Of Drag Kings And The Wheel Of Fate Part 2

There was a moment of silence while Taryn sized Greg up. Her eyes traveled over him coolly as she finished her drink. "Greg, what are you dressed up as?"

He blinked, not expecting this. "I'm not dressed up as anything."

Taryn set the gla.s.s down. "Oxford s.h.i.+rt, blue, b.u.t.toned to the neck, no tie. Jacket, corduroy, leather patches on the elbows. Pressed jeans, argyle socks, boat shoes. Pierre Cardin frames on your gla.s.ses. Trimmed goatee that you keep stroking. Hair to the collar, conservative, but not corporate. An academic. You want to look like your students-youngish, sort of hip, but older than them as well. 'Words Count' b.u.t.ton. You're an English prof or a writer. A '90s, Beat coffeehouse, open mike, jazz poet kinda guy. You smoke, but you don't eat meat. You think women should get equal pay, but the feminists have gone too far. Probably married once, no kids. You still feel around for the ring." Taryn paused at Greg's open-mouthed shock. "We all dress up as something. The queens just put more thought into it." She stood up abruptly, pus.h.i.+ng the chair back under the table. "Thanks for the drinks," she said to no one in particular, then walked off into the crowd.

Rosalind felt her heart shatter when Taryn left. It was too soon. They hadn't- Greg laughed nervously. "Whew. Junior Sherlock Holmes. Dykic Friends Network."

Rosalind stood up, moving before she grabbed him and hit him. "Greg, shut up."

To Ellie's surprise and delight, she took off after Taryn, pus.h.i.+ng through the crowd.

Rosalind made her way to the front room, past the dance floor, looking around for Taryn. She couldn't let the girl go, not like this. She didn't want Taryn thinking that Greg spoke for her, that he had anything to do with her. She wanted to apologize, to continue the conversation. She stood near the dance floor, casting hopeless looks into the crowd of gyrating men. The black suit had vanished. Desperate, she turned to the bar and saw a familiar platinum wig. Egyptia, sitting on a bar stool.

Rosalind pushed her way to the bar and ended up at Egyptia's knee. The queen looked quizzically down at her from a great height, obviously thinking her a tourist. "Can I help you, honey?"

Rosalind nodded. "I'm looking for a friend of yours. The one who did the number with you? Taryn."

Egyptia folded her hands. "You looking for Taryn. Uh huh. Well, look behind you, girl."

Rosalind spun around so fast she nearly collided with the girl.

As it was, Taryn took a hop backward to avoid spilling the drinks she was carrying. "Whoa! Not the suit, it's my best one." She frowned, holding the drinks away from the front of her suit coat. She handed a drink to Egyptia, then set the other on the bar. "Something I can do for you?" Taryn asked, neutrally.

Rosalind crossed the s.p.a.ce between them, putting her hand on the girl's arm. To her surprise, Taryn didn't shrug it off, or even acknowledge that it was there. "Taryn. I'm sorry about that," Rosalind said, wanting to reconnect with the girl. There was too much unfinished between them to end like this.

"About your boyfriend being a jerk? Not my problem."

"He's not my boyfriend," Rosalind said too quickly.

It seemed to help. Taryn's angry pose relaxed slightly. "He's not good enough for you," she said in a low voice.

Rosalind flushed with warmth at the statement, though it seemed to come from left field. Every word she and the girl had spoken to one another had that quality, like old friends renewing a familiar conversation. What should have been beyond awkward between them was shrugged off, accepted, and forgotten. She felt such a pull toward the girl that she didn't even question it. It just seemed right. "Can I buy you a drink? To apologize."

Taryn raised an eyebrow at her, nodding at the drink on the bar. "Already have one. Your friends have been buying me drinks all night. You trying to get me drunk?"

"No!" Rosalind said, again blurting it out before she could think about it. Something about the girl seemed to short-circuit her brain, making her babble like a teenager. It didn't help that the drag king seemed to be flirting with her and enjoying her discomfiture.

"Then what are you trying to do, Rosalind?" Taryn's voice was serious.

The question hit her square in the chest. She took her hand off the girl's arm, brus.h.i.+ng the hair back behind her ears. What was she doing, Rosalind wondered, chasing a drag king at least ten years her junior around a gay club? She was an adult, a professor, for G.o.d's sake, and this phenomenal girl, who was currently driving her to distraction, was barely older than her students. She was indulging in the novelty of her own desire, without thinking about the consequences.

"I just want to know you." Her heart answered, before her brain could censor it.

Taryn was silent, still and cool as a stone behind the masklike beauty of her face. She was quiet so long that Rosalind felt her heart contract, felt shame wash over her in a tidal wave. She became suddenly aware of what she must sound like, what she must look like to this splendid youth, a fawning tourist chasing her around the bar. She thought about her plum skirt and jacket, the way her hair kept escaping from the braid, how suburban she must look. She ducked her head, absently pus.h.i.+ng at her hair. Convinced the girl was mocking her with that cool, arrogant silence, she turned away, her soul in shreds.

"Sorry about that. I don't know where that came from. Nice meeting you," Rosalind mumbled, shoulders dropping. Maybe she could get Ellie to leave with her now, before the night got any worse. Maybe she could escape with the tatters of her dignity.

A strong hand closed on her arm, circling it around the bicep, halting her escape. She took a deep breath and faced her captor. Her eyes rose to meet the drag king's, and Rosalind was surprised to find them unfocused, swimming with an unreadable emotion.

"You drink coffee?" Taryn asked, her voice rough, conflicted.

Rosalind nodded, unable to speak.

Ellie looked up to find a very flushed Rosalind walking back to the table. She watched as Rosalind b.u.mped into the chair, then noticed it and picked up her purse. "I wondered where you ran off to. Greg left. He sends his regrets."

Rosalind nodded absently, as if she had forgotten Greg entirely.

Ellie noticed the purse clutched in a death grip. "Where are you off to?"

Rosalind looked at her friend, surprise on her face. "I'm having coffee with Taryn," she said, too happy to be able to mask it.

Ellie's jaw dropped. "No way! You and Elvis? Ros, I didn't know you were into s.e.xy butch girls. Don't let her break your heart."

Rosalind gave her a reproving look, trying to regain her professorial dignity. "Ellie, it's just coffee."

The look didn't work, or maybe her friend knew her too well. Ellie's grin widened, taking over her whole face. "It's never just coffee. I'll want the details tomorrow."

Taryn slipped away backstage, leaving her at the bar with Egyptia. The queen kept looking her up and down, knitting her eyebrows, occasionally smiling in an unnerving, Mona Lisa way.

Rosalind finally couldn't stand it and braved a question. "Have you known Taryn long?"

Egyptia smiled blindingly. "Since she moved in with Rhea. What you do for a living, honey? You a banker or something?"

"I teach at the local college," Rosalind said. There was that name again. No one seemed to be able to mention Taryn's name without linking Rhea's to it. It distracted her on a level she couldn't place.

"Buff State or UB?"

"UB. Just started, actually," Rosalind said, her neck craning to look up at the drag queen's impressive height. Egyptia seemed very amused by something, and Rosalind had a feeling it was her. "Something funny?"

The queen shook her platinum wig, patting Rosalind on the arm. "Just maybe. You ain't Taryn's type. She hasn't had a professor before."

This was useful information, despite the manner in which it was being delivered. Rosalind didn't stop to correct the queen's impression that Taryn "had" her. She focused on the clue that Egyptia had started with. "What is Taryn's type?" she asked, unable to help herself.

"Sweet little femme girls, all punked out and shaved heads and nose rings and all. Goes through them like tissues, sister. Not that an occasional tourist don't line up for her. That Taryn's a dog. Just last week she-" Egyptia leaned in conspiratorially, to be interrupted by a smoky voice right behind her.

"What did I do last week?" Taryn said, making both of them jump. She had traded her black suit for a charcoal T-s.h.i.+rt and a pair of jeans, combat boots, and a black leather belt. She'd unbound her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and Rosalind found herself staring at them through the thin cotton s.h.i.+rt. Her hair looked like she'd run an impatient hand through it, sending black strands at all angles, falling over her eyes.

"Nothin', honey, just like the cereal commercial. You outta here, T?" Egyptia asked, smirking.

"None of your d.a.m.ned business," Taryn said, and punched the queen on the arm. She held out a hand to Rosalind, who took it automatically. "I know this great coffee joint."

Chapter Two.

Ellie had included Spot Coffee in her Buffalo crash course. Rosalind knew that it was walking distance from Marcella's, just down on the corner of Chippewa and Delaware Ave. It was the hangout of choice for those who didn't drink, or couldn't yet drink, but wanted to be a part of the Chippewa nightlife. Ellie had brought her here once or twice, but walking in with Taryn was very different.

Spot was staffed by three shaven-headed femme girls, to borrow Egyptia's phrase, all of whom seemed to drop what they were doing and come over and kiss Taryn. Rosalind felt invisible next to her, when the girls would pop up, greet Taryn, then send lingering looks her way after she pa.s.sed. Taryn handled them all with aplomb, a devil's grin and a kiss on the cheek, just this close to their lips.

Rosalind tried to ignore them and studied the mural of Chippewa Street on the wall facing the door.

"T! Hey, girl!"

"T! When are you gonna call me?"

"T! I missed you last night."

This last was a voice Rosalind recognized, and it splintered her disinterested stance. She looked and saw one of her new students, hanging with her arms around Taryn's neck. From what Rosalind could see, which was admittedly only the back of her head, the student had metallic red hair, shaved down to a half inch, six earrings in each ear, and a spiderweb tattoo on the back of her neck. Her nose was pierced with a simple stud, and when she opened her mouth to kiss Taryn, Rosalind saw that her tongue was, as well. It took Rosalind a moment to retrieve a name; she was distracted by the way the girl was kissing Taryn.

Rosalind's mind produced the name with a flourish, Colleen, in a vain attempt to move her emotional response back from inappropriate. The sight of her kissing Taryn made visual sense; this was the kind of girl Egyptia had described as Taryn's type. Rosalind thought that she could appreciate that, from an outside perspective. The urge toward murder was something she had never experienced before.

Taryn endured the kiss, then gently disengaged Colleen's arms from around her neck.

"I never said I'd be there," Taryn said.

Colleen pouted when Taryn slipped out of her arms. "You're normally anywhere Rhea is. You want your usual?" Colleen was heading back behind the register.

"Yeah. What about you?" Taryn asked, turning to Rosalind.

Colleen saw Taryn's companion for the first time and blanched. "Dr. Olchawski! I didn't know, I mean-"

Taryn slipped her hand under Rosalind's elbow, a gesture so intimate that Colleen's eyes bugged out. She leaned down and spoke next to Rosalind's ear, her breath sending chills down Rosalind's spine. Knowing that they had an audience only made her heart beat faster, something she never would have guessed about herself. Taryn was playing it like a scene, she could tell that, but she was enjoying it far too much to stop her. "Why don't you go get us a table? I'll get what you like," she purred, and Rosalind smiled agreement at her.

She sat down at a table in the back room, near the overstuffed chairs and couches full of college kids playing board games, reading, strumming on guitars. She slid in by the wall, where she could watch Taryn get the coffee and cross the floor to her. Taryn stood at the counter, flirting with anyone in reach. Rosalind didn't need this display to know that she was a demon. Every move she made was sinful. Even carrying hot coffee in a crowded room reeked of s.e.x, of a sultry promise in the lope of her long legs, the careful balance of her hands.

Rosalind felt a s.h.i.+ver 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 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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 amus.e.m.e.nt, 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 cla.s.sic 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-s.h.i.+rt, circular, the 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 s.h.i.+rt 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 pa.s.sion, 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 s.h.i.+ft; 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 s.h.i.+rt, 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 wors.h.i.+p. It was a drawing of the head of a Greek statue, a beautiful young man with deep-set eyes and a rough-cut 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 carried across the centuries, a part of Taryn's skin. Rosalind read the Greek beneath it, Phil Alexandros, Basileus. "Friend of Alexander, the King. Why that?" Rosalind asked, and was rewarded with a blinding smile from the dark girl.

"You recognize him?" she asked, surprise and pleasure mingling in her voice.

Rosalind realized that she had done something incredibly right, without meaning to. It made her flush with warmth, the enthusiasm on Taryn's face. "Alexander the Great. I recognize the statue. From Pella, when he was a young man, I believe," Rosalind said, basking in the warmth radiating from Taryn.

"Most people don't have a clue. They wonder why I have a man's head on my arm." She rolled the sleeve back down gently, almost reverently. In the attentive silence that Rosalind offered, Taryn quickened.

She looked at Rosalind carefully, to see if the enthusiasm was genuine, before she started speaking. "He was the greatest general to ever walk the earth. And he was family-gay, you know? I read all of Mary Renault's stories about him when I was seventeen. Rhea made me. I fought her. I hated reading, it reminded me of school. She kept hammering away at me, ignoring my s.h.i.+t. I finally read it. I didn't want her thinking she was right. She thinks she's right all the time. But the idea that somebody who conquered the whole world when he was my age, who was never beaten in battle and was gay, you have to feel that. I always believed I was the descendant of a great warrior, but I don't know where I'm from. So I picked him."

Rosalind could see that she was being completely honest. Her conviction had Rosalind convinced. Taryn radiated charisma. She certainly had the power of persuasion. Rosalind looked into her eyes, lit with pa.s.sion, at the broad sweep of her shoulders as she reclined against the wall, the dark hair tangled like a mane, careless and gorgeous as a young lion. Rosalind readily believed that this could be the descendant of a great warrior. The beloved Boy King of Macedonia didn't seem exactly right somehow, but Taryn's obvious attachment to him was too much to be questioned. If you don't know your own history, you take what you can from the rest.

"That makes perfect sense," she said quietly, simply.

Taryn rolled her head back against the wall, lazily eyeing Rosalind. "You say everything right. You've been practicing. Egyptia told you what to say."

"Nope. Just got it right on my own," Rosalind said, imitating her tone.

Taryn laughed, a rich, rolling sound that went right to the center of Rosalind's bones. She had a feeling of triumph, as if making this girl laugh, getting her to drop her arrogant stance, were the finest thing she'd ever done. "I'll show you the rest of my tattoos some time," Taryn said, with a wicked gleam in her eye.

"That'd be great," Rosalind answered, before realizing that she'd just been invited up to see Taryn's etchings. She blushed and sipped at her coffee.

"So I know your last name. Olchawski. Polish, right? And you are a doctor."

"A professor," Rosalind said, suddenly shy. She didn't want Taryn to think she was bragging. She didn't want the conversation to go down to that level. She wanted to find out everything about Taryn, not just the details. They would fall into place on their own. "Tell me what you love. What makes you wake up at night crying. What you can't live without. When you are happiest." The words came out in a rush. Rosalind let them fall from her lips, knowing them to be absolutely true, absolutely what she had to know about Taryn.

The blue eyes went wide. Taryn leaned forward on the table, dangerously close to Rosalind. "Be careful what you ask for." Taryn's voice had gone hoa.r.s.e.

Rosalind felt a strength suffusing her, a certainty that balanced Taryn's misgiving. "I'm tired of being careful," she said, and put her hand on top of Taryn's where it rested on the table.

The drag king waited, looking for all the world like a cat about to bolt. She inhaled, settling back against the wall, but she didn't take her hand away from Rosalind's. "You're...something else. I'll give you that. Okay, where do you want to start?"

"With what you love," Rosalind said, her voice perfectly steady, unlike her insides.

"My people. Drawing. Performing. Rhea. Fighting for what's right. Women," Taryn said, a ghost of a smile playing about her lips.