Of Drag Kings And The Wheel Of Fate Part 17

Rosalind had never gotten the habit of smoking. She'd tried, a few times, to be social, to see what the fuss was about, but it left her perplexed as to the attraction. She thought about what Ellie said, and her mind played. She remembered the night Taryn had sat on the windowsill, backlit by the streetlight, a cigarette hanging from her long fingers, speaking dispa.s.sionately about the past. She couldn't get away from her for the length of three imaginary cigarettes.

If her mind wasn't conjuring Taryn's image, her body was listening for a familiar footstep, the sound of a long easy stride, a pair of combat boots striking the pavement. Rosalind shook her head, unable to fight it. Taryn was a part of her. It wasn't just poetry, and s.e.x, and madness that she could dive into and walk away from. Taryn was in her bones.

Ellie came walking up the path, hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. She spotted Rosalind sitting on the steps and strolled over, kicking leaves as she walked. Ellie dropped down on the step next to her friend and looked out over the lake.

"You don't look like you're bleeding, so I'll a.s.sume it isn't medical. I'm supposed to be the dramatist. What's going on?"

"Grey called me into his office. Someone has issued a complaint that I've been sleeping with a student," Rosalind said, her voice surprisingly even.

"Jesus! You? What kind of bulls.h.i.+t is that? You denied it, of course."

"I denied it. He said it wasn't formal yet, so it didn't have to go any further. But he advised me to be seen in public with an appropriate escort. He kept using the phrase 'straighten things out.'"

Ellie absorbed this for a moment. "I see. Somebody knows about you and Taryn and either wants to destroy your reputation or thinks lovergirl is actually a student. Grey was covering his a.s.s. He couldn't come out and tell you to act straight to shut things up, but he did, in his own special way."

"Yeah," Rosalind said, resting her head in her hands. "Remember when I asked you where all the hatred and bigotry were? I take it back. I can't even handle a taste of it."

"Honey...do you know who is doing this?" Ellie asked, rubbing her back.

Rosalind raised her head, her eyes red. "I thought about it, but it doesn't really matter, you know? It could be anyone. And it doesn't have to be true. It doesn't have to be a student. It's enough that my lover is a girl thirteen years my junior. All I need is an informal complaint, and my reputation is shot. And if it escalates, my chance at tenure goes up in smoke. Don't look at me like that. I know how university politics work. You don't get a job by being a rebel. You get enough unwanted attention for the department, and they start thinking about how expendable you really are."

"Too bad you're not in theater. It's a scandal if someone starts a rumor that you're straight."

"I don't know what to do. I can't fight it. It's just an informal complaint. If I call for a hearing, I do myself more damage than they could. I can't take Grey's friendly advice, be seen in public with an appropriate escort. Taryn's a lot of things, but she's not-" Rosalind broke off, horrified.

"Finish the sentence. She's not appropriate. She couldn't pa.s.s if you threw a wig and makeup on her, put her in a dress and heels," Ellie said sharply.

"I wouldn't want her to. I love the way she is. I just hate that it makes such a difference." Rosalind looked at Ellie's face. "All my life, I wondered if there would ever be anything that made me crazy, made me forget everything and everyone else. A grand pa.s.sion. Now I have one, and the minute it gets challenged, I get scared. I feel like the whole world is looking at me, like people I don't even know get to judge what I'm doing. So I'm sitting here talking to you, instead of driving to the auction. I'm an a.s.shole, right?"

"I think you had a week of bliss, and now the real world is biting you on the tail. It gets complicated from here. You'll have to make choices about who knows, how they get to know, what you're ready to risk and ready to lose. Love is like that, or so I hear. This is your Waterloo, Ros. Do you let the people watching tell you how you live, or do you tell them?" Ellie's voice was firm and offered no comfort. It was strangely comforting for that reason. Rosalind knew her friend was telling her the truth and challenging her.

"Lord, Ellie. I've never had to make a choice like that. I don't know how," she said, shaking her head.

"Start from the basics, what we know to be true. Taryn's a s.e.xy beast. She's also inappropriate, and thirteen years younger than you, and hardly a charm school graduate. You are, despite your week of vacationing, a woman who's been straight her whole life, now divorced. You're an adult, a professor, you love your job, people think of you when they think respectable. You'd be the designated driver in any group; you'd be the one to take the minutes at the meeting, send thank you cards, remember birthdays. Doesn't make any sense in the world that you'd risk anything for a weeklong fling with a girl who is, to put it bluntly, butch.

"Face it, girlfriend. You walk down the street with her, you out yourself. Everybody knows what you are doing together. Clerks in the Galleria will know your business. If you feel like people are looking at you now, you ain't seen nothing yet." Ellie watched the color drain from Rosalind's face.

"You're right. It will only get harder."

Ellie brushed her hands together. "So, break up with her. Don't show up at the auction. She'll get the picture. She'll have a broken heart for a while, but there's plenty of women out there who will want to help her ease her pain. And you can forget it ever happened."

Rosalind let herself experience the thought fully. She saw Taryn's face when she didn't show up at the auction. She pictured leaving an unmarked envelope on the steps at 34 Mariner, a single key inside. She saw Taryn, broken, sitting on the bed in the s.p.a.ce she'd created for them. Rosalind's heart lurched; the blood started pumping back toward her skin. Her mind, cruel to the last, added a new player in, a woman walking up behind Taryn, embracing her, stroking her hair. It could be anyone, anyone but her. Then she saw herself going back to her own apartment, alone.

Rosalind felt the air of the tomb crawl across her skin. Even if she took up the knife Ellie offered and cut off Taryn, she couldn't staunch the bleeding. And she saw herself placing Taryn's hand over her heart, repeating the vows she'd already made. Meant only for kings. She knew then. She wouldn't be able to forget. She might break Taryn's heart. Taryn might even recover someday. But she wouldn't forget. She would walk back into her own life, sundered, knowing what she was missing.

"No." It was spoken quietly, an internal conversation that slipped out into the air.

Ellie tilted her head, listening. "What was that?"

"No." It was stronger now, life returning to the voice under it. "I couldn't forget. Even if I broke up with her. I love her, Ellie. That makes everything else different." Rosalind turned and looked at her.

"So we go from there. Do you go to the auction or not?"

The fear bit at her, but she had a place to start from now. "Yes. I don't know if I'll be front row center, but I have to be there. I'm her girl," Rosalind said, raising her head.

"Never thought I'd hear you say that with pride. Good for you." Ellie patted Rosalind's knee. "Come on. Time's a wasting. Some other wench might have snapped her up already."

Rosalind took her friend's hand and stood up. "You were pretty harsh there. Thanks."

"My job. When you aren't being as fabulous as I know you are, I have to kick you around." Ellie smiled, taking the sting from the words.

"You were a little too convincing with how hard it's going to be. I almost thought you wanted me to break up with her."

"I like Taryn. But I love you. I wanted you to choose. I got your back, no matter what." Ellie put her arm across Rosalind's shoulders.

Chapter Eleven.

The auction was being held at an old brick building on Franklin Street that Community AIDS Services often rented for events. A cash bar came along with the small auditorium and proscenium stage. Egyptia knew enough about hosting a spectacle that she could transform the room from a high school cafeteria into a palace. A runway had been rented and set up perpendicular to the stage. Some of the lights from Marcella's had been pressed into service. Lance, the Sat.u.r.day night DJ, brought in his own sound system. Red and blue lights. .h.i.t the facets of the dis...o...b..ll; crepe paper streamers were self-consciously draped across the ceiling, just tacky enough to be camp.

The auction was underway by the time Ellie and Rosalind walked in. Rosalind had insisted on stopping home and getting dressed up first. Whatever else happened tonight, this was her first public event with Taryn, and she was determined to dress accordingly. Her dress was the color of fresh blood, an eye-hurting scarlet that vibrated into the room. Ellie had questioned the choice, until Rosalind put it on.

"I get it. Leave no doubts, take no prisoners. Subtlety isn't in your vocabulary tonight," she'd said, watching Rosalind unfurl her hair.

Rosalind hadn't expected this much of a crowd for a fundraiser. From the front porch, the building was packed shoulder to shoulder. She could hear music and shouting coming from the back room and moved toward it, slipping sideways into the crowd.

"I can't even see the runway from here!" Ellie shouted in her ear.

Most of the crowd was men; the smell of aftershave was thick. Drag queens dominated the crowd, demanding pa.s.sage from the press of bodies. Rosalind saw one queen use a football player-sized escort to divide the room like the Red Sea, pa.s.sing unharmed through it.

Rosalind broke to the right, seeing an opening in the crowd. There was a familiar head and shoulders near the back wall, facing the stage. She headed for it, pulling Ellie along by the wrist.

Joe was leaning against the wall, a beer bottle hanging from his hand. He wore jeans and a dark green b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt, looking out of place in the gorgeous costuming of the crowd. His eyes were wandering over the crowd with bemus.e.m.e.nt. He spotted Rosalind and smiled, lifting the bottle in a salute. Rosalind felt a sense of relief, seeing him, and headed for the back wall.

"I was hoping you'd get here! That boy has been driving me right up a wall. I've had to call your house five times, mine three, and promise to send out a dogsled team to look for you, if it got to be eight. If they didn't have to keep her backstage, she'd be on the porch, I swear. You look like a beacon in the fog, Rosalind. Would you please stop getting more gorgeous every time I see you?" Joe extended his hand to Ellie as he spoke, his eyes s.h.i.+fting from Rosalind to her friend. "I'm Joe."

"Ellie. You're not Papa Joe, are you?"

Joe swore and lifted the bottle to his lips. "Gonna kill that kid," he mumbled.

"Joe, was she really worried?" Rosalind asked, putting her hand on the man's wrist.

He paused with the beer bottle halfway to his lips, his eyes wide and unguarded. "She loves you, you know?" he said quietly. He put the beer bottle down on the floor. When he straightened up, he rolled his shoulders, looking uncomfortable. He looked into Rosalind's eyes and rubbed his chin. "I'm not good at this stuff. She would die before she admitted it, but yeah, she was worried. T got this...feeling this afternoon, and it nearly kept her from coming tonight. She thought you wouldn't be here. That if she came tonight, she'd lose you." Rosalind looked at Joe and saw the concern, as well as the relief, that Rosalind was here.

"You knew I'd be here?" she asked, aware that Ellie was watching their exchange with fascination.

"There's lots of ways to know things," Joe said, lifting his chin. "I knew you'd wear a dress so red it made the air hiss. I knew you loved her."

"Ellie gave me a swift kick where I needed it. Is there any way I can see her?" Rosalind asked. The need to connect with Taryn, to rea.s.sure her, was so strong it burned her. Whatever else was going to come from tonight, she knew she was in the right place. Her body proclaimed it, crying out for her lover.

Joe shook his head. "She's about to come on. When this intermission is over, Egyptia will start auctioning again. She's next on the program."

Ellie took Rosalind's arm. "She's a performer. Trust me on this. You don't want to see a performer right before they go on. You'll shatter her focus."

"I want her to know I'm here," Rosalind said stubbornly.

"If we get in front of the stage, she'll know you're here. That dress announces you," Ellie said.

Joe took Rosalind's other arm. "Shall we go let your boy know you're here for her?" he asked with a nod to Ellie.

"Lay on, Macduff. And d.a.m.n'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'" Rosalind proclaimed.

"The Scottish play. That's upbeat," Ellie said as they pushed through the crowd. They made it to the end of the runway and claimed the s.p.a.ce, thanks to Joe's judicious use of his shoulders and Ellie's natural ability to part a crowd. Rosalind felt like a queen with her attendants, a nice sensation. The festive mood of the audience was seeping in, the level of excitement in the room humming like high-tension wires. She looked to the right and left, getting a feel for her fellow bidders.

More women were coming in, or perhaps coming to the fore; the men gave back, granting them s.p.a.ce. Rosalind saw Irene and Garnet, the couple she'd met on the porch during the Better You than Me. Garnet waved, and Irene nodded to her solemnly.

"Looks like you're a celebrity already. I thought you didn't know anyone," Ellie said.

"I don't. I bet I don't know another person here."

"Hey, Ros! Joe!" A voice called out in excitement, from behind them. They turned and saw Laurel coming through the crowd, trailing a very tall, handsome black girl behind her. Laurel stood next to Joe and Rosalind. "Glad I found you! Has she been out yet?" she asked both of them, her face flushed.

"Not yet. She's about to. We just got our s.p.a.ce for the bidding wars," Joe answered.

"Great dress, Rosalind. I saw it clear across the room. Guys, this is Robbie. She goes to Buff State. This is Joe, my housemate, and Ros, Taryn's g-oh, is that common knowledge yet?" Laurel asked, casting a worried look at Rosalind.

"If it isn't, it's about to be," Rosalind said with a laugh. "This is my friend Ellie. Nice to meet you, Robbie, is it?"

"Robbie is fine." The handsome girl unleashed a killer smile.

The lights all came up. Lance stopped the music. Egyptia strolled down the runway, casting sparks like a firefall from her platinum wig and dove gray evening gown, threaded through with silver, like lines of rain. She wore embroidered gloves and had an evening bag in the crook of her left arm. She struck a pose and waited, examining the back of her gloved hand, until a boy ran from the sound booth with a microphone for her. She bent gracefully down and took it from him, a feat of Olympic gymnastic ability, considering the tightness of her dress. She waited until the cheering and catcalls stopped before she spoke.

"That's better. Now you know we do this fundraiser every year and bring you and your wallets out for a good cause. You've been very good tonight. We've raised nearly three thousand dollars for CAS. Give yourselves a hand." Egyptia paused until the clapping subsided. "We decided to do something different this year. Ladies, get your purses out. You know her from Marcella's as the boy who gives trouble its capital T. Taryn."

Egyptia stepped back, to the right of the stage. The lights went to black. A single follow spot came up, hitting the curtain. The music started. Rosalind felt the antic.i.p.ation grab her by the throat, felt her heart start pounding madly.

A hand parted the curtain, a glimpse of somber black from the s.h.i.+rtsleeve, a spark of gold from a cufflink. The gesture was indolent, the very slowness of it brazen as the curtain was eased open and the figure stepped out into the light. A gasp went around the room, a collective indrawn breath.

Taryn stood, hands in her pockets, head bowed, while the light revealed her. Her s.h.i.+rt drank the light, a black so thorough no details could be made out, b.u.t.toned to the neck, no tie. The jacket fit smoothly, draping from her broad shoulders, unb.u.t.toned. Her suit was the complement to Egyptia's gown, a gray that spoke of rainy afternoons under gunmetal skies, the dull glow of old pewter. It was the specter of the twilight time between the burning glory of autumn and the deep death sleep of winter.

It was a color that made Rosalind want to grab Taryn and cuddle with her in front of a roaring fire, to bring warmth back to her, to banish the melancholy that exuded from her. Taryn raised her head slowly, eyes brooding and sad under black brows, and Rosalind felt a s.h.i.+ver caress her spine. Taryn had a goatee, as black as her hair, carving out the shape of her firm jaw. Standing there, for all the world, was a young man, sullen and beautiful.

He looked out over the crowd, the young man with the brooding eyes, resting on nothing. He took his hands out of his pockets and started to walk. Rosalind learned all over again what it was like, staring at Taryn with a room full of people, all focusing on her as an object of desire. Heal me, his walk said. Only you can touch my pain. She wanted to compare it with the stalking of a great cat, but it wasn't that unconscious.

It was the walk of a performer who knows he is being watched, desired, devoured, who can feel the hunger in the room and string it out. The very indifference was calculated to pull more response. It was a challenge, a dare. Could you be the one to break that sh.e.l.l?

It took a moment before her eyes allowed any other sense's input, before she recognized the music. It was a splendid conceit. Probably Egyptia's idea: "I Touch Myself." Taryn walked to the right, to the edge of the runway, her eyes skimming the crowd. The mask of her face didn't change, but her eyes stopped, meeting those of a woman pressed up to the edge of the stage. Taryn leaned forward, just an incline of her upper body, but the impression was one of coming out into the audience. The woman reached out for her, grabbing at the edge of her suit coat. Taryn shook her head and stepped back. She pivoted on her heel, looking down into the crowd to the left.

A woman howled like a wolf; it drew a momentary flash of a grin from Taryn. Jealousy rose up and tapped Rosalind on the shoulder. One of the leather jackets, perhaps? There was no way for her to know how many of the women cheering and catcalling in the crowd had had the pleasure of the drag king. Bile dripped into her stomach. Something of it must have showed on her face.

She felt Joe's hand rest, lightly, on her shoulder. "They don't know her. They look at her, that's all. She looks back at you."

Rosalind reached up and squeezed his hand.

Taryn started walking again, down the runway. Her step had gathered some bounce; the energy of the crowd was lifting her. Now there was a deliberate effort to make eye contact, to give each woman a second of infinite time when they and they alone had Taryn's attention. Just that moment of total attention, a tilt to the dark head, a smile that hinted at fulfillment. Just a whisper of a promise. I know what you need.

Rosalind could hear the checkbooks being dragged out as Taryn pa.s.sed. Given a glimpse of her intensity, what would a night be like? The thought was loud enough to be shouted in the tightly packed crowd around the runway.

"This is obscene. They're salivating!" Rosalind said to Ellie. She turned to her friend to find a suspicious blush on her cheeks. "Oh, Ellie. Not you too."

Ellie grinned. "I'd say it was professional interest, but d.a.m.n, if I could find a man who looked like that! I sure hope Linda made it. She'll kick herself for missing this."

Rosalind had studied Shakespeare for over six years and thought she knew a thing or two about theater. She knew, intellectually, that the stage was only an elevation of a few feet, that the lights were a simple hang, that this person before her was the same girl who had lain naked in her arms. But the stage worked its magic, making Taryn in the suit the color of old pewter seem like a stranger. Her charisma was staggering, amplified by the desire showing on the women's faces.

Rosalind felt the urge to make her presence known, to let everyone in the room know that Taryn was hers. She felt possessive, proud, and confused, her desire to be anonymous warring with her need to have Taryn acknowledge her. Taryn certainly wasn't appropriate, she thought, watching the drag king walk. She was magnificent. Taryn was headed for the end of the runway. She looked out over the crowd, eyes sweeping the room, catching sight of Joe, Laurel, then- She stopped dead, letting the mood of the crowd carry itself along without her. Her eyes found Rosalind, and her face transformed. The character fell away, and Rosalind saw the joy break across her face, saw the blinding smile of welcome. It was a look as intimate as a touch, heedless of the audience; it reached right out to Rosalind and embraced her. It was a naked look, offering Rosalind whatever she wanted for showing up, for coming through. Rosalind put two fingers over her heart, in a gesture she hoped Taryn would read.

The music stopped. Egyptia took up the microphone. "I'll start the bidding at fifty dollars. Any takers?"

"Fifty!" The woman called from the left of the runway, her hand shooting up. Rosalind looked over at her. It was the woman Taryn had bent down and flirted with. She was blond, in her thirties, and her face had the flushed look of a woman seeing something she wants. She kept her eyes on Taryn as she bid.

Rosalind recognized that look. It'd been hers, the first night at Marcella's. She felt a moment of empathy for the woman, then remembered what she was bidding on was a night with her lover. Before Rosalind had a chance to adjust, to respond, the figure had climbed up to one twenty-five and kept going.

"Are you waiting to let it top out before bidding?" Joe asked, concerned.

"No! I can't get an edge. They keep skipping over each other."

Egyptia was working the crowd, mike in hand, stirring the women up. She avoided the front of the runway and Rosalind, refusing to walk over or make eye contact.

"What is she doing? Egyptia ignored me!" Rosalind asked Joe, grabbing his arm.

"It's a fundraiser. I'm sure she's just driving the price up," Laurel said.

"She doesn't have to. It's at three fifty already. None of the men went for that," Joe said.

"We have three fifty, can I get three seventy-five?" Egyptia cooed into the mike.

Colleen pushed to the edge of the stage, holding up a fistful of cash. "I've got that!" she called, getting Egyptia's attention.

Two things happened inside Rosalind's head so quickly that they might have been simultaneous. The first was a light going on, a recognition of who might have had a motive to issue a complaint against her. The second thing was simpler, a primal reaction, like a wolf baring its fangs. In essence it said, Oh no, you don't.

The rational part of her brain, the part that had carried her with great success through her life as an academic, recognized this as the moment to practice Dr. Grey's recommended circ.u.mspection. Buffalo had many of the elements of a small town, particularly the community she now moved in.

The traditional distance between teacher and student broke down rapidly if you hung out in the same bars, went to the same events, and, in this case, slept with the same people. It was her responsibility to recognize that potential problem and adjust for it. Making a public statement right now about who she was seeing could easily backfire. All she had to do was express interest in Taryn, and she was outed.