Of Drag Kings And The Wheel Of Fate Part 19

"You want to go somewhere quiet?"

"No. This is the sort of conversation made for doorways. Just hear me out, then I'll try to explain it. You did the right thing, coming tonight. It may seem like a small thing, but it set in motion a chain of events. Everything is linked, forward and back. A small thing can break a pattern."

"You know Rhea doesn't like me," Rosalind said, despite Joe's request.

"Rhea is afraid of you, Ros."

"But why would she be afraid of me? I won't-" She broke off, unable to finish the sentence. The pain in her head blossomed.

"Rhea is a woman to hold fast to what always has been. Her strength is the keeping firm, the rock. Not time, nor pain, nor death can alter her. She is fixed and set, eternal and unchangeable. I'm her opposite. My strength is water, giving way and moving around. Eternal change unfixed in any form. I am Love that can fill any shape," Joe said, the pain retreating from his eyes.

"I can't accept that, the way things have always been. There has to be another way. We'd still be chopping each other down with swords if there wasn't."

"That's your strength. The belief in goodness, no matter what. The blade of gra.s.s that splits the stone. You confront from love. You'll be the one to split the pattern. When a voice comes, listen to it. Don't expect it to make sense. I expect you're pretty good at that already." Joe smiled at her, warmth coming back into his face.

"I've had some practice this week in learning to accept what I would have thought to death before."

"Has it been only a week? Mighty Aphrodite, it seems like we've known you forever, Ros." Joe lifted his hand to his forehead, wincing.

"Pain?"

Joe smiled, with effort. "Pain isn't the worst thing that happens."

"What's the worst thing?" Rosalind asked impulsively. There was a moment of stillness about Joe that was profound. He might have been a statue, but for the life in his liquid eyes.

"Having love leave. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Count on it." Rosalind clasped his arm.

Rosalind left the doorway and pushed on into the bar. She saw Ellie first, her blond head thrown back in a laugh, the force of her joy like an arc of lightning coming from her. Affection flooded Rosalind. Lovers change the world, but best friends get you through it. She knew she'd never have had the courage to come tonight if Ellie hadn't held up the mirror and offered her a glimpse. What had Joe said? Everything is connected.

Ellie was absorbed in an animated conversation with a woman who wore her hair in dreadlocks. She wore jeans and a black leather jacket, in the way that Ellie wore them. Dramatically. Something the woman said was cracking Ellie up; she was doubling over with laughter. Rosalind walked up behind the woman, catching a fragment of what she was saying.

"Girlfriend, I'd have been like, 'Get your d.a.m.n hands off my property!' Good thing you warned me she was taken, or I'd have made a fool of myself throwing money down. Yo, Egyptia, got me a trust fund over here!" She laughed on the end of the sentence, a rich, full sound that Ellie echoed.

"Ros! Hey, I ran into Linda, she made it after all. Linda Alejandros, Rosalind Olchawski," Ellie said, presenting them.

The woman turned. She had a striking face, broad cheekbones under red-brown skin, a curve of eyebrow that belonged in movies from the forties. She held out a hand full of silver rings.

"Good meeting you. Congratulations on your winnings. Ellie was just torturing me by telling me she meant to take me to Marcella's last Friday. I see I'm a week too late."

"Or I was just in time, depending on your viewpoint. You wouldn't be the friend from the department that was behind the starter kit, would you?"

Linda held up her hand. "Guilty. When Ellie came to me, it gave me a charge thinking I could make a difference. Sure wish one of those had been ready for me when I came out, with some Audre Lord and Barbara Smith. Although, seeing the cause, I'm surprised you needed a starter kit."

"Call it a cultural introduction. Ros is stuck back in the Elizabethan era," Ellie said, smirking. "When's lovergirl coming out to join us?"

"Momentarily. I was lucky she has a good sense of audience dynamics. I'd never have won her without that wallet toss. I bet that wench across the runway would have-"

"Kept bidding until she got what she desired." The cool voice came from over Rosalind's shoulder.

Rosalind saw Ellie's eyes go wide, saw Linda glance down at her drink, and knew she was in trouble. She turned and saw the woman who had bid against her.

"Rosalind Olchawski, Marilyn Huang. Marilyn is-" Linda said.

"The wench who bid against you," the woman said with a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt. "I had no idea Taryn was spoken for, until she tossed her wallet. I did restrain myself once the terms had been clearly outlined."

"Marilyn's the artist in residence at Arts.p.a.ce for October. I'll be working with her, developing a performance piece, and I thought she might like to get a feel for the community," Linda explained, as Marilyn and Rosalind sized one another up.

Rosalind decided immediately that she had met the coolest, hippest woman in all the world. This Marilyn was gorgeous, and she wore that knowledge openly. Where Sandhya, who had been Rosalind's standard for staggeringly beautiful, made little of how she looked, this woman lived in it. Marilyn Huang looked like the kind of woman who never got ruffled, not in physical exertion, not in hatred, not in the act of love. Every word, every gesture, every incline of her head was measured, calculated, controlled, and deliberate. Coupled with the detachment was a sense of personal amus.e.m.e.nt. Her lips quirked at the corners, as if all life was a private joke.

"Where are you from, Marilyn?" Ellie asked, diverting the woman's eyes from her friend.

"New York. I'm here on a NYFA fellows.h.i.+p. I knew about Arts.p.a.ce, of course, but I never expected to find a thriving drag culture in Buffalo. I'm pleasantly surprised," Marilyn said, her eyes slipping back to Rosalind.

"You never know what you're going to find when you stop expecting." Rosalind's eye was drawn across the floor.

Taryn was in the doorway, framed against the dark wood, searching. She'd removed the goatee, but still looked like a beautiful young man, unconscious of the way people stared longingly at her when she paused. Her eyes were restless, scanning the room, pale under dark brows, until they found Rosalind. Then the warmth in them would have melted steel, reworked stone.

Rosalind absorbed that welcome, hearing it like music from the doorway. It was as explicit a declaration as the kiss on the runway had been. Women, staring at Taryn, followed her line of sight and looked away.

"Forget what I said earlier. I don't want a man who looks like that. I want a man who looks at me like that," Ellie said to Rosalind.

Rosalind smiled, knowing she was in love, knowing that it was as visible in the room as light. That smile pulled Taryn across the threshold to her side.

"h.e.l.lo, Taryn. Apparently I'm the cruise director this evening. May I present Linda Alejandros, UB Theater. Marilyn Huang, artist in residence, Arts.p.a.ce. Taryn, local performer and drag king," Ellie said grandly, as Taryn slipped in next to Rosalind, fitting herself against the woman's hip.

"Hey," Taryn said, inclining her head to the trio. Her eyes pa.s.sed from Linda to Marilyn, and she stopped, a puzzled look on her face. "Do I know you?"

"I imagine not. I think we'd both remember that. You have a wonderful presence on stage. Some real potential," Marilyn said, her eyes examining Taryn's face.

"We were going to the Lavender Door for a drink. Why don't you two join us?" Linda said to Rosalind.

It drew Rosalind's attention away from feeling suddenly invisible. She weighed her answer, wanting to get Taryn alone, but not wanting to repeat her fit of jealousy from the other night. Linda she liked and would enjoy talking with. But. There was something about Marilyn that rubbed her the wrong way, and not the least of which was her bidding on Taryn. Or the way her eyes now devoured Taryn as if she were an appetizer. Taryn's arm was around her waist. She felt her fingers against her back, the heat soaking through the thin fabric of her dress.

"Sure," Rosalind said, noting the smile on Taryn's face.

"Wonderful. I think we have a lot to discuss," Marilyn said, looking at Taryn.

Chapter Twelve.

Down along the Niagara River, where the lights of Canada can be seen across the black water, deceptively close, there runs a road. Past the bait shops and taverns, past the Great American p.o.r.n shop, where Niagara Street elbows into Tonawanda, is a wasteland. The warehouses close up at night, leaving the street empty and barren. It's not a place anyone lives. But there is a house, behind a thicket of hedge, just past the curve in the road. You'd never see it unless you knew it was there.

A dirt and gravel driveway climbs the small rise to the right; a billboard dominates the s.p.a.ce to the left. At the top of the rise, the train tracks cut across the gra.s.s. Makes it hard to tell if there is a right side to the tracks.

There's no sign, no markings to indicate a place of business. The windows in the front are so small they might be postcards. There is a white enameled screen door and a single concrete step up into the weathered purple-gray house.

The Lavender Door was the deep cover of the lesbian community. Some of the men's bars had a high tourist ratio, like Marcella's, or even Heat, depending on the night. Those were the places to go to dance, to hear loud music, to pose and strut in front of disinterested but good-looking young people.

Lavender Door had few tourists. You had to know someone to get in. It was a blue-collar neighborhood bar with no dance floor, no DJ, one pool table, and one bar. There was a jukebox with Melissa Etheridge and Patsy Cline. Up two steps was the back room, a few tables and chairs, a dartboard. Sliding gla.s.s doors opened onto the patio, triangular with the train tracks, surrounded by a high wooden fence. Candles in squat red and blue gla.s.s holders sat on picnic tables, unseasonable lights strung overhead. There was a redwood bench and a hibachi for the nicer weather.

It was a d.y.k.e bar. A place that sponsored softball teams and book clubs, had dinners the third Sunday of every month, Michigan reunion parties, remembered birthdays and anniversaries. It was where you went to get a drink after funerals and family gatherings, to find a piece of yourself again, where n.o.body would argue with you.

Rosalind let Ellie direct her from the backseat of the Saturn. "It doesn't look like anything is down here," Rosalind said, looking at the stretch of broken windows in the silent concrete buildings.

"There is, you just have to look for it. Linda took me down here once. Have you been here?" Ellie asked Taryn, who was sitting very quietly in the front seat.

"Yeah," Taryn said, looking out the window.

Rosalind put her hand on Taryn's thigh, feeling the muscle through the gray suit. "You okay, baby?"

Her head fell back against the seat, her neck arched, as Joe's had been, an invitation to Fate's knife. The image disturbed Rosalind; she was glad when Taryn sat up.

"Something's changing," she said, her eyes looking like rain-slicked pavement in the streetlight. Rosalind felt a hand close on her heart. She squeezed Taryn's leg, unable to answer.

"What is?" Ellie asked.

"Everything. The season's changing. It's more than that," Taryn said, shaking her head. "Doesn't make sense."

"Tonight was a big night. You showed everyone that you were taken. That might be affecting you," Rosalind said. There had to be more to it than that. Joe had been feeling odd things; even she had a sense that something was off kilter. The warning note of pain sounded in her head, distracting her.

"Finally, a perfect opportunity to a.s.sert best-friend rights. So, Taryn, how taken are you?" Ellie asked with diverting cheerfulness, leaning over the front seat.

"What?" Taryn turned her head toward Ellie, her profile sharp against the black outside the winds.h.i.+eld.

"Simply put, I'm grilling you. You step off stage and sweep up the best woman in Buffalo." Ellie cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "What are your intentions toward our Rosalind?"

It was a game she could end with a word, Rosalind knew. Ellie was sensing a somber moment and decided not to let that happen. All Rosalind would have to do would be say her name and it would be over. She didn't. She waited, in the growing silence, for her answer. There was a loud sound inside the car that took her a moment to recognize as her own heart beating. She pulled the car into the dirt and gravel driveway and parked along a railroad tie.

Taryn raised her head, speaking to Rosalind, but looking at Ellie. "To love her for as long as she'll let me. To be the one who holds her when she wakes up in the middle of the night. And if the world won't give her everything she deserves, to change the world."

Ellie sighed and leaned back, spreading her arms across the seat.

"Would it be all right if I just said ditto?" Rosalind asked, taking Taryn's hand.

"After that? Sure. I'll forget you're a lit prof. You're going to have to cut it out, Taryn, or I'm gonna forget I bat for the other team," Ellie said, fanning herself.

"Do I get your approval, best friend?" Taryn asked, leaning her chin on the seat and looking at Ellie, her eyes clear and sharp in the planes of her face.

"We'll see. Treat her well through the winter, and we'll talk about it."

"Fair enough," Taryn said. She got out of the car, holding the door open for Ellie, then for Rosalind. Rosalind took her arm, letting Taryn escort her across the uneven ground. Ellie walked ahead of them, then turned on the concrete step, her eyes artlessly open, drinking them in.

We're worth watching, Rosalind thought. It was amazing, to Rosalind, the difference that came over Taryn when she offered her arm. She went from a lanky teenager to a gentleman, a knight whose mail was a suit. And I feel graceful when I'm with her. There's a perfection to us, too seamless to be crafted.

"You two look like something out of a movie, all dolled up. You should be out drinking c.o.c.ktails at a black tie affair and dancing to a symphony, not getting a beer at a backwater bar in a warehouse district."

Taryn smiled at her. "This backwater is where our people are. 'We go where we love and where we are loved, out into the snow. We go to things we love with no thought of duty or pity.'"

"Paraphrased H.D. Very good. Whoever saw to your education did well," Ellie said, opening the screen door.

"I'll let Rhea know you approve," Taryn said, taking the door from her.

Rosalind could see that Ellie hesitated, nearly protesting, but there was no condescension in the gesture, only a set of manners honed for small occasions, apart from the normal conversations of power. It was a gesture that would go unused in a more public s.p.a.ce, for fear of ridicule or violence. Rosalind watched the recognition come over Ellie. In that moment, on the step of the Lavender Door with her best friend's lover holding the portal open, Ellie saw the rift that lay between them. She had never had to think about the consequences of such gestures, as versed in lesbian culture as she was. It was a small moment, but Rosalind saw how Ellie looked at Taryn differently and accepted the courtesy.

A pool game was going on, doubles, the jealous row of stacked quarters testimony to the waiting challengers. Behind the bar a plump, handsome woman in her forties, fair hair cut halfway between neck and shoulders, waved as Taryn came in. "T! Haven't seen you down here in while."

The pool game stopped, the bar stools swiveled, the air in the room grew hushed as a church, drinking in the sight of Taryn casually crossing the floor with Rosalind on her arm. She set her foot up on the rail and leaned on the bar, offering a seat to her lover. It was the gesture of an actor in a play, opening a big scene, courteous and seemingly indifferent to the watching eyes.

"h.e.l.lo, Sharon. May I present Rosalind, my lover? And her dear friend Ellie," Taryn said, loudly enough to carry to the back of the bar.

Sharon managed to put down, without dropping, the gla.s.s she'd been holding and extended her hand. "Good to meet you. You did a show, right? You sound like it," she added, directly to Taryn.

The noise started back up, the jukebox clicked onto a Melissa Etheridge song, play resumed on the pool table. "The auction," Taryn said, knowing that Sharon had heard about it already. No information in the city of Buffalo escaped a good bartender, and Sharon was the best. She had an excellent sense of when not to know certain information and employed it now.

"Oh, really? How'd it go?" she asked, picking a St. Pauli Girl out of the cooler and handing it to Taryn automatically.

"Rosalind won a date with me." Taryn smirked, accepting the beer.

"A good deal more than that, I hope," Rosalind said.

"Ya never know, lightning could strike. You girls want anything?"

"Two St. Pauli Girls," Rosalind said, smiling.

"Comin' at cha," Sharon said, swinging the bottles in her hand and opening them with an economy of motion local to bartenders everywhere.

They walked up the steps into the back room and saw that it was empty. Through the gla.s.s doors Rosalind could see two women at the table on the patio. Linda and Marilyn. She quelled an instant feeling of dislike when she spotted Marilyn, not wanting to believe jealousy had such a firm hold on her. True, the woman was a little too collected, and gorgeous, and subtly but explicitly interested in Taryn. So were a few others. She could stand a little compet.i.tion, she told herself.

There was a candle lit in the center of the table, the flame dancing in the red gla.s.s, casting elf shadows on the faces of the women. "Ready to swim with the sharks?" Ellie asked, her hand on the door.

Rosalind looked through the gla.s.s and saw Marilyn watching Taryn. Her face gave away nothing; her interest was cautiously divided between whatever Linda was saying to her and the figure through the door. It was a minute s.h.i.+ft of her eyes, but to Rosalind, it was as brazen as neon.

The motion of Ellie's hand drawing the door back broke Marilyn's concentration. She s.h.i.+fted her gaze to a neutral spot and smiled graciously. Linda followed her look and smiled at them in welcome. "Thought you'd be right behind us. Pull up a couple of chairs. We were just talking about the auction."

"About Taryn, in particular," Marilyn said, and smiled at Rosalind.

Rosalind managed to choke down the urge to smack her and smiled sweetly in return, as Taryn held out a chair for her.

"I'm glad you're here, Ellie. You can back me up. I was just saying that the auction was great theater," Linda said as they sat.

"It was a spectacle, entertaining, but not controlled enough to be theater," Marilyn said coolly.