’d work it out, then come home.”
“And you chose not to tell us because…?” I asked.
“I do better running under the radar.”
“I see.” This time I did see—pretty clearly in fact. He didn’t want us to know what he was doing. “Are you going to share what kind of trouble Lyda Sue was in?” I asked.
“She didn’t say, and I didn’t have time to find out before she was pushed out of the helicopter.”
“Pushed?” Mother asked, her voice hushed.
“It’s just Dane’s theory right now.” I patted her knee. “And just for the record, Dane, taking a job under false pretenses and snooping around behind people’s backs isn’t the best strategy if you want to get them on your side.”
“How did I know I could trust you?”
“Oh, like the higher-ups at a multibillion dollar casino conspired to kill a lowly hooker.”
“Ex-hooker.” Mother’s words landed with a thud, then their meaning exploded through my consciousness.
“She wasn’t hooking?” I’d given her a part-time job as a cocktail waitress for the high rollers, but I’d thought that was just supplemental income for her. I had no idea she was trying to put her past behind her.
Mother shook her head. “The last she’d told me, she was in the running for a very prestigious, high-profile job at one of the big hotels—her chance at a real life, she said.”
“Then why meet someone here?”
Tears sprang to my mother’s eyes. She dabbed at them with the corner of her napkin. “It was a cry for help, and I didn’t hear. It’s all my fault; I killed her.”
“Trust me, it’s not your fault,” Dane said, a vicious undertone to his voice. “You weren’t in the helicopter, were you?”
Mother shook her head.
“Then you didn’t kill her.” He leaned back in his chair surveying both of us. “And we need to figure out who did. Tell us everything you can remember.”
Mother took a deep breath, collecting herself. “Once a week or so, Lyda Sue would show up, generally unannounced. She’d go to the back building and wait for the Babylon helicopter. I never saw who came to see her. They’d meet briefly—no sex was involved—the room was still clean when she left.”
“Did you quiz the girls?” I asked.
“Tamara helped me, and between the two of us, we’ve talked to all but a half dozen. We’ll get to them today. So far, nothing. However, I do know someone you need to talk to.”
“Willie the Weasel,” I said, stealing her thunder. This was rapidly becoming another one of those days.
“How did you know?”
“Somebody had to fly them here, and this has the Weasel’s fingerprints all over it.”
My mother nodded, her brows crinkled in thought—apparently she was due for her regular Botox injection.
“After what he did to you, you should know.”
During the rest of our visit as well as the ride back to Vegas, I succeeded in steering the conversation to more pleasant topics.
Thankfully, Dane hadn’t pressed me about Willie. The memory of past humiliation was tough enough without being dragged through it all over again.
Lunch, if you could call it that, had consisted of finger sandwiches—cream cheese and watercress, I think, but I wasn’t sure—a cup of vichyssoise, and one tiny lemon bar for dessert. Mother was really taking the whole Southern-belle thing to heart. Next thing I’d know, she’d want to join the Junior League. The thought made me smile. I’d pay good money for a ticket to watch Mona and the Junior Leaguers.
Dane had prevailed upon me to swing through McDonald’s for fortification. I was a willing accomplice. Nothing was quite as much fun as driving a fast car across the desert while stuffing my face with a quarter-pounder. I have to admit, though, having a handsome male sharing the fun made it that much better.
Undaunted by the summer heat, the Babylon had awakened and was in full swing as we pulled up the long circular drive to the front entrance. A horde of photographers materialized and swarmed around the car. Flashbulbs popped as they took pictures on the off chance that we were somebody. Ignoring the paparazzi, I hopped out of the car and tossed the keys to the valet. The crush of people, all pointing cameras and shouting at me, closed in.
Dane appeared at my elbow. “People! Out of our way!”
He took my arm and, like a hot knife through butter, slid me through the crowd.
“Impressive.”
“Rescuing damsels in distress is one of my many talents.” He gave a low bow as he opened the front door and invited me through.
People packed the lobby—nomads seeking an oasis of cool air. The lines at registration, easily twenty deep, snaked across the vast expanse. People shifted from foot to foot, but waited patiently in the conditioned air. Cocktail waitresses worked the captive crowd, which I’m sure added to their good humor. Reporters, followed by men shouldering television cameras, who in turn were trailed by minions working the cables, trolled for somebody “important.”
I took one look at the swarm in front of the elevators and headed toward the stairs.
“What is all of this?”
“Welcome to Hell Week.” I threw my weight against the stairwell door.
“Hell Week?”
“Let me fill you in on what you missed by skipping out on the security briefing this morning. This is the week that the entire porn industry descends on Vegas for their annual awards banquet—sort of the Oscars of adult film. The banquet alone seats thirty-five hundred. Add a couple thousand more fans who couldn’t score a ticket to the main event. On top of that, ElectroniCon starts tomorrow.” I took the stairs two at a time.
“ElectroniCon?” Dane matched my pace.
“The high-tech industry’s annual gathering. Picture a hundred thousand geeks gone wild.”
“Whoa.”
“That’s just the beginning. In addition to the awards banquet, there is a trade show. Every manufacturer, distributor, and purveyor of dildos, sex toys, vibrators, and herbal sexual enhancements will be here. The film stars hawk the products. The geeks come to gawk.” We hit the door to the mezzanine. “If that wasn’t enough, this is the week the Trendmakers hold their annual confab of spouse swapping. All the regular shows in town go dark; X-rated shows replace them.”
Dane and I paused at the railing. Below us teemed the controlled chaos in the lobby.
I bent over to catch my breath, then straightened. “This”—I swept my arm toward the crowd below—“is only the beginning.”
“Damn.”
I was glad to see Dane struggling to catch his breath as well. “Don’t expect to get much sleep, but now I gotta go. I’m already a couple of minutes late for an appointment and I’ve left Miss Patterson holding the bag too long already. If she quits on me, I’m screwed.”
“Thanks for lunch—both of them. It’s been a most enlightening day.”
“Sure. Keep looking for Willie, would you?”
“Your wish is my command.” Dane started to go, then paused. “Say, you wouldn’t want me to see if I can score a couple of tickets for us to the porno awards, would you? As I recall, I owe you a dinner.”
“A dinner of my choice, I believe. And, you’re too late. I’m sitting at the head table with Subway Jones, the porn industry’s biggest star.” I held up my hand, silencing him as he opened his mouth to speak. “I didn’t make that up, and no, I can’t attest to the truth of the statement—at least not from personal experience.”
“I know you’re shittin’ me now.”
“Trust me,” I said. “The dinner is the highlight of the whole week. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“How’d you get so lucky?”
“I wish I could say it was my innate beauty and captivating charm, but the hotel buys a lot of adult films for the in-house movie channels. It’s my job to vet them all—wouldn’t want to offend anyone’s sensibilities now, would we?”
“So you do watch those movies.” Dane’s eyes lit with mischief.
“Actually, I take Smokin’ Joe’s advice. There are just so many hours in the day.” I started down the hall toward my office.
“Wait.” Dane stopped me. “I know I’m going regret asking this, but Subway?”
“Subway.” I held my hands up in front of me, palms facing, twelve inches apart. “Because it’s a foot long.”
I left Dane standing there with his mouth open.