Free Death On the Flop by Jackie Chance Page B

knee length gray plaid polyester skirt.”
    I was almost saved by a female impersonator. She severed the connection and shook her head at the phone in her hand. “Bosses are the bitch, aren’t they?”
    Huh. I could relate to that one. “You said that right.”
    I looked at the phone. Maybe she could save me after all. “Could I borrow your phone? I don’t have one, and I’d be happy to pay for the minutes.”
    She handed it over. “Don’t worry about it, comes with the job. Speaking of which, sister, you’d be better off doing something else. Your line of work is just too damned hard on the body. I did it for years and now I just dance. It’s better money and better hours. Come by New York-New York and I’ll see if I can hook you up with an audition.”
    Oh great, now I look like a transvestite hooker? “Uh, thanks for the offer, but I’m, um, really a woman.”
    “Duh.” She hit her hand on her head. “I knew that. You couldn’t fake those tits. They are way too natural and nice, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
    I shook my head. I really didn’t mind. I think Vegas was rubbing off on me. She continued. “No, there is a new show at our casino, it’s girls dressed up like guys. They look the real deal, girl, then they strip and wa-la, there’s real tits for all the world to see. The audience is floored. It’s the coolest. Wish I were a real woman. And the best part for you is, my boss only hires girls with real ones. No silicone. Nothing fake. That makes the surprise so much better in the end.”
    I was really depressed now. I was a man-ish looking woman who looked like a hooker. I sighed and wondered why I continued to be polite, except that I kind of liked my new buddy. “Thanks, but I think I’m too old. I’m forty.”
    She hit my arm and I nearly fell over. “You’re shitting me, girl! I would’ve never guessed it, and neither will my boss. Just fudge a little. By the time he hires you and sees those goods you got, he won’t care.”
    She pulled out a card and handed it to me. Carey Beck-with. “Thanks.”
    “Call me, or at least come see the show before you decide. I’ll get you in for free.”
    We were almost to the ground floor, so I quickly dialed Frank’s number. A sleepy male voice answered. “Gilbert.”
    “Frank? This is Belinda Cooley.”
    “Uh . . .”
    Oh great, he’d been so drunk he couldn’t remember me. Maybe this was a mistake.
    “Belinda Cooley,” I repeated, thinking I might add, that mannish looking woman you sat next to last night at the Caesars Palace bar. But then I remembered I never introduced myself. “Uh, ‘Debbie Dallas’ from last night?”
    Carey’s eyebrows went up and she did a humping action against the wall. It looked so funny for a corporate maven to be doing the nasty that I giggled.
    “Oh, yes, Debbie ,” Frank said, his cold voice warming. “Sounds like you had a better evening after I left. What can I do for you this early morning?”
    “You said I could call you anytime,” I reminded him, sobering and still not sure this was a good idea. The elevator deposited us on the ground floor and we exited, Carey following as I walked to an alcove against the wall. “I wondered if we could meet somewhere for coffee?”
    “Sure, about ten?”
    “Could it be sooner? Like in a half hour? I’m staying at the Lanai too. I could come to your room.” I didn’t like the way that sounded but I didn’t want to talk about what happened in the middle of the casino. I didn’t know when or where Electric Blue Rambo might reappear. Besides, I didn’t know if I was being overly dramatic, imagining the danger of the whole thing, and if he’d laugh at me in public. Private was better. I held my breath as his pause stretched on. Carey shot me a sympathetic look, clearly misunderstanding the reason for my call.
    Finally, Frank answered hesitantly. “Sure. Come on up. Or down, depending on where you are.”
    “I’ll be right there. 2521.