“But they’ll probably just give it to that traitor, pretty boy cousin of yours, Eric.” Rudy hissed the name as if he’d just said a dirty word. He referred to Eric Gaites-Granville, who hailed
from the New York faction of the family. Rudy had disliked Eric ever since they’d met eight years ago, in Crescent Bay. Because of Eric’s actions that summer, his dislike had quickly morphed to hate. Asher wasn’t in disagreement with Rudy’s assessment. Not in the slightest. He’d hated his cousin from the cradle.
“They gave Eric the position you were supposed to have at GGM a couple years ago when you went to Cairo, after the Syrian government kicked all the Western reporters out. Your parents thought for sure you’d be returning home to Chicago after that, but you stayed in the Middle East. Why wouldn’t they give Eric your trust fund too, if you won’t take it now?” Rudy demanded.
Asher shut his eyes and grasped for patience. Jimmy groaned and shifted in his seat.
“Give it a rest, Rudy. It’s not up to you. If Ash doesn’t want to take his parents’ money, it’s his choice. Don’t you get it? That money may mean freedom to you, but it means the opposite to him.”
“But—”
“Can we please change the subject? I asked you guys out tonight for a little R and R before this meeting with my parents tomorrow. You didn’t come all the way from L.A. just to lecture me, did you?” he asked Rudy.
Rudy opened his mouth to protest but then noticed Asher’s expression. Air puffed out of his mouth. He shook his head resignedly.
“If only I could have your problems, Ash.”
“I’d give them to you in a second if I could.”
“Meaning you’d give me your parents?” Rudy asked wryly. “I doubt Clark and Madeline would ever claim me as a surrogate son. They’ve barely put up with me being your wild Italian friend from the East Bronx. They thought I was going to jump ’em the first time we met. The nerve of me, to get a scholarship to Stanford and be picked as their precious son’s roommate. But no worries, I’ve charmed my way into their shriveled little blue-blood hearts since then.”
Asher laughed. Yeah, Rudy could be annoying at times, but there was no one truer. He hadn’t hesitated to say he’d fly into Chicago immediately when Asher told him he’d be in town, even though they hadn’t done anything but converse through e-mail for the last two years.
The waitress returned, serving them their appetizer of moules à la biere. This time, Asher did take notice of her warm smile and cautious but engrossed glances at him from beneath heavily mascaraed eyelashes. He tried to work up some returned interest but failed. Maybe he’d lost the talent for casual flirting. He’d been seeing Claire Moines, a German television correspondent based out of Istanbul, for over three years before their long-distance romance had finally fizzled out. Between a grueling work schedule and Claire as a placeholder girlfriend, he’d grown pitifully backward in the skills of wooing a woman. Rudy took over, smooth-talking the pretty waitress. His charming grin and rapid-fire one-liners were stale as old beer to Jimmy and Asher but apparently fresh and appealing to the waitress.
“Hey, you know what might get your mind off your doomsday meeting with Clark and Madeline tomorrow?” Rudy asked. He pulled his gaze off the retreating waitress’s swaying ass with apparent effort. “Yesenia.”
“What’s a Yesenia?” Asher wondered, digging into the mussels they’d just been served.
“Oh, yeah. Yesenia,” Jimmy said, his usually somber expression growing animated. “The singer. She performs over at the State Room. They converted the old State Theatre into a nightclub, and Yesenia headlines there.”
“What’s so great about her?” Asher asked.
“She’s supposed to be incredibly talented, for one. I read about her in Inside Chicago recently. She writes her own music: jazz, blues, pop, R&B. She just got a recording contract too, from an indie studio.”
“Forget all that. All you need to know is she’s supposed to be hotter than Hades,” Rudy interrupted. “I read a small article about her in the entertainment section of the Times. She’s starting to bust out of the local scene and is getting some national interest. I’m dying to see her show. You’ll get what I’m saying when you see her, Asher. Or more accurately, when you don’t see her.”
Asher paused with his fork in midair and gave his friend a half-amused, half-exhausted glance. Rudy grinned slyly.
“See, that’s the whole thing that Jimmy failed to mention—”
“I thought her music was the most crucial thing,” Jimmy interrupted.
“Yesenia performs behind a curtain,” Rudy continued as if Jimmy hadn’t spoken. “It’s a sheer curtain, so you can make out her smoking body and the way she moves and everything. But you can’t really see the details of her face. Her performances and lyrics are supposed to be off-the-charts sexy, but in an understated, unique way. The press has taken to calling her the Veiled Siren.”
“Why does she sing behind a curtain?” Asher asked, thinking the whole idea sounded ridiculous.
Rudy waggled his eyebrows. “No one really knows that, do they? That’s part of her mystique. Her allure. She makes people wild to tear down the curtain and get a good, hard look at her, if you know what I mean.” Asher rolled his eyes. Rudy’s grin widened. “There are rumors about why she does it. Supposedly, she has some pretty bad scarring. She doesn’t want anyone to see her face. But—” Rudy nodded down to the chair where he’d set his camera case. As a talented freelance photographer specializing in celebrity photos, Rudy was rarely without the primary tool of his trade. “The Veiled Siren can’t stay under wraps for long, as popular as she’s becoming. What do you say we try to get a glimpse behind the curtain tonight? She’s right on the cusp of becoming famous, it sounds like. I’ll probably get a good buck for an unmasked photo of her.”
“What’s your plan? Have Asher and me jump on the stage and jerk down the curtain while you snap photos?” Jimmy asked sarcastically. “We’re thirty, Fattore, not eighteen. You’re not putting me at risk of getting arrested. Again.”
“What are you complaining about? Tiger Woods never prosecuted, did he? Don’t worry about it. Let’s just go to Yesenia’s performance and we’ll see if any opportunities arise for a photo,” Rudy suggested with fake innocent casualness. He noticed Asher’s doubtful look. “I’m not gonna do anything illegal,” he said. “Come on. Are you guys in?”
Asher shrugged. The woman’s performance sounded distracting. It might keep his mind off the dreaded morning meeting. For a few minutes, anyway.
“I’ll go for the show, but I’m with Jimmy. You’re not roping me into any of your stupid schemes. I still haven’t forgiven you for that extremely personal case of poison oak you gave me when you insisted I hide with you in the woods to get that picture of Jennifer Lopez leaving that vacation house in Big Sur. I swear I feel a rash coming on every time I hear her name.”
“At least you weren’t arrested,” Jimmy muttered in a beleaguered fashion under his breath.