[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
hot coffee in a crowded room reeked of sex, of a sultry promise in the
lope of her long legs, the careful balance of her hands.
Rosalind felt a shiver go up her spine. She knew that Colleen
watched every move Taryn was making and knew that Taryn was
playing it up for her. Rosalind recognized her own actions as impulsive,
dangerously close to being one of the teenagers who surrounded her.
She would probably pay for this, strolling in on her arm, in whatever
performance Taryn was enacting.
There was still time for her to think about what she was doing
before Taryn came back with their coffee. Rosalind glanced down at
her purse, knowing that she could leave right now, call it a night, call
" 38 "
Of Drag Kings & the Wheel of Fate
the adventure over. She wasn t a teenager. She knew very well what
her presence here spoke. Ellie was right. Coffee was never just coffee.
There might be other times for her to explore why her body reacted the
way it did around the drag king, why her normally steady and reliable
heart started to make a virtue of broken rhythm.
When Taryn turned her head, laughing, and looked for her, there
was a split second that Rosalind was convinced her smile of pleasure
was genuine. That she looked up, found her in the room, and couldn t
contain the joy at the recognition. It banished all thoughts of leaving.
Rosalind smiled back, her heart aching. She admitted she didn t know
what she was getting herself into, but she was doing it anyway. She
took her hand off her purse.
Taryn slid in next to her, handing her a mug bigger than a soup
bowl. They seem to know you here, Rosalind said, fighting down
jealousy at the number of pretty girls flinging themselves at her new
friend. She had to remind herself that she d known Taryn maybe an
hour and had no claim on her. In fact, Taryn looked like someone that
couldn t be claimed, from her performance in front of Colleen. Taryn
took a sip of her coffee, black as her hair. That answers one question,
Rosalind commented. Taryn s eyebrow rose.
What s that?
Rosalind looked directly into her eyes, finding the hint of
amusement there. How you take your coffee.
The raised eyebrow and devil s grin were signs she d begun to
recognize, hints of a sense of humor under the posturing. They spoke
of amusement, with a faint hint of menace. This wasn t safe, Rosalind
had to remind herself, despite her feelings very much to the contrary.
Taryn was looking like a classic bad boy, and Rosalind had never in her
wildest imagination expected herself to be so charmed by a bad boy.
Thanks for being cool in front of Colleen. She gets a little clingy
sometimes.
Rosalind managed to remain calm, despite the amount of blood
racing to her heart. She a girlfriend of yours?
Nah. We just slept together a few times, you know? But she
thinks that means we re going steady.
Someone from the front room shouted Taryn s name, and her head
turned. Rosalind could see a tattoo on the back of her neck, below her
hair. Half of it rose from the collar of the charcoal T-shirt, circular, the
" 39 "
SUSAN SMITH
beginning of a wheel hidden by the cloth. Rosalind s eyes traced it
lovingly, wondering if she could touch it.
The dark head turned back and caught her staring. Taryn s eyes
held hers, dancing. She reached up and pulled the collar of her shirt
down in the back, showing the rest of the tattoo to Rosalind without
saying a word.
It was a black eagle rising to embrace the sun, contained in an
elaborate circular border. It was an image that belonged on the wall of
an ancient temple, worked in enameled tiles and precious stones. The
flames of the sun licked over the edge of the circle, and the feathers of
the eagle looked like they were starting to melt. Like Icarus, Rosalind
thought, then looked again, thinking of Michelangelo s drawing of
Zeus and Ganymede.
It was not hubris she saw in the arch of the black eagle s neck; it
was joy. The eagle was abandoned in its passion, surrendering to the
sun, transported in the moment of immolation. Rosalind could barely
resist the urge to lay her palm against it, to see if the sun burned her.
It s magnificent. Very moving, Rosalind said, tucking her hand under
her leg to keep from reaching for it.
Thanks. Taryn s smile was genuine, pleased by her appreciation.
Rhea does all my work. She does tattoos and piercing for a living.
That s her shop down on Elmwood A Pound Of Flesh. The image
sprang fully formed into Rosalind s mind of Taryn, like the eagle,
splayed out on a table, with Rhea above her, needle in hand. It took
great effort to push that image aside and tell her mind to go lie down as
if it were a misbehaving dog.
I ve never seen anything like it. Did she design it? Rosalind
asked, to regain control of herself in the conversation. A disarmed smile
came over Taryn s face, an expression that mesmerized and delighted
Rosalind in its uniqueness. For a moment, Rosalind felt something old
and stubborn shift; the mask Taryn wore showed a hairline crack. Taryn
actually looked shy, enjoying praise where she didn t expect to find it.
Nah. I did. I design all my own stuff. She rolled up the sleeve on
the charcoal shirt, showing a defined bicep to Rosalind.
The muscle was impressive enough that it took Rosalind a moment
to focus on the tattoo. Like the eagle, it had been lovingly drawn, the
rendering an act of worship. It was a drawing of the head of a Greek
statue, a beautiful young man with deep-set eyes and a rough-cut
" 40 "
Of Drag Kings & the Wheel of Fate
mane of hair. Every line captured the arrogance and vitality of youth,
an unconquerable spirit burning out of the flesh that held it. His gaze
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]