Chapter 7

She attempts to light a cigarillo, but the waiter rushes up to her side and politely tells her that she can’t. Jane rolls her eyes, makes a tssskkksound, but surprisingly obliges. Sitting sideways, looking out at the bleak day, she crosses her legs, uncrosses them, and re-crosses them.

“Shall we talk business, Mr. Beare?”

“Of course.” I ogle her fake breasts, pulled back forehead, fresh Botox under her eyes and in her newly plumped cheeks. I’ve heard she’s recently had her neck sculpted by Dr. Mitchell Heni, one of Templeton’s best plastic surgeons. I see a few wrinkles under her jaws and think differently.

“Gyles, you do know I love your club. Right? The queer dancers. The drinks. The music. The time alone with Mr. Abs. He is my favorite, of course. He puts on marvelous shows for me in the upstairs rooms. I’m quite the supporter of your establishment and Mr. Abs.”

I nod. “Thank you. I’m glad you like the place, Jane.”