The Kiss Murder (3 page)
I began focusing on other things. There were any number of men of different ages and types, and the girls, my girls, so attractive and so very grateful for my attentiveness. And then there are those who occasionally cause trouble. I will not have in my club girls who become drunkenly abrasive. Such girls, and the men who get out of hand jockeying for a favorite, are not permitted to pass through these doors a second time. Even Alain Delon would be barred under such circumstances. It’s terribly old-fashioned, I know, but the word “man” instantly conjures up images of Alain Delon. And his youth! I inherited at least some of this admiration for Alain from my mother, who was a big fan. When she was pregnant with me she would constantly look at his photographs, hoping I’d grow up to look like him. After I was born, she continued looking at his photos. As my interest in men developed, we looked at them together. She took me to all his films. We’d sigh in unison as we watched.
Time flies when there is such a heavy flow of customers. Greet so-and-so, chat with him or her,
etc.
Next thing you know, it’s morning. We’re open until dawn’s early light. On weekends, few girls are left unclaimed as the last of the customers straggle out. In fact, some of them even manage several engagements throughout the course of the night, returning to the club after each one. This was one of those nights. I glanced over the bills—great turnover, yet again—and left. I could feel my beard growing out beneath my foundation. I got into a taxi Cüneyt had arranged, and immediately removed my high heels, massaging my feet all the way home. It’s not easy, moving with deerlike grace from table to table for eight hours while weighed down with four-pound shoes. The taxi driver was a familiar face. An elderly, gentlemanly man. He knows where I live; we seldom chat. And he never has change. Naturally, that was the case this morning, too. I wasn’t about to pay twice the normal amount, so I told him he could pick up the money at the club in the evening.
etc.
Next thing you know, it’s morning. We’re open until dawn’s early light. On weekends, few girls are left unclaimed as the last of the customers straggle out. In fact, some of them even manage several engagements throughout the course of the night, returning to the club after each one. This was one of those nights. I glanced over the bills—great turnover, yet again—and left. I could feel my beard growing out beneath my foundation. I got into a taxi Cüneyt had arranged, and immediately removed my high heels, massaging my feet all the way home. It’s not easy, moving with deerlike grace from table to table for eight hours while weighed down with four-pound shoes. The taxi driver was a familiar face. An elderly, gentlemanly man. He knows where I live; we seldom chat. And he never has change. Naturally, that was the case this morning, too. I wasn’t about to pay twice the normal amount, so I told him he could pick up the money at the club in the evening.
I entered my home barefoot. I would be taking a shower before bed in any case. I might even decide to drink something warm—my new favorite was fennel tea. It soothes and cleanses. I know, because I’m constantly reading up on what is good for what.
Chapter 3A
shower was just what the doctor ordered—standing under the steady flow for a long period of time has a hypnotic effect. It relaxes completely. The amount of makeup flowing off my face in the shower has always startled me. It seems like next to nothing as it’s being applied.
shower was just what the doctor ordered—standing under the steady flow for a long period of time has a hypnotic effect. It relaxes completely. The amount of makeup flowing off my face in the shower has always startled me. It seems like next to nothing as it’s being applied.
I examined my body in the mirror—a favorite pastime. I’m one of those slender, lightly muscled types said to have a swimmer’s build. My body has not been altered in the slightest by plastic surgery or silicone injections. Breastless women are not uncommon. The size and firmness of my nipples is more than enough for most. What’s the need for silicone? My legs are waxed, my arms in their natural state, my bosom the site of a bouquet of chest hair. That hair remains untouched unless I am required to wear a provocative outfit. Fortunately, my mat of hair is lightly colored. And there are times when a glimpse of chest hair in a plunging neckline has a special allure all its own. I applied lotion to my entire body. The result was a pleasant sensation of coolness, slipperiness, and hair standing sweetly on end.
There’s nothing I enjoy more in the morning than wandering aimlessly from room to room, before the papers are delivered. A large mug in hand—acquired for a small fortune from Casa Club—I drifted with my fennel tea. The morning light in my home is stunning—a pale gold. Long horizontal beams line the narrow corridor. Strange shadows. It gives me peace.
The shop boy was late, as usual. It was nearly seven a.m. That’s another of my obsessions. I cannot sleep without having read the daily papers.
The bell rang repeatedly. It couldn’t be the shop boy intruding on my little paradise. He never rings the bell, merely slips the papers under the door and leaves. I raced toward the door, ready to confront the intruder. Naturally, I glanced through the peephole first: In front was Hüseyin, the taxi driver; behind him stood Buse, looking thoroughly haunted. I flung the door open.
“What on earth has happened?”
Hüseyin jumped in before Buse had a chance to answer.
“Your friend went to the club. I saw her walk in. She was looking for you, so I brought her right over.”
He spoke in one breath. I resented the use of the familiar
sen,
in place of
siz
. Besides, what business did he have trolling through the narrow street in front of our club?
sen,
in place of
siz
. Besides, what business did he have trolling through the narrow street in front of our club?
Speaking in a voice not her own, Buse asked, “May I come in?”
Of course she could. I stepped aside to let her. Hüseyin made to go in after her, but I barred his way.
“And where do you think you’re going,
ayol
?”
ayol
?”
“I just thought something terrible might have happened. Maybe you’d need help . . . So you wouldn’t want to be on your own . . .” He hemmed and hawed. On his face, I noticed the familiar hungry look. Once rejected, he should know better than to insist.
“We will be fine!” I said. “There’s no need. We’ll handle it.”
The bold expression remained on his face. He clearly imagined himself to be the Istanbul version of Brad Pitt. I prepared to shut the door in his face, but he grabbed it.
“If you need anything, I’ll be at the taxi rank. Don’t hesitate to call if you need help.” And that grin again. He gestured toward the room. “I don’t understand what happened. But it’s nothing good.”
“All right, it’s a deal. I’ll call if necessary. Now go. Thanks for bringing her over.”
I tried once again to close the door. He held it open.
“Don’t be tiresome,” I warned.
“Uh,” he began, “who’s going to pay the fare?”
It was natural for Buse to have forgotten, in her state. I must have looked blank for a moment.
“I can pick it up from the club,” he offered. “That is, if you haven’t got it on you . . .”
“How much?” I asked.
“I didn’t check the meter. You know, whatever you pay every night.”
I paid him slightly more than the appropriate amount.
“All right, then?” I asked. The hopeful gleam in his eye faded, then was fully extinguished. He turned around aimlessly. I shut the door and went to Buse’s side.
She had sunk into an armchair and was staring into space, eyes open wide.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Please.” I waited for her to name something. Tea, coffee, cola, water, alcohol . . . Nothing.
“Fine . . . what can I get you?”
She looked at me with the expression of a quiz show contestant attempting to answer a difficult question. I tried again.
“What would you like to drink?”
She paused. The question was a difficult one, and she was determined to drag it out. She resumed staring blankly. She seemed drugged. Some of the girls indulge, most only occasionally. As for me, never.
I am extremely patient, but it is a virtue best not strained. Especially early in the morning.
“I’m drinking fennel tea. I’ll make you some.”
“Fine.”
As I prepared the tea, I reviewed what she had told me the previous night. Maybe there was something to her story. I added a bit of cold water to the mug so she’d be able to drink it immediately without burning her mouth. Then I returned to her side.
We sat in silence for a while. I noted her strange appearance, her makeup mussed, her stubble catching the morning light. She was a true hybrid of Fevzi and Buse. She lifted her head and looked at me intently. I returned the look with my most sympathetic smile. I’m an accomplished listener, and have learned quite a bit as a result. Unfortunately, I’m not at my best in the morning just as I am preparing for bed.
Eventually—yes, finally—she began.
“I’m terrified,” she began again, just like in the club. “I didn’t know where to go, who to turn to. So I came here. I’m sorry. Believe me, I’m at the end of my rope.”
“You were right to come to me.”
What else could I say? I was tired. I looked at her inquiringly, waiting for her to explain, so we could go to bed.
“They came to the house,” she said. “When I got home I almost bumped into them. There were three people. They’d gone inside. They were waiting for me.”
I could ask how later. First I’d need a general sense of what had happened.
“When I realized they were in there, I shut the door right away. Then locked it and ran. Thank God the key was still in the hole.”
“Good . . . you did well,” I congratulated her. “So who were they?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t see them, just heard them.”
“How do you know what they were after?”
“Two nights in a row!” she exclaimed. “The night before, they’d searched the house. They couldn’t find anything, so they came back to catch me.”
“And what if they’ve followed you?”
“The front door is pretty solid,” she said. “They were locked in. It would take them at least an hour to open a steel door like that. I took three separate taxis, and I’m sure no one was following me.”
She continued staring. Considering what she’d been through, she was incredibly calm. She spoke in robotic tones. Calmly and slowly.
“I didn’t really have a chance to think . . .” she said. “My nerves were wrecked. I took something to calm down, then I decided to come to you. My head was swimming.”
It’d be impossible to get more out of her if she’d taken something.
“If you like, let’s go to bed,” I suggested. “Get some sleep. Calm down a bit. We’ll talk again when we get up.”
“Fine,” she said.
I led her to the guest room. She got into bed without removing her makeup, just taking time to slip out of her clothes. She was, of course, wearing the tiniest of G-strings.
Chapter 4S
leep did me good. I awoke shortly after noon, with light filling the room as I pulled back the heavy curtains. I immediately opened the window: fresh air. No matter what the summer temperature is outside, the garden behind my building is always cool and moist. I adore this garden, filled with fruit trees and hydrangeas.
leep did me good. I awoke shortly after noon, with light filling the room as I pulled back the heavy curtains. I immediately opened the window: fresh air. No matter what the summer temperature is outside, the garden behind my building is always cool and moist. I adore this garden, filled with fruit trees and hydrangeas.
The closed door of the guest room reminded me of Buse; I made my way as quietly as possible to the bathroom. She must be asleep. The cool water was refreshing, and I was flooded with the excitement of a new day. Then I prepared coffee for two in the kitchen. The first bitter swallow takes my breath away, then stimulates me.
I went inside to choose some soothing music. I decided on Bach’s BWV 1060 double concertos. It’s a particularly appropriate piece for sunny days. I don’t even remember how many different versions of it I’ve got. There’s nothing like having good music close at hand. My favorite is the synthesized version as played by the Pekinel sisters and jazz musician Bob James, and also the authentic harpsichord played by Hogwood and Rousset. Christopher Hogwood and Christophe Rousset are both gay, another plus.
I went to the guest room to wake up Buse. Tapping on the door, I peeked in: the room was empty. The bed had been made. I instinctively called out her name. Listening carefully, I waited for a reply from any part of the house. Nothing. I scurried through the flat, calling Buse’s name. My home is spacious, but no Dolmabahçe Palace. I quickly checked every corner: Not a trace of Buse! She was gone.
Dumping her untouched coffee into the sink, I settled into my favorite chair with mine. I wanted to evaluate the situation calmly. Accompanied by Handel, I began to think: Someone—or as many as three people—was after Buse, whose real name was Fevzi. Actually, it wasn’t she they wanted, but the photographs and letters in her possession. The documents involved someone of importance who had once had a romantic adventure with Buse/Fevzi. She claimed they would make perfect blackmail material. The photos and letters were in the “teenage girl’s” old bedroom back at her blind mother’s house. Buse’s home had been ransacked. What’s more, three men had lain in wait for her there.
Considering how easy it had been to locate Buse and her home, it would be easy enough for them to find the club too. Maybe tonight, or perhaps tomorrow . . . they would most certainly show up at some point. That particular fact was of great personal interest to me.
Buse had come to my house after hers was broken into. As you might imagine, our girls are no strangers to criminal activities. They endure minor theft and physical attacks on an almost daily basis. So they’re not easily spooked. However, Buse/Fevzi was in a state of shock. Unsure of what was really happening and why, she had been unable to tell me much. Now she’d disappeared. Full stop.
That was all I knew. It was now up to me to decide whether or not to become further involved. The choices before me were:
One: Wait and see. Wait for Buse/Fevzi to contact me when she needed me.
Two: Assume some degree of responsibility for Buse/Fevzi, who is, after all, a part-time employee at the club I run. Act preemptively, therefore, by attempting to find and protect her.
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