“Life’s not fair,” Jackie sympathized. Then with more enthusiasm, “Which is exactly why each and every one of you would benefit from the services of your own personal life coach! I have business cards. Anyone want one?”
Before Jackie could turn what remained of the evening into a private infomercial, I caught Nana’s eye. “Would you be a peach and dial up Alice’s cellphone for me?”
She punched her speed dial and handed me her phone.
Alice cocked her head as a muffled ring tone chimed nearby. “Shhhh, everyone. Listen. That’s my phone!” Unable to answer it with her arms full, she heaved George’s leg at him. With her hands free, she riffled through her pocketbook for her phone. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.
“Thank you for returning George’s leg,” I said before disconnecting. “Okay, everyone, listen up. I’m calling a couple of taxis to get you out of here. You will join hands and not let go of each other until you are safely inside the cabs. Jackie has volunteered to escort you back to the hotel—”
“I have?”
“—where she will entertain you with a short presentation about her new business venture until you’re feeling more normal.”
Groans. Razzberries. “Borrr-ing,” crabbed Bernice.
“Ew.” Jackie perked up. “Good idea.”
“Keep them in the lobby and do not let them return to their rooms until I get back,” I instructed her. “I don’t want any of them mistaking their arms for wings and thinking they can paraglide off their window ledges.”
Jackie gave her hands a little clap. “This is so exciting. I’m getting butterflies already. My first formal presentation! All right, everyone, let’s form a nice, straight line.”
“Shortest first?” asked Osmond.
“I’m sick of doing shortest first,” complained Bernice. “Marion’s always in the lead. Give someone else a chance.”
“How about tallest first?” Jackie suggested.
“Then the short people in the back won’t be able to see what’s up ahead,” protested Alice.
“Oldest first?” Jackie said, a little less patiently.
“Age discrimination!” yelled Osmond.
Her voice exploded from her mouth like grapeshot. “WHATEVER! Just get in a damn line!”
I sighed with relief. Their highs were obviously wearing off because they were sounding more like themselves again. I phoned the cab company I’d used earlier, and by the time I finished my call, they were queued up like schoolchildren filing in from recess. Wow. Jackie was a natural at this. It gave me confidence that she’d get the job done.
I hoped.
“You’re not comin’ with us, dear?” asked Nana.
“Gotta find the boys. If they ate the cake and your muffin, they’re probably still flying high, so I’m thinking they might be in dire need of rescuing about now.”
She flashed me a look somewhere between guilt and regret.
“Don’t worry,” I soothed. “I’ll find them. And please don’t feel guilty. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m not frettin’ about that, dear. It’s just that—if you happen to look for ’em in a little shop called the Erotic Outlet, would you mind pickin’ me up a catalog? It’ll save me a bundle on postage.”
Eight
“How old are they?” asked the bouncer at the Moulin Rouge. He was tall and muscle-bound, with gold hoops in both ears, wrap-around sunglasses, and a Technicolor serpent tattooed across his shaved skull.
“Early seventies!” I shouted above the music. “One is six-footish, smartly dressed, and wears a very nice toupee. The other one’s about a foot shorter and has a head the size of a medicine ball—with hair plugs in the front. Kinda makes him look like a Chia Pet.”
“A what?”
The Dutch were obviously spared TV advertising that made salad shooters and leaf-sprouting pottery indispensable holiday gift items. “It’s not important. Can I go inside and look for them?”
“Not without paying an admission charge, you can’t.”
“But I have to find them,” I said anxiously. “They’re high.”
“So’s everyone else in this crowd.”
“But they don’t realize it!”
He peered at me over his sunglasses and rubbed his fingers together. “Thirty-five Euros or they stay there, and you stay here.”
I dug my heels in. “Casa Rosso was only going to charge me thirty.”
“Casa Rosso doesn’t include two free drinks with the price of admission. Make up your mind. There’s paying customers lined up behind you.”
“Are you sure I—”
“I’m sure. Next!” He waved me away and motioned for the guy behind me to take my place. Discouraged and frustrated, I picked my way back through the crowd toward a narrow bridge where demonstrators in white robes waved signs that were going mostly unread by the hard-core revelers. JESUS SAVES. THE END TIMES ARE HERE. REPENT. THE END IS NEAR. And my personal favorite, WORLD BIBLEFEST 2025! MAKE YOUR RESERVATIONS NOW.
“Emily? Oh, thank God! A friendly face.” Beth Ann Oliver latched onto my arm like a tick onto a beagle. “Jackie is going to be so put out with me. I thought I could keep track of everyone after she spotted your group and left, but it was impossible. Some detective I turned out to be. I don’t know where anyone is anymore.”
I sighed. “Welcome to the club.”
“What am I going to do? They all scattered after the big blowup.”
That earned her my undivided attention. “Blowup?”
“It was frightening, and pretty embarrassing. Not to state the obvious, but I don’t think some of these people from Maine like each other very much.”
“Oh, my God. Did the Hennessys and Bouchards actually follow through with their rumble?”
“Just a sec.” She dug a mini notebook out of her jacket pocket and flipped to the first page. “Jackie told me to take detailed notes, but I was scribbling so fast, I’m not sure I’ll be able to read my own handwriting.” She squinted at the page. “I need more light.”
I whipped out my super-bright LED pocket flashlight and shined it on her notebook.
“Perfect. Okay, here’s what I have. ‘Red Leader blazes path through darkest sections of city. Arrives at destination without incident. He suggests we ask for group rate at seamy porn place. Miss Manners reels with indignation and says that going inside wasn’t part of the plan. Red Leader asks what the expletive she’s doing in this bleeping expletive place if she’s not going to see the bleeping shows? Mr. Bulky demands to know if they have other options.’”
What? “I’m sorry. Mr. Bulky? Miss Manners? Are these people on our tour?”
“I don’t know who everyone is yet, so I gave everybody a code name. You know, like the Secret Service does with the President and his family.” She continued. “‘Miss Manners indicates that everyone wants an overall view of the area rather than a visit to a specific hotspot, because no member of a St. Francis Xavier’s graduating class would demean themselves by watching lewd acts performed live onstage. Red Leader appears not to give a flip. He grins lecherously and disappears into the building.’”
“I assume Red Leader is Dietger?”
“Right. Him, I know. ‘Mr. Bulky grows irate and yells at Miss Manners that she’s not the bleeping class president anymore, so she had no bleeping right to speak for everyone else, and how were they supposed to find their way back to the bleeping hotel without Red Leader? Ms. Godzilla, attired in a polka-dot scarf and ballerina length skirt that exposes her thick ankles, cackles with laughter. She tells Miss Manners she’s full of horse bleep and is bleeping self-righteous because Ms. Godzilla recalls Miss Manners and Mr. Clean bleeping every time they could find a bleeping horizontal surface back in high school. Godzilla asks if that’s a bleeping double standard or plain old run-of-the-mill hypocrisy?’”