“Did you? At work? So where would that be?”
“Caesar’s Palace.”
“Ah, the amusement arcade. I know it well. I see. Part of Charles Cordwainer’s little empire by the sea, isn’t it?”
Flipp half smiled. “Yeah. He does have a touch of the imperial about him, old Cordwainer. I can see him lying on a golden divan being fed grapes by handmaidens.”
“Oh, you’ve heard that rumour too?”
They smiled genuinely, the ice broken.
“So do you enjoy your work, Flipp?”
She contemplated her bottle neck. “I wouldn’t say that. I mean, I hope I’m not doing it forever. I hope I’m not doing it after the end of summer, to be honest. It’s boring and the pay is crap. But, you know, needs must and all that.”
“When the devil drives,” Jeremy quoted thoughtfully. “And Cordwainer does have a bit of a reputation. I mean, I don’t suppose he actually is Beelzebub in human form.”
“What have you heard about him?” Flipp asked, curious. “Everybody keeps warning me about him, but they won’t say why. Even Rocky.”
“Rocky warned you off him?”
Flipp thought that she might have said too much. There was a glint in Jeremy’s eye, and he’d picked up that tidbit like a dog snatching a bone between its jaws. He wasn’t going to let go, by the look of him. And anyway, he looked nothing like the kind of person Rocky would be friends with. He had floppy hair and gold-rimmed spectacles and looked as if he might enjoy a game of croquet.
“Well, you know, not in so many words,” she mumbled, looking away.
“But Rocky works for him? Cordwainer? So I could contact him via the arcade, perhaps?”
“I could tell him you were looking for him,” Flipp asserted, unprepared to offer anything more in the way of favours. “What was your name again? Jeremy what?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’ll catch up with him myself, I’m sure. So you and Rocky haven’t been together long? He is your boyfriend, is he?”
Flipp had no idea how to answer this and the barrage of questions was starting to make her feel hot and uncomfortable.
“You tell me,” she said, hostility spilling from behind her guard. “You seem to know all about it.”
“Flipp. Oh, don’t be like that. Stay and finish your drink.”
For she was on her feet now, looking around for an easy route to the door.
“Sit down, please do. I won’t talk about Rocky anymore if it upsets you, I promise. But you must finish your drink. Come on. Sit with me a little while longer and I’ll fill you in on the hot spots of Goldsands—the places to be and the places to avoid. Do you like live music?”
“Yes.” Flipp reseated herself with some reluctance. “Are there any venues here?”
“Well, apart from the Pavilion, which just does musicals and rock-and-roll tribute shows, there are quite a few pubs that host live bands. The Fairhaven used to be the best, but it’s changed hands recently and I think the new owner is going down the sports bar route. The Queens is excellent though—near the station. And if you like a bit of old-style jazz and blues, there’s the Showboat.”
They eased then into a conversation about musical tastes and favourite artists.
“You’re not such a rocker as Rocky, then?” Jeremy enquired slyly after a long paean to various postpunk and new wave acts that had left Flipp a little breathless.
“We aren’t joined at the hip.”
“No, of course not. Just that at school he was renowned for his air guitar stylings. Shame he couldn’t sing or play a note.”
Flipp chuckled. “I bet he can dance, though.” She thought straightaway that she would have to get him to a club where they could shimmy hips at each other to a sweating, pounding beat under flashing lights. She imagined the damp hair hanging in his eyes, the T-shirt clinging to his back, the well-muscled arms reaching out for her.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember him dancing. You’ll have to try and instil a bit of culture into Rocky perhaps.”
“What was he like at school?” she asked, finally relaxed enough to let her curiosity off the leash.