“It would freak me out if someone was beading my trees at night. Or Paulina’s. I’d stand guard.”
“Nico kind of felt the same way. He came to visit for a couple days and swore he felt like he was being watched while he was in my house. That’s why he got me Gmork.” She glanced up at her tree. She rarely gave it much thought, but Cyrus’s questions had gotten her wondering about it again.
“He got you that dog because it’s a man-eater, and if you’ll tell me where he got him, I’ll get one for Paulina.”
“I’ll tell you where we got him, if you invite me to the wedding.”
“Just check Satan’s duffel bag, please.”
“It’s just handcuffs and rope and blindfolds.”
Cyrus gave her that look again.
“It’s kink,” Nora said. “These are toys.” She pointed at the bag. “You are telling me you never tied a girlfriend to the bed or blindfolded her or anything?”
“I’m not telling you nothing, lady.”
Nora drew on the latex gloves again. Seemed like overkill, “but better safe than accidentally exposed to Hep C,” as her fellow dominatrixes say. She dug through the bag, finding nothing she hadn’t found before.
“Maybe this is a dumb question, but if Ike had a, well, a you, wouldn’t his lady keep all this stuff herself?” Cyrus waved his hand at the toy bag in the trunk.
“Depends.” Nora shrugged. “Some people are germaphobes and keep their own private set of gear. Maybe he fetishized the stuff and wanted to keep it around. Maybe he was a switch, like me.”
“Switch?”
“I do the beating, and also get beat. By different people, of course. I beat clients, but they don’t beat me—only Søren does.”
“You ever flip the tables on your Viking and tie him up? Wait. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
“Never,” she said. “He’s all dominant. Unfortunately. He’d look so pretty in handcuffs.”
“Stop.”
Nora smiled as she kept digging, turning out pockets, checking linings. “Any luck on that key?”
“No luck there. But this is interesting.” She held up an unopened box of K-Y lubricant.
“Okay, so, Ike was fucking someone,” Cyrus said.
“Or someone was fucking Father Ike.”
“Right. Yeah. Possible. Not gonna think about that, though.” Cyrus turned his back to her, walked up and down her driveway. He hit the end of her street, turned on his heel, walked back.
“Who else might know about Ike?” Cyrus asked.
“What?”
“In this town, there’s like ten guys who can hook you up if you want to sell drugs. Another ten guys for guns. Another ten guys for girls. There’s gotta be a guy you go to if you want a…you, and you don’t know where to start.”
“Kingsley,” Nora said. “And we already talked to him. He didn’t have any interaction with Father Ike.”
“But Edge is still new in this town. You gotta remember, this is New Orleans. We have bars in this city older than the country. Somebody was here before Edge.”
Nora considered that as Cyrus paced another lap. What old-timers did she know around here? Someone deep in the community. Someone who knew everyone.
“I know a guy,” Nora said. “He hosts a lot of events in town. I don’t usually go to them, but he invites me to every single one.”
“Who is he?”
“Retired art professor. I’m sure he’d talk to you if I were there. I’ll get in touch. Although I doubt he’d know who Father Ike was seeing. Male subs don’t, as a rule, talk to each other.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Worth asking.”
“Fair warning, he’s kind of weird.”
“Weirder than you?” he asked. She nodded. “Damn. Now that’s saying something.”
Chapter Sixteen
“I know that look,” John Breaux, the best tailor in New Orleans, said as he helped Cyrus on with his tuxedo jacket.
“You don’t know a damned thing.” Cyrus buttoned the jacket. He’d been caught grinning, but didn’t try to hide it.
“How long until the big day?” Breaux asked.
“About two months.”
The tailor raised an eyebrow.
“Fifty-three days,” Cyrus said.
“That’s better.”
Cyrus stepped in front of the mirror and stared appraisingly at his reflection.
“What do you think? The blue look good?” Cyrus asked.
“Don’t ask me. I’m not the one marrying you.”
“You’re the expert, man.”
“I know what I like. I’m not in your wedding. Where your boys at?”
“No boys today,” Cyrus said. “I like to do this stuff on my own.” Paulina took an entire crew of women with her when she went to her dress fittings. Her mother, her sister, her best friend, and three of her sorority sisters. At least. And just for the fittings.
But Paulina’s girls took this stuff seriously. His friends, much as Cyrus loved them, would be doing nothing but cracking corny jokes through the whole thing, giving him hell for getting married, bringing up his wild past like they always did. He didn’t want that today. He didn’t want jokes. He didn’t want his past. He just wanted to find a tux that would make Paulina, who never said a foul word in her life, look at him and say, “God damn.”
His tailor only slapped him on the back and walked away to do busy work while Cyrus stared at his reflection. White tuxedo shirt, black tie, dark blue tuxedo with black lapels. He looked good. Damn good. At least he hoped he looked damn good. Did he, though? Did he look damn good to him but to Paulina he’d look a fool?
Maybe he should have brought his boys. Except none of them were married, so what the hell did they know about it?
Cyrus found his suit jacket and pulled his phone out. Before he thought better of it, he snapped a photo of himself in the mirror and texted it to Nora.
What do you think about the blue? he wrote.
Then he realized what he’d done.
He’d asked a white lady dominatrix for her opinion on his tuxedo.
For his wedding.
To Paulina.
What was next? Calling Lady Gaga and asking her to DJ the reception?
Cyrus started to write, Disregard, meant to text someone else that when Nora replied.
Wow.
Cyrus smiled. Good wow?
Hell good wow, she wrote. The blue looks great. Damn.
I’m looking for “God damn.”
Can I show Juliette? she texted back.
Please do.
Cyrus paused, tensed, awaiting the verdict. Well?
She’s purring. You can’t get any better than that.
He made Juliette purr. Cyrus wasn’t just renting the tux. He was going to buy the thing.
J says King needs that tux.
Ah, well, if this tuxedo was good enough for Juliette the Goddess, it was good enough for him.
Juliette wants to know if Paulina is traditional. Then she might want you in black.
She said she didn’t care as long as I liked it and she didn’t see it before the wedding.
She’s a keeper, Nora wrote. Juliette and I have spoken—go with the blue. Céleste agrees. She gives it two thumbs up.