Of Drag Kings And The Wheel Of Fate Part 7

When Rosalind pulled up in front of 34 Mariner at seven forty-five, after circling Allentown for twenty minutes, she found Joe sitting on the steps. He was dressed in jeans and a denim s.h.i.+rt, the sleeves rolled back over his powerful forearms. He was smoking a cigar, exhaling with pleasure into the fall night. He looked like the picture of contentment. He spotted her car and waved the hand holding the cigar. When she stepped out, he dropped it.

"Good G.o.d! Who are you, and what have you done with Rosalind?" he cried out, jumping to his feet. Rosalind stood, shyly, pulling at the hem of her dress. He trotted down the stairs, looking her over in awe.

"You think it's all right?" Rosalind asked, feeling like she could trust his response. Joe had befriended her the moment they'd met. It was a welcome that he kept extending. Rosalind knew that must be his nature, but felt that he actually liked her as well. It was instantly calming to see him sitting on the steps of the house. The thought of facing down Rhea had kept her stomach in a knot all day.

"You are the reason the little black dress was invented. You look stunning." He took her hand, kissing it. The praise helped enormously. Rosalind had spent all day getting ready. The dress was an inspiration of Ellie's, something she never would have considered wearing for a minute. It was more the idea of a dress-a sheath of glossy black, strapless, revealing her shoulders and neck, a deep plunge down her back.

She felt like a different person putting it on-daring, a little dangerous, and s.e.xy. She had imagined Taryn's response, wanting her to all but faint when she saw her. The thought of looking gorgeous for Taryn made her weak in the knees. Her appearance had never mattered to her before. Overnight, it mattered more than she could say, because it was a gift she could give.

Her hair was down, flowing over her shoulders in a soft wave, curled just enough to give it life, each strand of red, white, and saffron picking out a different refraction of the streetlight. Joe stood looking at her, eyes wandering over her body so ably presented in the dress. Rosalind could tell that it wasn't idle flattery on his part, and it made her glad.

"You think she'll like it?" she asked, turning around.

"She has a pulse. She'll like it. You would induce cardiac arrest in a priest, let me tell you. Seriously, you look wonderful. You sure you want to date a punk kid? Woman like you could have anyone she wants," Joe said, flirting outrageously.

Rosalind laughed. It made her feel welcomed into the household. She guessed that it was harmless, that Joe was spoken for by Rhea, and his affection for Taryn was evident, so she relaxed into it, enjoying the banter. "I know who I want," she said, running a finger down his cheek, over his rough beard. "And she's upstairs, isn't she?"

Joe sighed heavily, and his shoulders drooped. "That d.a.m.n gender thing again. All the good women want all the good women. Lord, grant me the strength..."

He stepped back, letting the flirting fade. "Yeah, she's upstairs. She set me out here to keep you busy until she's ready. Between you and me, I've never seen this kid so worked up over a date. She's been getting ready all day. You know how boys are. 'What tie should I wear? I need a haircut! Joe, did you get my suit pressed?' Whatever you're doing to her, keep on doing it. She's got the biggest, goofiest grin I've ever seen in my life plastered on her face, all the time."

He held out his arm to Rosalind and helped her up the steps. His manners were courtly, with a touch of humor, and Rosalind recognized Taryn's odd moments of chivalry in them. She really did use Joe as her masculine role model, Rosalind thought. From what she had seen, Taryn could do far worse. Joe made her feel at ease the minute she showed up. He managed to be funny and charming without being overbearing.

"Just between you and me, I've had a pretty goofy grin on my face all day, too," Rosalind confided, as Joe carefully led her past the staircase, into the living room.

The room had no doors, opening on the front hallway through an arch and on another open room that looked in on the kitchen. The walls were plaster, in the eternal state of reconstruction. An Indian print cloth of brilliant yellow hung over the couch, tacked halfway onto the ceiling. Tall drums stood in the corner, with a rain stick. There was no furniture other than the couch, against the wall facing the fireplace. Joe sat her down on the couch and leaned against the mantle. The fireplace had been swept clean and had dried flowers in place of logs, burnt orange and deep red, simulating flames. The mantle was covered with pictures in old-fas.h.i.+oned frames-heavy silver, tarnished with age, carved and lacquered wood. Joe glanced at the pictures, a smile breaking over his face.

"Hey! This is great! Taryn told me to keep you busy. I can do all the papa stuff she accuses me of doing anyway. C'mon, I'll show you pictures she wouldn't want you to see and tell you embarra.s.sing stories. It'll be great practice for when Goblin's old enough to date."

He grabbed a handful of the frames and sat down on the couch next to Rosalind. He shuffled through them, handing her a few to hold. Rosalind examined the one on top, the picture of Rhea with much longer hair, her arm around Taryn's shoulders. The girl glared at the camera like it was a mortal enemy. She looked very young; her hair was shaved down to a blue hint on her skull, her face was thin over sharp bones. Taryn's eyes looked wild, savage, out of her face, eyes no person that age should have. She wore a military coat and a dog chain knotted around her neck. Her body was lost in the clothing, indistinguishable as male or female.

"When was this?" Rosalind asked, caught by the wary eyes.

"When Taryn first moved in. Four years ago? No, more like three and a half. Taryn had just turned seventeen. Taryn's Angry Young Man phase. She was a handful, from what Rhea tells me."

He handed her another picture, this one a world of difference. Taryn sat on top of a picnic table in profile, her face turned toward a lake. Wind ruffled her hair, capturing it forever in a moment of disorder. She'd put on some weight; the starved, angry look had subsided. Her skin was pale against the black of her hair and the dark denim of her jacket, but the deep bruises under her eyes had faded. She looked like she was watching something out over the water and didn't know she was being photographed. "That's...a year later. Winter. Rhea took the shot. It was her family's cabin up at Waverly Beach. Taryn must have been eighteen or so."

It was a rare treat to see Taryn looking so peaceful, so absorbed, unaware of being watched. She had a performing nature and loved an audience. Rosalind hadn't seen her that relaxed and unguarded while she was awake. It said something to Rosalind about Taryn's relations.h.i.+p with Rhea that she'd let her guard down enough with Rhea there for the shot to be taken. It sent a wave of jealousy through her, along with envy. She wondered if Taryn would ever be that unguarded around her. She wondered if they had been lovers then.

"Here. This was last spring. I talked the both of them into going horseback riding. Taryn was a natural. It was like she was born for the saddle. But I don't think I'll ever talk Rhea onto a horse again."

Rhea was in the foreground, clinging to the saddle of an enormous blood bay. Her face was drawn down in a series of sharp lines, looking sternly at the camera. Next to her, Taryn grinned devilishly, one leg curled around the pommel of the saddle of her buckskin.

Rosalind took it, liking the look on Taryn's face, the teasing, recognizing it. "How old is she here?"

"Twenty. Just turned, in fact. Her birthday was March seventh, and we went riding on the tenth." Joe took the picture back, smiling down at it.

"Goblin and I moved in right around then. I think I have that shot..." He handed Rosalind a picture of himself carrying a table up the front steps. A girl of around twelve, thin legs poking out of cutoff denim shorts, followed him, hefting a chair. Rosalind could see that she had long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. "That's Goblin. My daughter. You haven't met her, have you? You may get a chance, if Taryn keeps dawdling. She went to the store with Rhea and Laurel. They're having some friends over tonight."

"I didn't know you had a daughter," Rosalind said, looking closely. "She's lovely. She looks like you."

"Don't tell her that. She wants to look like Kate Winslet. Can I tell you how many times I've seen t.i.tanic, now that I have a fourteen-year-old in the house? Leo this, Leo that. I'm glad the jerk drowned. Couldn't act his way out of a paper bag. I didn't just spoil the ending for you, did I?" he asked, looking concerned.

"I wasn't about to see it," Rosalind said, with a laugh.

He handed her another picture absently, rooting through the pile. "There has to be something incriminating here. Did you know that when she thinks n.o.body else is home, she goes around the house singing? Swear to G.o.d. I once caught her singing...oh, I shouldn't tell you that, she'd kill me."

"Now you have to tell me, or I'll die of curiosity. Please, Joe? I promise I won't use it against her." Rosalind crossed her heart, putting on her best Girl Scout face.

Joe glanced at the stairs, then back at Rosalind. "All right. Remember, my blood is on your hands. I caught her singing 'Achy Breaky Heart.'"

"You did not."

"I did. Billy Ray Cyrus. Our walking att.i.tude problem, dancing around the kitchen in her boxer shorts, singing the Achy Breaky. I just about died on the spot."

Rosalind's mind had a habit of taking whatever it heard and producing a graphic representation, not unlike a short film. The minute Joe finished saying it, her mind raced off with glee, producing a complete fantasy of Taryn in her boxer shorts, singing and dancing around the kitchen. She tried valiantly not to give in to the laughter, to remind herself that this was Taryn, whom she loved, whose dignity and power were unquestioned. It didn't work. She burst out laughing, hysterically.

Joe joined her, and they all but dropped the pictures they were holding. "Shh! She'll kill me, I swear," Joe said, drawing a heaving breath into his lungs.

Rosalind tried to focus on something, anything, to get that image out of her mind. She looked down at the picture Joe had handed her, an old one of a young girl holding on to the hand of a woman. It looked like Goblin at age seven or eight. The woman resembled her. She had the same brown eyes and long brown hair. "Who is this?" she asked, pointing at the photograph.

Joe glanced at it. "I didn't know that was still up. That's Goblin," he said, looking back though the pictures.

"Who's the woman?" Rosalind asked, wondering if she were an aunt of Goblin's. They looked related.

Joe stopped shuffling the pictures and looked at her. She glanced up at him. "That's me. Before I transitioned."

Rosalind absorbed the information, letting her eyes find the clues in Joe's face. He sat patiently, allowing her to do this, allowing himself to be regarded in light of the new information. She had to look hard to see the face of the woman in the picture, in the face of the man sitting next to her. The jaw was broader, the nose larger; the full beard hid the mouth and chin. Only the eyes were the same, looking out quizzically at the world, seeing the joke that few else bothered to listen to. Rosalind put her hand on Joe's powerful forearm, feeling the hair under her fingers. "Goblin has your eyes, you know," she said, and Joe broke into a grin.

There was a clatter of footsteps coming down the stairs. Joe jumped, grabbing the pictures and tossing them back on the mantle. He stood, leaning against it, and started whistling, as if he'd just been leaning there innocently all night. Rosalind stood up and faced the hallway.

Taryn was wearing her black suit, with a silk tie done in a deep shade of green. She'd gotten her hair cut close to the neck in the back, just over her ears on the sides, with a hint of length on the top, gelled back. It showed off the strength of her face, the muscles in the column of her neck. She looked wonderfully handsome. It made Rosalind start to ache in the nicest way.

But it was the look on Taryn's face that was most wonderful. Taryn strolled into the living room and stopped dead. Her eyes flew wide, drinking in all of Rosalind. She'd forgotten about the dress in talking with Joe, but Taryn's reaction brought it back. She saw herself mirrored in the drag king's eyes, and she liked what she saw. Taryn looked on her like she was the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth. The stunned quiet was a tribute, and Rosalind basked in it.

The girl took a step into the room and took Rosalind's hand. "You are so d.a.m.ned beautiful. You could make G.o.d weep with envy." Her voice was hushed.

Rosalind laughed and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "You look remarkably handsome tonight," she said, enjoying it when Taryn ducked her head. Was that a blush she saw, creeping up the back of Taryn's neck? Couldn't be.

"You make me wish I had my camera. It's like sending my boy off to the prom," Joe said, breaking the moment.

Taryn didn't even glance at him. She stood holding Rosalind's hand, her eyes burning over Rosalind's face, her body.

Rosalind felt the heat from that gaze and nearly lost her resolve, nearly said it right then and there, consequences be d.a.m.ned. She was in love with this girl, who was now looking at her like the sun shone from her face, and she couldn't keep it a secret much longer.

"You like j.a.panese food? I made reservations for us at Kuni's."

"Love it, but I've only had the basics. You can guide me."

"Dangerous thing to offer to that kid. You know she only speaks enough j.a.panese to get her slapped? I know. I taught her myself."

"You speak j.a.panese?" Rosalind asked him, to divert Taryn's attention. She could feel Taryn tense up, but when Rosalind squeezed her hand she relaxed.

"I was in the service, stationed in Okinawa for a while. That was a lifetime ago. You kids run along. Rhea will be back in a minute. I have to get the place ready for the Better You than Me." Joe strolled into the kitchen, casting a broad wink over his shoulder to Rosalind. He started humming something that might have been "Achy Breaky Heart."

Taryn took her arm, escorting her down the steps. She walked around to her side of the car, holding the door for her. There was something so earnest about these manners, like they'd been practiced a thousand times in private, but never put to the test in public, that it charmed Rosalind. She pictured Taryn sitting down in the kitchen with Joe, asking for pointers on how to behave on the date, and it warmed her head to toe. Funny, I've never been a sucker for chivalry, but there's just something about a gallant woman. And she is so d.a.m.ned handsome. Rosalind watched Taryn get in the car, then asked, smiling, "Where to?"

"Elmwood. Up by the old Village Green. Kuni used to be the sus.h.i.+ chef at Saki's downtown, but he opened his own place. You're in for a treat."

"Say something in j.a.panese," Rosalind said, with a glance at Taryn's profile.

"Do you speak any?" Taryn asked cautiously.

Rosalind shook her head. "Not a word."

"Watas.h.i.+ wa anata o ais.h.i.+te imasu," Taryn said, her voice dropping down. There was a harshness to her delivery; the words sounded like they were working against the tone.

"You sound like a Kurosawa film. What did you say to me?"

"Maybe I'll tell you later," Taryn said, looking quickly out the window.

Kuni's was a tiny storefront restaurant, with a few tables outside, six inside, and a sus.h.i.+ bar. It was close and packed. A line had formed outside; people were waiting to get to the bar, to jostle for a place. Taryn used her height to part the crowd, making a s.p.a.ce for Rosalind to follow. Rosalind felt a twinge of guilt sliding past the waiting people, but once inside, she forgot to feel bad. Kuni's was tiny, but it had great presence. The wall behind the sus.h.i.+ bar was decorated with teacups and sake cups; mechanical fish swam in a fish tank right behind the chef's head.

A dark-haired girl with a disarming smile greeted them as soon as they got inside. She took Taryn's arm, squeezing it. "It's so good to see you! You never come around anymore. How's Rhea and Joe?"

"They're great. Maria, this is Rosalind. Rosalind, this is Maria." Taryn put her hand on the small of Rosalind's back and presented her.

Maria took Rosalind's hand. "Nice to meet you. You're in the back, I couldn't get you the window."

The table was in the back corner, by the step down into the kitchen. Taryn held out Rosalind's chair, then slid in with her back to the wall. "No, she was never my girlfriend. Yes, she knows me. Through Rhea and Joe. No, I don't come here all the time with a new girl."

Rosalind smiled sheepishly. "That obvious?"

"I can read your mind, you know. And your face. You're very open," Taryn growled.

Despite the harsh tone, Rosalind heard the note of respect and what might have been envy. Rosalind sat forward and linked her hands. "What am I thinking now?" she purred.

"I can't do that to you in public," Taryn said with a grin.

"Not that thought. Read the other one."

"You can't mean that," Taryn said, her eyes widening.

Maria came and brought them hot towels and cups of steaming green tea. "Do you trust me?" she said to Rosalind, with an evil smile.

"I do. Go ahead and order."

"We'll have the house miso to start, shrimp tempura, and sus.h.i.+. Yellowtail, tuna, eel, octopus, salmon. And a bottle of sake."

Rosalind found the sight of Taryn wielding chopsticks fascinating. It added a layer of civilization to Taryn she never would have expected. The sure delicacy of her movements, the ease with which she maneuvered the slender pieces of wood spoke of skills yet unguessed to Rosalind. She watched Taryn pluck a piece from the wooden board and dip it in the soy and wasabi.

"Careful. The green stuff is j.a.panese horseradish. Hot enough to make a statue bleed. Just a hint is plenty. More will blow the back of your head off." She stared at Rosalind, holding out the chopsticks.

Rosalind leaned forward and opened her mouth. Taryn placed the sus.h.i.+ on her tongue. "That's good. Which is that?"

"Yellowtail. You might like the eel, but I'd be careful of the octopus. Something tells me you aren't an octopus fan."

Taryn took the tiny cup and poured clear liquid into it. "Sake. We should drink it while it's hot. Don't sip at it, just toss it back."

Rosalind picked up the cup. "Can we toast first?"

"Sure. Whatever you like," Taryn said, raising her cup.

"To beginnings," Rosalind said. Taryn tapped her cup against Rosalind's and snapped her head back. Rosalind tried to do the same, but it was like drinking jet fuel. It burned her throat. She started coughing and choking. Taryn jumped up, concerned. Rosalind reached for her tea, waving at Taryn to sit. "M'okay. Just not used it yet. You sure this is pleasurable?"

"Have a few more gla.s.ses, then ask me again," Taryn said with a leer.

"Oh, stop. I have a present for you," Rosalind said, reaching for her purse. It had been a very long day, refusing to get to eight o'clock. She had kept looking at the digital clock in her bedroom, expecting it to be time to go on the date, but it never was. She finally gave up and indulged her second favorite pa.s.sion, going to the bookstore.

"For me?" Taryn said, genuinely puzzled. Women never bought her presents.

"Of course," Rosalind said, handing the present to Taryn with a triumphant smile. "Go on. Open it."

Taryn eyed it oddly, as if she expected it to jump up and bite her. She started tearing the paper away a half inch at a time, driving Rosalind mad. This girl had no concept of Christmas etiquette as she was raised to it, where the recipient of the gift was supposed to rip the paper off in a nanosecond. Taryn acted like she was completely unused to getting presents. Rosalind restrained herself and let Taryn take her time. When the paper came away, and Taryn looked at the cover of the book in her hands, Rosalind held her breath. Taryn sat staring at it, her face unreadable.

"I thought you'd probably have a copy already, but I found the last signed one they had at Talking Leaves and just couldn't resist," Rosalind said, hoping that Taryn's silence forebode good things.

She was as still as a statue, cradling the book in her open palms. She finally looked up, and Rosalind could swear that there were tears in her eyes. "Stone Butch Blues. This is like the Bible to me. How did you know?"

Rosalind knew that she'd done something utterly, permanently right, and felt like singing. The look on Taryn's face was priceless. She was taken completely off guard, stunned, pleased, unable to gather herself to respond.

Taryn opened the cover and looked at the handwriting. "In the Spirit of Stonewall-Leslie Feinberg," Taryn read aloud, reverently.

"I'd heard that Buffalo was Leslie's hometown. I went to Talking Leaves and asked about books on drag kings. The guy behind the counter grabbed this down. I confess, I read it."

"You read it, because you were thinking about me?" Taryn's voice was incredulous.

"I saw so much of you in it. It helped a lot," Rosalind admitted. Taryn looked back down at the book, then up at Rosalind. "Do you already have a copy?" Rosalind asked, not sure of how to read Taryn's silence.

Taryn shook her head. "I read Rhea's. A signed copy...and you got it, you read it, because of me...I don't know what to say."

"Tell me you like it," Rosalind prompted.

Taryn looked down at the book and swallowed, before looking back up at Rosalind. "Leslie is a hero of mine. When I met Leslie, around the time this was published, s/he was doing a book talk and signing at a local church. I saw hir. I heard hir speak. I didn't have the cash to get a copy. When s/he got offstage, his wife, Minnie Bruce Pratt, the poet, walked over and just took Leslie's arm. It was...perfect. The look Minnie Bruce gave Leslie, like she loved hir, she understood all of it, the pain, the good stuff, too. S/he walked by me, I was just standing there. Leslie looked me up and down, held out hir hand, and said, 'Nice wingtips.' I just about died on the spot." Taryn looked up, her eyes glinting in the candlelight. "You giving this to me, reading it, it's like Minnie Bruce giving Leslie that look."

It took Rosalind's breath away, hearing it. She wished they weren't in a very crowded public place, with people watching on every side. She wanted to take Taryn in her arms, feel that quiet awe and joy she was projecting, let her know that she did understand.

Taryn turned the book over in her hands. "It's one of the older ones. It still says Leslie grew up a young butch in Buffalo. The later ones, and the next book, Transgender Warriors, says Leslie grew up as a drag king in Buffalo. Guess more people know what a drag king is nowadays."