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reassure her, was so strong it burned her. Whatever else was going
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Of Drag Kings & the Wheel of Fate
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 damn 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
space, 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 space. 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 space 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,
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SUSAN SMITH
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 anticipation grab her by the throat, felt her
heart start pounding madly.
A hand parted the curtain, a glimpse of somber black from the
shirtsleeve, 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 shirt drank the light, a black so thorough no details
could be made out, buttoned to the neck, no tie. The jacket fit smoothly,
draping from her broad shoulders, unbuttoned. 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.
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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 shiver
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
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