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Even so, subservience wasn’t in my repertoire. I resented playing the part of the sidekick again, and Dad knew it. I wanted to make sure he knew it.
Dad continued, “All the scouting work we did—”
I interrupted. “You mean, all the scouting work I did.”
Dad’s dark-eyed stare was created to intimidate, and his mere presence was effective enough to sway most people into going along with anything he said, but I wasn’t backing down.
“Taking the watch shouldn’t be a problem,” he said to Poe, “as long as you port in.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Well, he isn’t going to walk in.”
“Then you port to the agreed-upon location,” he finished.
“Which is where?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter.” Dad landed his eagle eyes on me. “You’ll take a cab home.”
“Tell me, Dad. Do you dismiss everything I say because you’re sexist or because you think I’m stupid?”
Wisely, Poe backed into a corner to stay out of the line of fire.
“Your level of respect is inappropriate.” Dad’s jaw was clenching.
“When do I ever do anything that is appropriate?” I asked.
“If you want to do this job, I would suggest you start immediately.”
I knew from Dad’s jaw and the tightness around his eyes that I’d pushed him too far. Now wasn’t the time to challenge him unless I wanted to get rolled over, and I wasn’t about to lose the chance to leave the house.
“Yes, sir.” I dropped my head.
And today’s round goes to Alpha Daddy.
Poe didn’t say a word as we walked out of Dad’s office, but his look clearly indicated I should’ve shut up way before I did.
My look back indicated he should screw off.
“He only acts that way because he loves you,” Poe said.
“So ignoring me equals loving me?”
“It does when it means he’s scared.”
I grabbed my bag and headed for the front door. Even though I preferred it, taking Dad’s town car wasn’t the best way to stay undercover. A cab waited at the corner, and I climbed in and gave the address. The driver didn’t balk when I pulled off my oversized T-shirt and adjusted the laces on my corset. New Orleans cab drivers were tough to rattle.
I’d figured out the art of decadent camouflage. Thanks to the number of flamboyant visitors to the clubs on Bourbon, I found it easy to blend in the Quarter. I had one rule when it came to my disguises: Go hard or go home. Dressing up gave me a chance to step into someone else’s fictitious life. Sometimes my characters had elaborate backstories. Other times, the simplicity of the costume sufficed.
I gave my makeup one last check in my compact mirror. Tonight, it involved glitter, false eyelashes with feathers on the ends, and lots of glittery powder in my fake cleavage. My blue wig topped it all off, perfectly and literally. I slicked my mouth with bright pink lip gloss for the finishing touch, and tapped the back of the cabbie’s seat once we hit the edge of the French Quarter. I gave him the fare plus twenty bucks.
“You never saw me, right?”
From the way he looked at my chest, he’d seen way more of me than I’d wanted.
My platform boots gave me a definite swagger, and my taffeta tutu accentuated the swing of my hips. I focused on the ground and concentrated on lengthening the shape of my eyelids, along with puffing up my lips and making my cheekbones more prominent. I searched for my reflection and found it in a plate-glass window. I could see my own face underneath, but only because I was looking.
It had rained most of the day and a fine mist hung in the air, but the endless party still went strong. I melted into the crowd, noting details for my escape route, since I’d be on foot.
I couldn’t always tell the bums from the tourists, and even though Mardi Gras was only one week a year, some glassy-eyed coed was always ready to lift her shirt for a string of cheap plastic beads. Stories were ripe for the picking in the Quarter, and most were written all over their authors’ faces. The same creepy-ass clown stood outside Oz, juggling shot glasses tonight. I skirted my way past him without making eye contact.
