Read Online H Is for Homicide by Sue Grafton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sue Grafton
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surveyed the crowd.
I spotted Bibianna on the dance floor, undulating with remarkable energy and grace to some grinding sex tune. Men's eyes seemed to follow every shimmy, every bump. The blue lights reacted with the olive tones of her skin to create an unearthly radiance that emphasized the smooth oval of her face above the bulging breasts in the low-cut chemise. The dress seemed to glow more purple than red, pulled taut across the flat belly, slim hips, and trim thighs. When the music ended, she gave her dark hair a toss and moved away from the dance floor without a backward glance. Her partner, visibly winded, looked after her with admiration.
She began to make the rounds. She was apparently well known, pausing to exchange laughing comments with a number of guys. I made myself conspicuous, pretending to be oblivious when, by my calculations, her path would soon be intersecting mine. Foiled. Before she reached me, she changed directions, and I could see her inching toward the short corridor where the restrooms were located. I headed in that direction, risking rude remarks as I pushed my way through.
By the time I reached the ladies' room, she had entered one of the stalls. I stood at the mirror, fussing with my topknot until the toilet flushed and Bibianna emerged. She moved to the sink beside mine, glancing at me idly in the mirror. I sensed more than saw the little jolt of recognition. She said, "Hey."
I gave her a blank look.
"Didn't you stop by this afternoon to ask about my place?"
I looked over at her politely and then allowed myself the same double take. "Oh, hi! I didn't realize it was you. What a coincidence. That's amazing. How are you?"
"I'm fine. How'd the house hunting go? Did you find anything?"
I made a face. "Not really. I got a line on an apartment about a block away from yours, but it isn't half as nice." Bibianna took out her lipstick. She applied an arc of red to her lower lip, rubbing it against the upper lip until the color had spread uniformly across her mouth. I made a few little gestures of my own, imitating hers.
She capped the lipstick. "You ever been here before?"
I shrugged. "Couple of times. Before this new management. It's kind of unnerving, isn't it? I don't appreciate guys grabbing my butt every time I make a move."
She studied me briefly. "Depends on what you're used to, I guess. Doesn't bother me." She turned her attention from my reflection to hers, leaning forward to adjust the wisps of hair around her face. She checked her eye makeup for flaws, staring at herself gravely before she glanced back at me. "I hope you don't mind my saying this, but that hair and the getup are completely wrong."
"They are?" I looked down at myself, a feeling of despair washing over me. What is it about me that invites this kind of comment? Here I think of myself as a kick-ass private eye when other people apparently see me as a waif in need of mothering.
"Mind if I make a suggestion?" she asked.
"Fine with me," I said.
The next thing I knew, she'd whipped the rubber band out of my hair. She reached in her purse and took out some kind of bottled hair snot which she rubbed between her palms and then massaged through my hair. I felt like a dog being groomed, but I liked the effect. My tresses looked faintly wet now with just the suggestion of curl. The two of us checked my reflection in the mirror.
Bibianna's mouth pulled down judiciously. "Better," she said. "You got a scarf on you anywhere?"
I shook my head.
"Let me see what I got." She began to root around in her handbag, pulling out a joint in the process. "You want a smoke?" she asked idly.
I shook my head. "I already toked up out in the parking lot before I came in."
She tucked the dope away without further comment, intent on her search through the various compartments of her voluminous bag. "Here we go. How's this?" She pulled up a square of lime green silk and then made a face. "Eh, no good. Color's not right for you. Dump the
I spotted Bibianna on the dance floor, undulating with remarkable energy and grace to some grinding sex tune. Men's eyes seemed to follow every shimmy, every bump. The blue lights reacted with the olive tones of her skin to create an unearthly radiance that emphasized the smooth oval of her face above the bulging breasts in the low-cut chemise. The dress seemed to glow more purple than red, pulled taut across the flat belly, slim hips, and trim thighs. When the music ended, she gave her dark hair a toss and moved away from the dance floor without a backward glance. Her partner, visibly winded, looked after her with admiration.
She began to make the rounds. She was apparently well known, pausing to exchange laughing comments with a number of guys. I made myself conspicuous, pretending to be oblivious when, by my calculations, her path would soon be intersecting mine. Foiled. Before she reached me, she changed directions, and I could see her inching toward the short corridor where the restrooms were located. I headed in that direction, risking rude remarks as I pushed my way through.
By the time I reached the ladies' room, she had entered one of the stalls. I stood at the mirror, fussing with my topknot until the toilet flushed and Bibianna emerged. She moved to the sink beside mine, glancing at me idly in the mirror. I sensed more than saw the little jolt of recognition. She said, "Hey."
I gave her a blank look.
"Didn't you stop by this afternoon to ask about my place?"
I looked over at her politely and then allowed myself the same double take. "Oh, hi! I didn't realize it was you. What a coincidence. That's amazing. How are you?"
"I'm fine. How'd the house hunting go? Did you find anything?"
I made a face. "Not really. I got a line on an apartment about a block away from yours, but it isn't half as nice." Bibianna took out her lipstick. She applied an arc of red to her lower lip, rubbing it against the upper lip until the color had spread uniformly across her mouth. I made a few little gestures of my own, imitating hers.
She capped the lipstick. "You ever been here before?"
I shrugged. "Couple of times. Before this new management. It's kind of unnerving, isn't it? I don't appreciate guys grabbing my butt every time I make a move."
She studied me briefly. "Depends on what you're used to, I guess. Doesn't bother me." She turned her attention from my reflection to hers, leaning forward to adjust the wisps of hair around her face. She checked her eye makeup for flaws, staring at herself gravely before she glanced back at me. "I hope you don't mind my saying this, but that hair and the getup are completely wrong."
"They are?" I looked down at myself, a feeling of despair washing over me. What is it about me that invites this kind of comment? Here I think of myself as a kick-ass private eye when other people apparently see me as a waif in need of mothering.
"Mind if I make a suggestion?" she asked.
"Fine with me," I said.
The next thing I knew, she'd whipped the rubber band out of my hair. She reached in her purse and took out some kind of bottled hair snot which she rubbed between her palms and then massaged through my hair. I felt like a dog being groomed, but I liked the effect. My tresses looked faintly wet now with just the suggestion of curl. The two of us checked my reflection in the mirror.
Bibianna's mouth pulled down judiciously. "Better," she said. "You got a scarf on you anywhere?"
I shook my head.
"Let me see what I got." She began to root around in her handbag, pulling out a joint in the process. "You want a smoke?" she asked idly.
I shook my head. "I already toked up out in the parking lot before I came in."
She tucked the dope away without further comment, intent on her search through the various compartments of her voluminous bag. "Here we go. How's this?" She pulled up a square of lime green silk and then made a face. "Eh, no good. Color's not right for you. Dump the
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