Nub Investigates (Open)

[Nub]

Nub dropped the newspaper onto his desk and fell into his seat. Missing Girl Rescued the frontpage declared in thick bold type. It was a preview of tomorrows edition, given to him by the chief editor on behalf of a grateful city. Another case closed, another feather in his cap - another inch on his social penis. It should have been a fanfare evening for the worlds greatest detective. Instead it was hollow, empty, and Nub couldn't quite put his finger on why. Then again that was the root of it, there was nothing for him to put his finger on. He was alone, without a friend in the world and the hangers on well they just annoyed him. Nub was asleep in his chair before the line of thought drew too close to the edge, it was time to find a new case.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

The following morning...

http://www.bibracte.dreamwater.org/ATWAS/MrsWoodsley.jpg​

Looking around as she opened the door, Elaine Woodsley hesitated, wondering if she hadn't made a mistake in coming here. She'd read about Nathaniel Unsgood Butler in the morning edition of the Tribune, but what she saw didn't seem very encouraging. Dingy wasn't the word to describe this little fire trap. Shivering slightly, she wondered if they even had heat, and was just about to leave when a tall, leggy blonde came out of the inner office.

The two women took a mental inventory of each other, the younger of the two breaking the silence first. "Sorry for keeping you waiting. Is there something we can help you with?" Elaine couldn't help wondering what someone who looked like that was doing in a place like this but refrained from asking. Fact is, she didn't really care one way or the other. It wasn't what had brought her here.

"No... I think perhaps I've made a mistake," she said turning back toward the door.

"Joan! Did I just hear someone come in?" A voice from the inner office called out. She looked up as another door opened, revealing a dishevelled looking man who was leisurely fastening the top button of his shirt. Elaine Woodsley took him in at a glance. Now he fit -- and typically so.

The secretary, Joan he called her, gestured toward the woman who might possibly mean there would be a paycheck in her future. "Mr. Butler, this is... " Elaine, standing poised with her gloved hand on the undoubtedly germ-infested doorknob, took a deep breath and gingerly extended her hand. "Mrs. Cotton Woodsley. Is there somewhere we can talk? Privately?"

The secretary raised an eyebrow at that last comment, but Nub, ever the trooper, waved Mrs. Cotton Woodsley into his office with a flourish, pausing only for a second to wink at Joan before closing the door.

Elaine Woodsley looked around the even shabbier inner office wondering where she could sit without ruining her Chanel suit. Reading her mind and mocking her at the same time, Nub took a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and wiped off a section of a sofa that had seen better days. "Have a seat." It came out more like a command than an offer of hospitality and Elaine didn't miss it, but she had to start somewhere, didn't she? Trying not to wince, she sank into the sofa as he sat at his desk waiting.

"First of all," she began, "I must know if you will be discrete. I won't have my business bruited all over town. We have a reputation to uphold, however shaky it may be at this juncture in time."

"Why, sure," he drawled. "I'm the very soul of discretion. But it'll cost you."

Elaine couldn't help chuckling at his audacity. "Oh, Mr. Butler, money is no object. Discretion is my main concern. That and finding out what my husband is up to and who he's having an affair with."

Nub sat a little straighter in his chair as he wondered just how much money was no object but thought he'd listen a little bit more before he made some outrageous bid. He watched the Woodsley woman carefully as she opened her clutch and pulled out a letter.

"My husband has been acting... strangely. He's been going out of town frequently on what he says is business. In fact," Elaine added, "he's out of town right now. I know where he went, but I am uncertain of who he's with. Los Angeles. And here's... " She leaned forward to hand him an envelope then sat back waiting while he opened it.

 

[Nub]

Elaine walking into his life had all the signs of it being one of those days. The rough contours of his face were bad enough, the creases in his suit didn't help much, but it was the sour of last nights whiskey lingering in his mouth that made him hesistant to get too close. When she leaned forward he inhaled her scent, money and perfume, it was as thick and almost as sickening as the old alcohol in his mouth. Some people had it, most didn't, and looking down on the envelope it was apparent Elaine had enough to splash around. Nub thumbed the wad of notes in the customary fashion, he didn't seriously believe they'd turn out to be ones wrapped in twenties or anything like that, it was one of those things he did.

"Well." Nub scoffed a chuckle. "Discretion is my middle name, and your husbands business trips...I can dig around a little, turn over a few bedcovers...see whose underneath them, find out what they've been up to. Get real close..."

Nub took his time, forming the words slowly, deliberately, watching Elaine with scientific attention to detail. Drinking in her every response, pushing the implied meanings as far as they'd go without having to resort to vulgarity.

"...but what if it turns out his business is just business? This sort of...suspicion damages a relationship, tell me...have you found any evidence he's up to no good? Receipts? Interrupted telephone calls? Lipstick on his collar? I need somewhere to start, he's out of town you say..."

Nub paused in thought, it was a theatrical performance, he'd known what he was going to say for some time.

"...maybe I could stop by, nose around his things a bit, no matter how clever and careful someone thinks they're being...they always leave something behind."

 

[Cinderella]

Joan Mullins

Joan looked up from her book, nodding at the Woodsley woman as Nub walked her to the door. Counting to twenty just to be sure that she'd truly gone, the leggy blonde jumped up and gave a whoop that would have rivalled any one of the native extras in the latest blockbuster western at the Rialto.

"Is it true? Did you manage a new case, Nub?" she asked, her sapphire blue eyes glued to the handful of bills he riffled under her nose. Inhaling, she grinned and selected a c-note from the batch when he splayed them out like a deck of cards. "Positively orgasmic!"

"And there's more where that came from, toots!" Nub informed her, taking advantage of the situation by rubbing his hand over his secretary's shapely ass.

"None of that, Romeo!" she chided, swatting at her boss half-heartedly as she took the entire envelope this time and put it into the office safe. "Hey, Nub?" Joan called over her shoulder as he headed back into his office. "Try not to get caught with your pants down this time. We're still a month behind on the rent."

 

[sharingfantasies]

Tansy Porter

Tansy pulled off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked down at the man sleeping in the bed. He had been coming to Porter House on a regular basis for the past year. He never said much about his home or family but came to visit for a week or two at a time, then disappeared until his next time.

He was from an old money family, that was easy to tell. Not only from the Premier Credit Card he used which was only used by the rich and famous types but the quality of his clothing and the manner of his speaking. Cotton Woodsley was very polite to the help, but you were always aware that he thought of the people at Porter House as "the help".

Tansy pulled her hair back and replaced her hat with a soft sigh. It was a shame really. He wasn't that old, early forties at most. He should be out in society with a rich, classy wife on his arm. Attending those functions that rich people attended. But he seemed to like it here at the House, where there were plenty of pretty young ladies to keep him company. Tansy had certainly spent her share of time with him, and could attest to his charm and grace. She had seen him once on the cover of GQ, with his business partner. She couldn't remember what business was being written about, but his dark, handsome visage had caught her attention while standing in line at the grocery store. She had flipped through the pages just to find out his name and that he was from back east.

She never in a million years expected him to show up on her doorstep. She knew the House had a reputation among a select clientele, but, considering the number of similar places that existed between Los Angeles and the east coast, it was rather amazing that he came all this way to avail himself of the services here. Tansy smiled, as a businesswoman, she was certainly glad he did. She had been having mild success at making a profit for the first time since the doors opened, but now with Cotton Woodsley as a regular customer, the little numbers in her bookkeeping columns were growing rapidly.

With a last look at the sleeping man, Tansy left the bedroom and softly closed the door. Walking down the hallway, she saw a reflection of herself in the mirrored wall by the staircase that curved gracefully to the lower floors. She smiled. At the age of thirty-eight, Tansy still looked good. Her figure was the same hourglass shape it had been since she turned sixteen. Granted the curves were a size or two wider but still good enough to match up to any of the movie stars that graced the movie screens. People had wondered for years why she hadn't gone into modeling or acting but Tansy grew up poor and she knew she never wanted to be a "starving" anything again. Besides, Tansy liked to eat, those ladies worked out all the time, hardly ever ate, and spent a great deal of time and money having their bodies "corrected". The one thing that Tansy could thank her genetic parents for was a metabolism that burned off any calories she ate. She had heard that as she grew older she would have to be more careful, but right now she ate what she wanted and got her exercise going up and down the stairs several times a day and night. She knew that some people had the impression that business only took place at night, but at Porter House, services were offered 24/7.

 

[Nub]

"Just what kind of guy do you take me for?" Nub threw up a painfully wronged expression, it was as fake as the notes that had paid the rent last time. Taking a share in a couple of thousand in counterfeit money was too much to turn up when the police department somehow 'lost' part of that nights seizure. But like always the money came and went, Nub didn't concern himself with the day to day finances of the office, that's what he payed Joan for - when there was money to pay her. "I'm going there to investigate Joan and if that investigation takes me into her bedroom...well, let's just say I won't leave until I'm satisfied." When times were lean, he offered alternative methods of payment. She couldn't resist forever...

Nub fell into his seat with the sort of anticipatory feeling that always overcame him at the start of a new case. His desk was a cluttered mess of files and papers, photographs and notations. He opened one of the drawers and nudging some casenotes to the side revealed an aging snub-nosed revolver.

When Nub emerged from his office again he was wearing his hat and overcoat.

"Joan I want you to dig around a bit, find out what you can about the good Mr. Woodsley and his businesses. I'll be at the home of our client..."

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Elaine Woodsley pushed open the door to the parlor. "Good evening, Mr... Nub." she greeted him as she crossed the room and walked toward the Louis XV table where Lalique and Baccarat decanters filled with various golden-hued liquids nestled on a Tiffany tray. "Drink?"

"Scotch," he replied in his gravelly drawl. "Rocks."

The ice clinked almost musically into the glasses as she poured two, handing Nub his as she settled on the sofa, crossing her long shapely legs. Elaine sipped at her drink, indicating that he should make themselves comfortable.

"Tell me, Elaine," Nub began boldly. "Who normally inhabits this cozy little shack of yours?"

She hesitated for a moment, considering possible inferences of the question before answering. "Myself and Cotton, of course, and our stepson, Brandon. You've met our maid Carmen when she answered the door. Our butler, Henley and his wife normally, but they are on holiday. We have a gardener and bring in other help as needed, but none live on the grounds. Why do you ask?"

Nub's eyes went back to a photograph of Elaine and a man who must be her husband sitting on the piano and nodded in its direction. "Exactly when was that taken?"

"Perhaps a month or so ago. Why? Don't you want to be on your way to Los Angeles to find out what he's doing there? I've already told you that money is no object. Do you need a larger retainer?" Elaine stood and walked over to an escritoire, taking a check book from a small drawer.

"First things first, sist... Elaine," Sam interjected. "I'd like to take a gander at your husband's study. He does have one? Maybe you could have Carmen show me the way?"

"Whatever for? Oh, nevermind. I'll send for her now," Elaine said in a slightly exasperated tone of voice as she tugged on a tapestry pull, causing a bell to ring somewhere in another section of the house.

 

[Nub]

Nub sipped the whiskey with his usual enthusiasm for the liquor. It had the hallmarks of a quality single malt, all the heat but none of the fire. Like Nub it had matured into a fine vintage, and was a tipple he could get used to, given the opportunity.

"Now someone has taste."

Nub swirled the nectar around the inside of his glass. Before an answer could follow or a silence ensue he got up and sauntered over to the piano and picked up the photograph.

"What a handsome couple."

A few lingering moments passed, Nub should have been looking at Cotton, memorising and building an impression of the man, instead he found himself looking at Elaine. It was only the irritation in her voice that brought him back.

"Second thoughts Elaine maybe you could show me? I need to...pick your brain on a few things."

Nub returned the photograph to the piano, a print from the pad of his thumb smeared the immaculate glass.

"Then we can talk Los Angeles."

 

[LadyBloodRayne]

ignore me

 

[sharingfantasies]

When Tansy got downstairs there was the usual assortment of people coming and going, some on their way home to their families others on their way back to work. She smiled and waved at a couple of people she worked with personally. Although she owned the Porter House, she didn't have time to personally see to every client that came through the doors. She did try to make sure that she was visible as often as possible though.

Entering her office, she took off her hat and settled behind the antique desk left to her by her grandmother. The house and all of its furnishings had been left to Tansy when she turned 25. She had loved her grandmother dearly but the lady had been quite a character in her lifetime. Well known to many of the "rich and famous" of Los Angeles, she was also known to the down-and-outers that had trouble making the fee that Grace Porter had changed her clients. Gracie had been extremely business oriented and used her "charity" clients as tax write-offs. She managed her own stock portfolio concentrating on the vice corporations, "Booze, tobacco and sleeping pills will always be around. Stick with the obvious choices in life, Tansy, and you will always find your path," she would tell Tansy repeatedly. At age 14, Tansy had gone through an arts and crafts stage so hanging on the wall of the study/office was Gracie's favorite saying in very crooked needlepoint.

Not much in the house had changed since Gracie moved on to other clientele in the sky, but slowly Tansy had made small changes. The old victorian style mansion in the hills of Hollywood, was three stories tall and boasted 15 bedroom suites with master bathroom on the second floor, five smaller bedrooms for staff on the third floor and one grand master bedroom on the first floor. Whenever Tansy had come to visit Gracie from her home in south Los Angeles, she had been allowed to share teh grand master bedroom with Gracie. Tansy loved the visits to her outspoken grandmother's and her mother had let her come a couple of times a year.

Tansy's father had been shot by police when she was 8 years old. Her mother was already working as a maid to some of the homes in the Bel Air area. She would take the bus early and come home late. Tansy learned to fend for herself, but it was a lonely existence for an only child. Now Tansy's mother and grandmother were gone but Tansy didn't feel as lonely as she had as a child. Her family was now Porter House clients and staff. She worked long hours late into the night but she loved what she did. There were many people that couldn't understand why Tansy loved Porter House but she wouldn't trade it for all the money in the world. And thanks to clients like Cotton Woodsley, Tansy was building up quite a nest egg of her own.

Having spent a few minutes reminiscing, Tansy got down to business returning phone calls, setting up client appointments and taking care of paperwork. Tansy had learned from Gracie that keeping good records was of utmost importance. "Never try to fool the IRS," was Gracie's second favorite saying.
The room in the basement that was filled with fireproof, security locked file cabinets was proof, that paperwork was a huge part of the job. There was clients' favorite and least favorite foods and drinks, perferred room choice and whether they wanted a male or female staff member to attend to their needs, credit card and receipts, and letters written from those that were satisfied with the services they received. There was also one file cabinet holding tax forms for the past 40 years. Tansy opened the file cabinet in her office and realized it was going to be weeding time again soon. She only kept files on those clients that had visited in the past year, anything older than that went downstairs.

After an hour of paperwork, Tansy went back out into the reception area, to check on the staffs' schedule of appointments. After talking briefly with a few people, she went to the back of the house where a huge commercial sized kitchen was overseen by a French-trained chef. Checking on the assorted meals that were individually prepared for each client, Tansy sat down to eat her own simpler meal. Then it was back upstairs to the second floor to see to Mr. Woodsley's needs.