“Mary,” I whispered into the phone. “They've come to get me.” Three loud thuds shouted from the front door followed by a crash.

“What? Toby? What's going on?” Mary Locke answered.

“It's the church people, I think. They've come to get me. They're breaking in the door now.”

“Give me that phone,” Tex yelled.

I slammed the phone down.

“Think she bought it?” Tex asked.

“I did, and I knew it was fake,” Pamala said.

“You sure you're going to be OK?” I asked Tex.

“I was doing great before you came along. I'll be doing great again. OK. Not as great. But I'll be OK. I'll ask again. Are we going to hug?”

“I really don't think so.”

“Well, I'll hug you, Paul,” Pamala said.

And she did, forever and true.

 

When my father walked away, forcing us out of the house, I left most of my possessions behind. Days later, I left most of that behind, leaving the cramped apartment. Less than four months later, I left my house, Bill’s house, with the clothes on my back.

I had mixed feelings, lose and gain. The possessions I gathered – my clothes, had become my identity. I had to leave all my clothes. Memories, falling in love with Pam, our time together snuggling in front of the fireplace, me reading will forever be attached to the house.

From the start, I was molded to be a scapegoat, a fall girl. I suspected as much, not absolutely sure until the visit from young detective. I knew nothing involving the house would be permanent.

“Oh my gosh, Toby. Leaving the dishes in the sink and the water running was a really great touch.”

“When they storm the castle, I want them to really believe I was kidnapped.”

 

“I should carry you across the threshold.”

Pam laughed. “I should carry you!”

We each dropped a black duffel bag in the living room. “I should paint it.”

“It’s that neutral color you got for the house.”

I shrugged. “I don’t plan on spending much time staring at the walls.” A painted over picture hook in the center of the living room wall caught my eye. I placed the framed photo of me and Pam. “Perfect.”

Pam put her arm to my waist. “It is, though I still wish you could just come live with us.”

“What dreams are made of.” I rolled my eyes toward the duffle bags. “Bill and his people are going to be none too happy and it’s not just about the money. As of today, I’m smoke, a vague memory. It’s going to be as if I never existed. The federales are going to slap the cuffs on them, they’re going to say, Not us, it’s the girl, and there’s going to be no girl, no trace whatsoever.”

“I don’t know.”

“I do.” I twisted Pam’s arm around, checking her wristwatch. “We have stuff to do. I have a delivery coming this afternoon.”

 

Marge was a woman in her forties trying to look like she was in her twenties, bleach blonde, hair high on her head, a dress like Pam’s white dress, a size and a half too small, cigarette between her yellow fingers, piercing blue eyes. “What can I do for you, sister?” she asked from behind the counter, taking a draw on her coffee from a blue paper cup.

I flipped pages in the style book, sliding a twenty-dollar bill across the counter. “I don’t have an appointment. I was hoping to get a cut and color.”

She crumpled the bill in her fist. “Why, certainly, sister.”

I presented the book. “This. Perfect.”

“You have such beautiful hair.”

“I know, right?” I rolled my eyes. “I’d like to go three shades darker.”

“Darker? All the women today want to go blonde.”

I shrugged. “Road less taken, different drummer, all that.”

She produced a paint chart for hair. “Like this?”

“Russet is just what I had in mind. It’ll match my eyebrows.”

“How about that.”

 

An hour and a half later, we returned to the car, me feeling naked with my hair just dragging my shoulders, bangs across my forehead. “I wish you wouldn’t pout.”

“I’m not! Much, OK, a little. You don’t look like you.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

“I know, I know. You’re still hot as fuck.”

“Pam! I’m rubbing off on you!” I sat on my leg, turning the rearview mirror. “Hot as fuck? You think so?”

“We’re going to have to get new photos taken.”

 

We entered the church thrift shop like I owned it, three elderly women poking their heads up like rabbits in tall grass. I nodded to them.

“Why the twenty?”

“We need silverware, place setting for at least three.”

“Three?”

“I figured Marge might give me a hard time, insisting I get permission from my parents. Antoinette.”

“You’re scary sometimes. Antoinette?”

“I’m going to invite her to live with me.”

“Huh? Why?”

“She needs a place to live where she can relax and be herself – and figure out who that self is.”

“Yeah, all that. I didn’t think you were friends.”

“We’re not. I’d ask you, but I’m afraid you’d say yes.”

“I would, in a second. You’re right, then I’d consider everything else.”

“You’re family, your job, your school, college in the fall.”

“When I think of all that, Toby, I really appreciate what it takes for you to slam the door on everything.”

“I repeat: No one can know you have any contact with me.”

“Oh, I get that. I’m telling Mom and Dad you took off with the church people. I might even cry in my room for a couple of nights.”

“Don’t oversell it.”

I found a couple of flannel work shirts and durable jeans. Pam came up with two cute dresses my size. When we put the small end table, silverware, dishes, bowls, pots, and pans up by the counter, we drew attention, the three women hovering helpfully.

I knew the women, even by name, from my previous encounters when I attended church. They didn’t give me so much as a Don’t I know you, which I hoped. I was, once again, disappointed they didn’t have a used bicycle or two.

 

“I’m late,” Pam said, deflated.

“You OK?” I set the grocery bag on the kitchen counter.

“I will be. Everything’s moving too fast. Up in the air.”

“I told you I have a plan. I know I’ll feel better when the furniture gets here, I take a shower, fix and eat a meal, sleep in my bed.”

“Pee in the corners.”

I laughed.

“I get all that. The sense you occupy the apartment.”

“I’d offer to wash your hair –”

“But I really need to get to work. Dad might be panicking by now.”

“Which is why you need lie to him.”

“He’s not a good liar.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m really not comfortable with Michael.”

“I know.”

She looked at her watch. “Damn. I do understand you’re not good alone.”

“I love being alone.”

“Surrounding yourself with people that don’t exist. Even when you dance alone in the woods, it’s never for long. Having Michael stay with you just may not have anything to do with Michael figuring out himself.”

“Or herself.”

“I get all that, Toby, maybe more than you do. I’m a girl. I love you. You’re going to be living with a man.” She glanced her watch.

“Hold me like the world is ending.”

She did, then slipped out the door.

 

An elderly man with a clipboard and I believe his son, my age, arrived promptly at 2:00 PM. “Is this you,” the man asked, the clipboard in my face.

“That would be me, yes.”

“We have a delivery for you.”

I took the clipboard and pen, fishing in my new-to-me pants, signing the bottom of the form, clipping two twenties to the board. “I really appreciate this.”

He attempted stoic, his eyes betraying him. “It’s what we get paid for.”

With bed and dresser, the bedrooms got small quickly. “Normally with don’t do this,” John, the older man said, “but we can see you’re alone.” They assembled the beds and small kitchen table, which then occupied the space just outside the kitchen, opposite the living room half of the larger space.

The recliner wasn’t a Lazy Boy. It would still do what I wanted.

I made the beds, gathered the packing materials, carrying the trash to the container in the parking lot. My apartment looked like a home – almost. I dressed in my new-to-me clothes against the weather, walking the two miles and change to Connor’s Texaco.

“Hey, Keith,” I said to his back, Keith involved under a hood.

He spun around, looking down on me. “Eh, do I know you?”

“You did, in a previous incarnation.”

“Huh?” He narrowed his eyes. “Toby?”

“Used to be. For reasons you shall never know, I’ve gone into hiding.”

“That’s OK with me.” He took me up in a hug. “I wanted to thank you,” he said in my ear.

“For?”

“Kind of introducing me to Mike.”

“Things working out?”

“Better than you can imagine.”

“I’ve actually come to see him. He working?”

“I’ll get him.”

 

Michael walked past me.

“I’m here.”

He gave me wide eyes. “Fuck, Toby.”

“From this moment forward, if anyone asks, you haven’t seen me.”

He shrugged. “No problem. Do I want to know?”

“You do not.”

“OK.”

“Here’s the thing. I got a new place, here in town, well, on the other side of town, closer to your house than to here. I said to wait a couple weeks, well here we are. It’s a two bedroom. You’re welcome to one of them.”

“Huh?”

“If you want, you can share the place with me.”

“What’s the catch.”

“Oh, I have a long list of stipulations.”

“Should I be writing this down?”

I rolled my eyes. “No running around naked. No jerking off in front of me.”

He nodded. “That actually makes sense.”

“I’d like you to stay out of my clothes, my makeup. We can get you your own.”

“I’m all for that. I’ve been working on my wardrobe, all my shit hidden in the back of Dad’s garage.”

“No bringing random guys home to blow.”

“How about Keith? He’s not a random guy.”

My eyes may have crossed.

“We’re kind of a thing.”

“Does he know?”

“Somewhat. We’ve not got a chance to spend a lot of time together.”

I sighed. “What about Antoinette?”

“I’m cutting ties. Oh, I mean I like Antoinette a whole lot better than Michael – if you follow.”

“I follow.”

“It’s just Antoinette, with Levy and his family, happened too fast. I kind of lost my way, myself in that. I told too many lies, lies that would come around and wreck everything. I’d worked myself into a corner.”

“I’m offering you a safe place to live, to find out who you are.”

“I can start again.”

“You can.”

He closed his eyes, let out a long sigh. “Michelle. I woke up one day and realized why you gave me the other name.”

I blushed, biting my lip. “I can be a real asshole.”

“You can. I kind of understand. One of my favorite memories of all time is you riding my lap, kissing the fuck out of me.” He held up a stop hand. “I do get it wasn’t me, Mike, you were making out with, or ever Tony.”

I rolled my eyes feeling exposed. “Here’s the big thing. It’s – Michelle coming to live with me, not Michael. I’m getting a girl roommate, not a boy. You need to commit to that.”

He gave a sharp nod. “Committed. Really. It’s like the stuff dreams are made of.”

“I’ll expect you to clean up after yourself. Keep your room tidy.”

“Tidy? That’s a mom word.”

“Whatever. Contribute to the rent, expenses.”

“That’s fair.”

“Questions, comments, criticisms?”

“Thank you?”

“Address, phone.” I passed an index card and a key.

“Nice place. After work. I’ll get Keith to run me over my house, pack my shit – it’s not much. See you about eleven.”

“Antoinette Blanc.”

“Who’s that?”

“Me now.”

“Do I want to know?”

“You do not.”

 

Keith had warned me there may be something surprising, I thought at Maple Printing on The Avenue five stores down from Mason’s Hair Hut. Joe, an unkempt elderly man, almost slobbering, his wrinkled white shirt struggling to stay tucked in, tried to sell me clip art.

“I want it simple. Who I am, what I do, my phone number. What I do in the largest font.”

“Did you want to wait?”

“Sure.”

I ordered 1,000 business cards, too.

 

“He’s getting settled,” I said, my Princess Phone on my stomach, the receiver to my ear, lying on my bed. “Keith’s with him. A guy he works with. I think they’re a thing.”

“Have I met Keith?”

“You have not.”

“Does he know?”

“I think they’ve been too busy blowing each other to have that conversation. Michelle says soon.”

“Michelle?”

“Yeah. He’s starting over. New name.”

“Like you.”

“I’m still Toby.”

“Well, you wanted to be Antoinette Blanc, now you are.”

“I don’t look like her anymore. I didn’t realize how hard that would hit me.”

“How hard it’ll hit you? It’s uncanny. I could use a little more can right about now. Dad called his lawyer.”

“Yeah?”

“He has that letter.”

“From my father, authorizing my kidnapping. I left it with him on purpose.”

“He wanted to meetup with the lawyer, take me down the police station with them. Maybe hire a private detective.

“I suggested with wait. Blah, blah, blah. I said you cut me loose, told me not to wait. That things were so messed up – my family excluded – that you were looking to leave it all behind, step into a new life, get away from your evil mother, demented father, the rapists, blah, blah.”

“He bought that?”

“Well, when I fell on a chair, face in my hands, crying. Right about then Bill Locke busted in the office, demanding to know where you are. Dad got between me and him real quick. I was so proud of him, never loved him more than in that moment.

“Dad pretty much gave him the company line as he knew it. I then fully understood why you didn’t want him to know the truth. He would have broke for sure, Bill yelling in his face.”

“I bet Bill wasn’t happy.”

“He ranted, got close to calling Dad a liar. Dad points to me, me crying on the chair. Dad waved the letter, said you said you found God. Dad suggested you didn’t find God, but found Tammy, running off with her.”

“Eww. I wouldn’t fuck her with Tex’s dick.”

“Double eww.

“I have no idea where Dad came up with that. He drove it home pretty good. Bill wanted the letter, Dad wouldn’t give it up. He stormed off to talk to Tammy. I found out later Mr. Bailey had to threaten to call security. I’m willing to bet Bill snatched her up leaving the mall, probably sweating her right now. Better Tammy than me, huh?”

“He’s got a pair of detectives on his payroll. They’ll put her in the box, she’ll fold like a card table.”

“Box?”

“Interrogation room.”

“Windowless, single bare bulb overhead?”

“That’s the room.”

“It’s a cliché.”

“I live a cliché.”

 

I wandered from the bedroom. “You made breakfast.”

“I tried,” Michael answered, looking up from the table.

I sat. “Looks OK.”

“You make it look easy.”

“Low heat is the trick to bacon and eggs.”

“Now you tell me. Patience is not my strongpoint.” He glanced his watch. “I have to catch the bus. I’ll be home.” He paused, looking through me. “I like the sound of that. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ll be stopping home after school, then off to work until ten. Conner has me closing by myself.”

“Bus? I thought Keith would be picking you up?”

“He says we have to be careful around school.”

With pursed lips, I nodded. “People are assholes.”

“That, they are.” He stood, working into his coat. “Can you make time this week to help me with an English paper?”

“Sure.”

“I’m taking your advice about school seriously. Though, so far, I really like this car thing.”

“I get physical pain not being able to go to school. Assholes robbed me of that. I was put in an impossible position. Riversides being terribly backwards. I’d have to fight off rapists just to sit in classes I could be teaching.”

“I’ll do my best, Toby.”

“That’s all I ask.”

The door closed, then opened, Michael’s head appearing. “Sorry about the dishes.”

“Thanks for that. I’ve got it. This time.”

 

I wanted to road test my new work boots: three-quarter, orange leather, insulated, waterproof. My over polished black army boots were too much of a signature. I was tempted to drop fliers on the nearby streets, choosing to work more around my rented garage.

Walking the couple miles, I got about twenty fliers on front doors when a cop rolled up. “What are you doing?” he asked.

I presented a flier. “Trying to drum up a little work when the weather breaks, Officer Flagg.” I’d read his nametag.

He eyed the flier. “You need to have a solicitor’s permit.”

“I did not know that.”

“We like to know who’s doing what in our neighborhood.”

“Just to put fliers door-to-door?”

“Just to put fliers door-to-door.”

“What do I need to do?”

“Come down the station. Fill out a form. Get fingerprinted, photographed. Takes about fifteen minutes. Two bucks. May I keep this?” He displayed the flier.

“Sure. I’ll do that this afternoon.”

“You will do it before you drop one more flier.”

“Understood.”

 

The police station stood a relatively small building behind The Avenue a stone’s throw from the highspeed train station. The glass door pushed in hard, requiring my shoulder. “Hey,” I greeted the man behind the high counter.

“Hey back at you.”

“A really nice Officer Flagg asked me to come by and get a solicitor's permit.”

He offered a friendly nod. “He told me to be on the lookout for you. Identification?”

I offered my birth certificate and social security card, which he barely glanced at, providing a form on a clipboard. “Please fill this out.”

The form was simple enough. I hesitated briefly before signing Antoinette’s name below the under penalty of perjury disclaimer. Officer Martin rolled my inked fingers in the boxes on the bottom of the page, providing a paper towel.

“You didn’t have to get all dolled up for this,” he said, holding a Polaroid camera at my eye level.

“This is standard issue for me.” Stopping back home before going to the police station, I’d done elfin makeup two shades darker than my natural complexion, deep browns on my eyes, Jessica red on my lips, minus the red circles on my cheeks the elves seem to be so fond of.

 

My attention split between the landscape rushing by and my 3.5 x 2-inch solicitor’s permit as I sat on the train, amazed by both, shadows flashing glimpses of the new me from the window.

Mr. Fishman was as I remember: a bit too happy to be normal. We spoke of nothing for twenty minutes. He favored snow over sunshine, though not so good for business. Finally, he asked, “What can I do for you today?”

“I thought I’d treat myself to a new bike. Something durable, good for grocery shopping in bad weather as opposed to peasant rides in the park on a sunny day.

“More utility than for pleasure.”

“Exactly that.”

Mr. Fishman put me on a dark red Raleigh 10 speed with a rack on the back, a model right off the floor surprisingly cheap.

Half out the door with my new bike, Mr. Fishman holding the door for me, outside in the mild wind and cold temperature of February, I asked, “You don’t remember me?”

He narrowed his eyes. “No, I do not. From where?”

I shrugged, thanking him again.

 

A black velvet clutch in the window of The Owl’s Nest three doors up from the bike shop caught my attention. My first thought was owls live in trees. With my bike locked to a No Parking sign, the bell on the top of the door announced my arrival. The proprietor was on me, an elderly woman bringing my dead friend Mrs. Martin from my first church to mind with all the memories and feelings that goes with that. I wondered whether Officer Martin was a relation.

“I like that clutch, though now I have nothing to wear with it.”

Her coy smile was disarming. “Well, then, young lady, would you like to look at some things that may go with that?”

“I would.”

I replaced all the silk I left behind, adding a white spaghetti strap tube dress four inches above my knee. “Oh, I’m being careful, Mrs. Lancing,” I answered her cringe at my packing the dress in my backpack.

“It’s just – oh, call me Lucy.”

“I think not, Mrs. Lancing.”

 

Rolling on the New Jersey roads felt good. I didn’t want to leave my bike behind. I knew I had to. I’d told Bill it was my most valuable possession. He’d see the bike there against the dining room wall and know I was kidnapped for sure.

With my new bike on my shoulder, I wrestled with my keys, the neighbor’s door cracking revealing barely half a face. I offered a polite hello, the door snapping shut. I shrugged, pulling my door open, hurrying to the call of my telephone.

“My yard’s a mess,” an elderly voice responded to my greeting. “How much? I got a paper in the door.”

 “Hi,” I answered. “Give me your address, I can stop over within the half hour.”

“You’re a girl.”

“I am, yes.”

He mumbled something. “OK,” rattling off his house number and street.

I made a note, unpacked, hanging my new dress on the shower curtain rod, turning on the shower hot water, closing the bathroom door behind me. I’d been torn between dressing up for the afternoon or going to the hardware store across town, Harold’s Hardware, where I’d bought the lock for my bedroom door and first lawnmower seemingly a million years before.

I hadn’t expected the fliers to work so fast, looking into the beginning of March.

 

Mr. And Mrs. Rainy were dinosaur-old. Mr. Rainy gave me squinty eyes, sharply observing I was small.

I Sally-ed him as a retort, complimenting him on how nice his house looked. “I love the blue shutters.”

“Betty picked that out. I’m no good with colors.”

“I walked around your house. Rake the gardens out? Clear all the debris?”

“Trim all the dang bushes. That too.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“How much?”

“Fred, Fred! Don't leave that poor girl standing out there in the cold. Invite her in. I'll make some tea,” a voice sang from the interior.

“Oh, alright,” he mumbled, stepping back.

“I’m good, but thanks, Mrs. Rainy.”

My height and build, sharp blue eyes, silver hair wound on her head, pallid flesh, she worked out onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind her, offering a hand. “Betty.”

“Toby,” I answered, taking the hand. “You should have a coat on.”

“I don’t mind the cold, never have.”

We held hands. I resisted asking her if she attended church on Sundays. “It’s a little early for spring cleaning.”

“Fred has his ways. Gets things in his head. He’s been grumbling about the yard since Christmas. Keeps threatening to get out and clean up, which would kill him, his heart and all.”

“I like a well-kept yard.”

“Well, we got your note.”

I symbolically glanced behind me. “Twenty bucks.”

“What is?”

“Rake out the gardens, clear the debris, give the bushes a haircut.”

She snickered. “I think you undervalue yourself.”

“Never.”

“Can you start today, now? Fred, you know.”

“Tomorrow. Bright and early, at least before the crack of noon.” Again, I glanced behind me. “We’ll be losing the light soon.”

 

“Hey, Mr. Harold,” I greeted, the buzzer announcing my arrival.

Mr. Harold had a head and a half on me, russet brown hair with sidewalls and a flat top, doe brown eyes, dressed in a slate gray work shirt, pants to match. “Good afternoon,” he sang back. “Isn’t it kind of cold to be riding a bike?”

“Some people may think so.”

“But you’re not one of them.”

“I am not.”

“What can I do for you today?”

“I was hoping to get a lawn mower.”

“Little early –”

“Some may think so.”

He laughed. “I have one in the basement, left over from last season, still in the box.”

“OK.”

“I’ll have to assemble it.”

“I’ll take it as is.”

“On your bike?”

I rolled my eyes. “A garden rake, a leaf rake, an edger, a couple pair of work gloves, pruning shears, and some clippers. Oh, yeah, a snow shovel.”

“Snow shovel? March is on us.”

“You never know.”

“Is that all?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something else. I’ll pay now, come back later.”

 

I dismounted, leaning my bike against the street sign, showing my palms to Keith as he approached. “We can stop with the hugging thing.”

“I’m OK with that. Sorry. I guess I was being presumptuous.”

“Don’t be.”

“I like your place. It’s great what you’re doing for Mike. Let me get him. He just got here.”

“I came to see you. I want to hire you guys, I mean the service station.”

He smirked. “Oil change on your bike? Maybe a tune up?”

“I need you guys to pick up a lawnmower at Harold’s, put it together, and deliver it to this address.” I provided the receipt, a note and a key. “I’ve got some tools I paid for, too. You guys do that sort of thing, don’t you?”

He eyed the note. “Hell, Toby, I’ll do it for nothing. You don’t have to hire the shop.”

“I’d rather.”

Keith nodded sharply. “I’ll get right on it.”

“Slow day?”

“A lot of people getting their snow tires changed over. I tell them it’s kind of early.”

I looked to the sky. “But do they listen?”

“No, Toby, they do not listen.”

“Thanks in advance.”

“You’re welcome in advance.”

Mounting my bike, I said, “I hate to impose.”

“I get that about you.”

“When you stop over tonight, can you bring the snow shovel and a screwdriver? Put my curtain rods up?

“Look who’s being presumptuous now.”

“You’re not –”

“Oh, I am. It’ll be my pleasure.”

 

“I was hoping you’d answer the phone.”

“Toby,” Jessica said breathlessly. “Let me switch to the office phone.”

Quick minutes leaked by. “My god, Toby. Are you alright?”

“I’m good, really good. How are you?”

“You crack me up. What’s going on? The Locke’s seem to have an all-out manhunt for you, sweating all known associates.”

“That would be woman-hunt, maybe in my case, a girl-hunt. I just shrugged my shoulders. We need to get together.”

“They said you were kidnapped, trying to rescue you.”

“The problem with them should resolve itself.”

“You’re OK, though?”

“I am. How are the plans coming?”

“Not to sound like an echo: We need to get together.”

I opened the phone book on my lap, paging. “There’s a Holiday Inn on 70.”

“Across from the racetrack.”

“Yes, that one. Says here they have meeting rooms. I’ll call and reserve one. Will that do?”

“Great idea for so many reasons. It’s like you’re reading my mind. Saturday - tomorrow? 8PM.”

“Make it 10.”

“You’re not in the house any longer?”

“I am not.”

“Bill came at me pretty hard.”

“I bet your father got in-between you.”

“It’s like you were looking in the window.”

“The room will be under Blanc.”

“Who’s that?”

“Me.”

“Oh, I can’t wait.”

 

“What the fuck?” I greeted Michael as he came through the doorway.

“He’s alright,” Keith told me.

“People are assholes. Is it that bad?”

I bent a little, looking up at his face. “Well, it’s not going to swell shut like mine did. What happened?”

Coats dropped from shoulders. Michael fell to a chair at the table. “People are assholes.”

“I have work to do.” Keith produced a screwdriver.

I sat cattycorner taking Michael’s hands. “What the fuck?”

“You remember Joe, the kid –”

“Joe occupies a special place in my library of memories, and not just because I left him bleeding on the school steps.”

“Did you know he’s become friends with your brother?”

“I kind of assumed as much. They like to do things together.”

“Fuck!” Keith snarled.

“You OK there?”

“You told me your brother and Jim. I didn’t know there were three.”

“Four, Keith. There were four.”

“Four what?” Michael asked.

“What about Joe and Mark?” I asked.

“I wore my hoops to school today. First time I could leave my house wearing them, you know. Kind of like a declaration of independence.”

“I noticed this morning.”

“The hoops you gave me for Christmas?”

“I recall. That was a fun day, your face full of delight and terror in the chair at Rube’s.

He rolled his eyes. “That, I recall too. Today, for some reason, Mark decided to notice me. I wasn’t even aware he knew me. I bet Joe said something. Are you aware of just how much of a bully your brother is?”

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “He used to hit me for sport when we were kids. One day Keith caught me running down the sidewalk crying. He tuned Mark up pretty good. Yeah, I’m aware.”

“Looks like Mark is due for another tune up,” Keith growled.

“That won’t fix anything, Keith, might get you in more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Maybe I’m just a boy being a boy.”

“Wait a minute. Toby, you said you barely knew Keith.”

I shrugged. “I barely do, though he did push pretty hard once long before either of us had pubic hair.”

“Toby!”

“I didn’t take it personal, Keith. I figured I was simply Miss Available.”

“Are you blushing, Keith?” Michael asked.

“No! It’s hot in here.”

Michael turned to me, taking my eyes. “After next to last period, a bunch of boys led by your brother mobbed behind me in the hall, some weird incoherent chant questioning if I were a boy or a girl and not in the existential kind of way I ask myself the same question pondering my reflection in the dark window at night.”

“I guess that English paper is on Camus?”

Michael laughed. “Not actually. They herded me into the second-floor bathroom. That’s when I got hit in the face. One of them pulled my pants down, wanting to see if I had a dick. They all got wildly amused I was wearing girl’s underwear, underwear quickly finding my ankles.” He paused, glancing our hands. “You’re hurting me.”

“Sorry.” I loosened my grip.

“They dragged me across the room, shoved my face in a toilet, laughing and screaming that weird chant, flushing. It that moment I was more terrified of being gang raped than I was drowning, neither of which happened, a teacher, I think Mr. Collings, coming in to break up smokers. The gang shuffled out. He asked if I were OK more like a statement and left.”

I started breathing again.

“Toby.”

“Michelle.”

“I can’t teach the classes, but I cannot go to a school where I have to fight off rapists just to sit in classes I don’t want to be in just to please you.”

“I understand.”

“I know, and that breaks my heart.”

Keith sat next to me. I retook Michael’s hands. “Keith,” I said watching Michael’s eyes.

“My Lady?”

“As you see fit, release the Dogs of Hell.”

“My Lady.” He gave a sharp nod. “Who’s Michelle?”

“I am,” Michael answered.

“Huh?”

I turned to Keith. “Mike’s been wanting to tell you.”

“I have, but, well – like in school today.”

“Mike’s afraid you’ll hate him.”

“For what?”

“I like to wear girl’s clothes.”

“No kidding?” Keith’s sarcasm was not lost.

“Keith. I like living as a girl.”

“And?”

“Well, you like boys and all.”

“I like you, eh –”

“Michelle.”

“Michelle. Is that what you want me to call you?”

“Eh, well.”

“Michelle, fuck other people. Toby’s released the Dogs of Hell.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“What you mother’s first name?”

“Eh, Jane, well, Eleanor, but everyone calls her Jane, her middle name. Why?”

“Are you serious about dropping out? You want to think about it for a couple of days?”

“Oh, Toby, I can’t go back.”

I put a hand to her swollen eye. “Wash your face, put a little makeup on.”

Michelle looked at Keith.

“I have rods to install anyway.”

 

“Whose truck is that?” Keith asked, standing on a chair, working a screw into the woodwork.

“In the driveway in front of the garage? Mine.”

“Left front tire’s really low. Give me the keys before I go. I’ll fix the tire, look it over, take it to inspection.”

“Inspection?”

“Every year, Toby. There’s a sticker on the windshield.

“I’ll fix the tire,” Michelle jumped it coming from the bedroom. “I’m getting really good at it.”

“Wow, Michelle. Just wow. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Michelle blushed, almost curtsied in her short blue denim skirt, makeup done quickly but perfectly. “Thank you.”

“You look so different.”

“Different OK?”

“Very much OK. I think I’ve always seen – this in you.”

“I told Toby that. You talked to me as if I’m a girl. I know the difference.”

“Obviously you are a girl, at least to me.”

“I think I’m in love.”

“Me, too.”

“Is it alright we use the shower, Toby?”

I cocked my head, footfalls on the stair. “Yeah. I’m going to have surprise company in a minute.”

Tapping whispered from the door.

 

First off,” Pamala said into my ear,” I love you more than fries in brown gravy.”

“I love you back more than dancing naked in the snow.”

“Secondly. Company, or did you just leave the shower running?” Her coat dropped to the floor.

“Keith and Michelle. I think there’s going to be some hair washing.”

She rolled her eyes. “I wish for us. I couldn’t suffer another phone call. I had to see you.”

“That works out good. I had to be seen.”

We dropped cattycorner to the table, not letting go.

“I can’t stay long. Playland is closed.”

“Playland is closed?”

“Paul said they descended like locusts. That’s a quote. He seemed awfully excited. Took Mary off in cuffs along with dozens of boxes. They hit Rube’s and Notions at the same time, those stores closed, too.”

I rolled my eyes. “Timing is everything. I got out just in time.”

Pamala bit her lip. “Dad said they were showing your photo around, looking for you.”

“I’m a popular girl. I told Jessica the Locke problem would resolve itself.”

“Oh, you saw Jessica?”

“Are you blushing?”

“No!”

“I called. We have a meeting tomorrow night, 10PM, to hammer out some of the details of our project.”

“Good. I’ll bring my copy of the business plan, me being all sorts of presumptuous”

“You are presumptionating correctly.”

She stood, emptying her blue suede bag onto the table. “Let’s switch bags. Yours is too unique.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. I can’t bring myself to put my army boots in the trash.”

“I’d take them, but they’re too small for me.”

I dumped my bag. “I can’t wear the heart.”

“I told Dad I threw mine away. It’s in the back of my underwear drawer.”

I nodded toward our picture on the wall. “At least I can see mine every day.”

We hugged like the universe was collapsing on itself. “I’m going to go home, shower, think of you, wash my own hair.”

Hanging on her, I sighed the biggest sigh that was ever sighed.

 

With the temperature in the 40’s, a light wind from the west, the black sky painted with stars and a crescent moon, I leisurely rolled over the mile and a quarter to sanctuary, walking the last quarter mile.

“A sprite, an imp,” I said to the fire, shaking my head. I’d thought I pulled Antoinette/Michelle into reality. She found her own way, following me, pretending to be me. I almost got trapped looking for my Antoinette in her.

My Antoinette no longer looked back at me from the mirror as I assumed her identity. Becoming her in objective reality, I was no longer her. Irony danced naked with me. She didn’t come, no matter how much I willed it. Over the years, I was never sure, or even questioned, whether my Antoinette was a creature of objective reality or something that solely occupied a place in the shadows of my mind.

I felt in the murky soup of magical thinking, my love for her somehow pulled her soul from death, her my constant companion, dancing with me, stopping me from doing stupid shit, making love with me, shielding me from the trauma of rape. As my right foot spun on the cold earth, I wondered whether I was being greedy, holding onto her, keeping her from moving on – whatever that would mean in the murky soup of magical thinking.

But.

If all that were even possible, Antoinette’s father, mother, brother, and sister wouldn’t need an empty chair at the dinner table. Their love could have pulled her soul from death, her continuing to be their daughter.

They wouldn’t need me to come take her place.

I entertained the idea, again murky soup of magical thinking, that my Antoinette was a demon possessing me when I allowed it. There was that time she almost coaxed me into death, I almost took her hand. She could have been attempting to switch places, to take my life, exiling me to her purgatory.

In all the reams of periodicals I’d read, I had never come across any credible reports of any such things occurring.

“A fragment of underdone potato can so easily disturb the senses. There’s more of gravy than grave of you.” The chill of winter’s wind raked across my face, whispering You are alone.

I felt at once abandoned and liberated. Contrary to Pamala’s proclamation, I felt blissfully OK alone there in the night the fire painting the nearby trees.

 

“I think I’m in the mood for a cheeseburger,” I told Sally at the Tower. “Medium, pickle, coleslaw, fries.”

“A very good choice.”

Her hair was up, messy on the top of her head, cigarette dancing in her lips. She turned from the grill. “Don’t I know you?”

“I’m not from around here.”

“You look familiar. I never forget a pretty face.”

Stone-faced, I narrowed my eyes. “Does that ever really work for you?”

“My, look at you! You’re a smart one.”

I rolled my eyes. “Passing on the vanity, you compliment my intelligence. You’d do well selling Kirbys door-to-door.”

“What is your problem?”

“Maybe I’ve had my fill of salesmen.”

“You’re much too young to be so cynical.”

I offered a huff. “I have receipts.”

She placed the plate on the counter. “Oh, do tell.”

“Vanity, intelligence, now the talk about myself, actively listen as if you really care. We have the trifecta.”

“Boy, you’re damaged goods.”

“There’s Sally. Now, didn’t it feel good to say something honest and true?”

“You know nothing –”

“I really don’t.” I slid from the stool, taking the plate. “I’ll have this by the window, watch the few cars on the highway.”

 

I looked for Antoinette watching back from the plate glass, failing, circling back to, “You’re beautiful.” I liked the new me. I just wasn’t Antoinette. I had never questioned whether my expression of self-love was healthy or not until I fell in love real and true with Pamala.

Returning to the counter, I set my plate. “Could you pack this up for me, please?”

“Sure thing.”

“It’s not my place, Sally, and as you started to say, I don’t know shit, but here’s the possible problem. My sister used to come here a lot, to hear her tell it. That’s likely why I look familiar, though I don’t think we look anything alike. This place was a sanctuary, a place to escape the horrors that was her life. A soft asylum to get a breath, to rest.

“Having experienced the worst of human interactions, she was still naïve. She mistook your clown act for sincerity. She thought you were a friend.”

I offered a traffic cop palm. “I know and she knew that’s on her. You are not responsible for what she felt, for what she assumed, for what she presumed.” 

“I know who you’re talking about.”

I shrugged, turning, pausing.

“How is she?”

That’s the question I wanted. I pivoted. “I don’t know anything for sure, which is why I came home. She got involved in a cult. Fuck. Naïve, remember. The best information I have now is that she killed herself.”

“That terrible! So sorry for your loss.”

I shrugged. “Flaming star, that one.”

“I really liked when she stopped in, always brighten my day. Will you let me know if you find out anything else?”

“I came not to praise Caesar.” I hesitated. “I’ll be heading back to Steubenville in the morning.”

“It was nice meeting you.”

“I’m sure.”

 

Sitting at the table in my dining room/living room, I watch the door over my coffee mug, the tinkling of keys sounding like tiny fairies talking.

“You’re up,” Pamala greeted.

“You’re early.”

“Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t wait.” She came around the table, kissing me. “I only have a couple of hours. We’re closing out the month before we open.”

“I figured.”

“Would you like me to wash your hair?”

“I do, I really do.”

“But?”

“This is going to sound weird.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I live in Weirdville. When you wash my hair, or me yours, or both at once, I don’t want you having to jump up, run off with half your clothes over your arm, leaving me in a puddle of our sweat. I want to drink you, hold you so long and so tight I lose track of where my body ends, yours begins.”

“When do we get to weird?”

“I really do love you, real and true.”

“Still, not weird. Your wish is my something-or-other.”

“Huh?”

“Your wish – drinking me, holding me, blah, blah, blah. There might even be some hair washing. That wish. Tonight, after the meeting. I’m going to stay the night. Or am I presumptionating?”

“Oh, not presumptionating at all. How are you going to pulled that off?”

She dropped my red suede bag from her shoulder. “With Mom and Dad at the table, I did this,” she flamboyantly placed the bag in front of me, “and looked each hard in the eyes, my finger over my lips.

“Mom nodded, Dad choked up.”

“Damn.”

“Right? Dad was kind of crawling out of his skin. He quickly caught on I shouldn’t and couldn’t say anymore. It’s really great to have their unconditional trust, though I’d love for him to explain why he’d think you’d dump me for Tammy.”

“The only reason I’d ever want to sit on Tammy’s face is to shut her up.”

“No duck tape?”

“I see what you did there. I’m going to put some clothes on. It’s such a nice day, how about we walk up to The Avenue. I’ll buy you breakfast, then we can walk down to the river.”

“Will there be naked dancing?”

“No.”

“Still OK.”

 

“You can’t eat with your tongue hanging out like that,” I quipped.

Pamala blushed, turning her attention from the waitress walking off to me. “She’s butter-won't-melt-in-her-mouth beautiful.”

She was Shawn, banging her head on twenty, my height, hair the color of walnut shell a puffy ball around her head tied in a ponytail marking time like a pendulum as she walked away. Colbalt eyes at once innocent and lustful, her flesh almost too white to assume she wasn’t dead, a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her cream lace bra hinted through the white button down, a black tie loose around her neck, hot pink flared skirt dancing high more fitting for ice skating than waiting tables.

“I bet she’s a dancer, maybe a runner. If she got those thighs around your head, she’d pop it like a pimple.”

“You’ve gotten close.”

“It’s all that bike riding.”

“I like her outfit. I’ve never considered sneakers.”

“Much more practical, for sure. I’d not think appropriate for Harvest.”

Pamala sighed deeply, applying fork to ham and cheese omelet. “When did you know. Eh, when you liked girls?”

“It’s not like I had an epiphany or dawning, I guess. This is going to sound weird.”

“I think you can lose that introductory clause.”

“I think so, too. Well before puberty, maybe before I was fully cognizant –”

“Hold up, let me stop you there. Fully cognizant?”

“That means –”

“I’m a straight A student in a progressive school. I know what that means. And, don’t roll your eyes.”

“I could pull a muscle. It’s believed human critters don’t become aware of themselves as a separate being in the environment until four, some are saying fully until eight. I meant it as a metaphor anyway.”

“OK, you’re a little kid, shitty diaper dragging on the floor.”

“Not that young! Antoinette. One day, she appeared in my class. The moment, the very instant I saw her, my life, my universe changed forever. I never, ever reasoned hey, I like girls. It was Antoinette I liked. She happened to be a girl.”

Now, Pamala rolled her eyes. “Yet, you have no problem saying your gay.”

“I’d roll my eyes if I were allowed. If I walked like a duck –”

“Quacked like duck, blah, blah, you’d be a duck. I struggled. I mean, I had this idea I was supposed to like boys. Girls, though.”

“Yeah, girls.”

“One day, before puberty, fully cognizant, Dad had a sit-down with me, explaining his cross-dressing. He didn’t want me to accidentally walk in on him and freak out. It was then that I did have an epiphany, Dad kind of opening the door to the world of It’s OK to not be like other people.

“About a month later, I had my own sit-down with Dad. I told him, I like girls. He agreed with me about girls, telling me I can talk to him about anything.”

“I’m still dumb fuck amazed how healthy your relationship with your parents is.”

“I’ve met your parents. I understand.”

Done, I slid my plate aside, fishing in my bag. “So many details. Change of address cards,” I answered Pamala’s twisted face.

She leaned forward. “Where the heck is Steubenville?”

“Ohio. I pulled a random address from the crisscross directory at the library when I stopped in real quick to see if owls made nests. Just for the fun of it, I’m putting in a change of address from the old house to the apartment in Steubenville. Someone’s going to be getting all my magazines.”

“You’re devious. Owls live in trees, don’t they?”

“Some do, some don’t. They’re opportunists, taking over the nests of other birds like I’ve stolen Antoinette’s life. Anyway, I wanted to see just how not me I look.”

“Oh, you don’t look like you at all.”

“I stopped by The Tower last night.”

“After a dance in the woods.”

“You know me so well.”

“How’d that go? The woods.”

“She didn’t come.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t know if it’s good or bad. We’ll see. Anyway, Sally didn’t recognize me. She did think I looked familiar. I confessed I was Toby’s sister in town –”

“From Steubenville.”

“You’re so smart. I didn’t volunteer anything, but when asked, I said I’d heard Toby joined a cult and killed herself.”

“My gosh, Toby. Brilliant.”

“Given how Tammy’s cult is all secretive, any private investigators or cops are going to hit a wall trying to verify that story.”

“Should I be telling the same, when they come around again?”

“No. Stick to what you have.”

Shawn presented herself, going on her toes. “Can I get you anything else?” She looked from Pamala to me.

Pamala panted.

“We’re good. Great breakfast.”

“Thanks!” Her tongue appeared between her pale lips as she worked her pen on the pad.

Pamala looked like she was going to melt.

Producing a $20 bill, I set it on top the check. “Keep it.”

“That’s a twenty.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t even look at the bill.”

“I read the menu.”

“But you didn’t look at the bill.”

“Look,” Pamala said. “She’s never been good at picking up social queues.”

“One of my many Shakespearean flaws.”

“Tragic,” Pamala said.

“I know!”

“I mean it’s called a tragic flaw.”

“It is,” Shawn agreed, nodding. “Now, look at the ticket.”

I did.

“My gosh. Are you blushing?”

“No! It’s hot in here.” I looked up to Shawn. “You can still keep the change.”

Pamala snatched the check. “Wow, two hearts, a smiley face, and a phone number. I guess someone is presumptionating.”

“If I’m out of line, I’m –”

“You’re perfect, Shawn. “I’m Toby.” I indicated Pamala. “Pam. My girlfriend.”

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I hit on her when I first saw her, too.”

“I just moved in over on Garfield, in the apartments. You’ll be seeing a lot of me, I think.”

“I hope you both.”

“Me, too,” Pamala agreed.

 

We walked back the eight blocks to the apartment, then five more to the river. “She was kind of forward,” Pamala said, looking at her watch. “We have to head back.”

“Only because I wouldn’t look at the check. It was a good move. Safe. I could accept the request or reject it with nothing risked on her part.”

“I think I’ll be looking at all future checks.”

“You have nothing to worry about.”

“I know. Maybe I want her phone number.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I like the river. Must be great to live in one of the houses.”

“I have plans. A house with a fireplace, some land, lots of tree, huge kitchen. Bill’s house got me spoiled. A house, Pamala, where we can live and be happy forever.”

“I’ve already decided to grow old with you.”

“Me, too.”

 

Both rakes and the edger over my shoulder, I pushed my new lawnmower five blocks, not announcing my arrival, getting right to work. Mr. Larken wandered out early, surveying, nodding.

“If you get anything too heavy, come get me. I’ll help.”

“Thanks Mr. Larken. I’ll do that.”

Mrs. Larken soon followed with a coat, insisting Mr. Larken wear it. They argued back and forth about the weather, Mr. Larken finally relenting, working into the coat.

“You should take a break,” Mrs. Larken suggested, me just thirty minutes into the task.

“I’m good, Lois.”

“Don’t let him try to lift anything heavy.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich, open a can of soup.”

“I’m good, Lois,” I repeated.

I finished the yard in five hours. I could have been done in four, if Fred and Betty didn’t interrupt me every fifteen minutes.

“I didn’t ask for the mow and edging,” Mr. Larken snapped at me. “Won’t pay extra.”

“Included,” I said. Though not needed, I figured to make the job easier come spring.

“You do undervalue yourself,” Mrs. Larken said again.

“Never.” I accepted the money. I had the strange idea Pamala and I would be just like Fred and Betty when we got old.

Two people caught me packing up, rakes and edger on my shoulder, pointing, asking me to do their yards. I agreed. Neither asked for a price. “Next week,” I said, accepting phone numbers. “I’ll call, let you know when.”

When I walked down the steps of Bill’s house for the last time, I had a vision doing nothing, lounging, reading, looking out the window.

 

Showered, hair done, elfin makeup applied, powder blue flair waist dress with half sleeves, swoop neck Pamala picked out at the thrift store, silk underwear, stockings, new brown loafers with two-inch heel, I was ready for the meeting five hours earlier, settling in the fake La-Z-Boy to catch up on some reading.

I felt good.

Two paragraphs into the story on Egyptian pyramids, loud footfalls on the stairs announced the arrival of Michael/Michelle and Kevin.

“I brought steaks!” Kevin announced.

Setting the magazine aside, I climbed to my feet. “Eye looks better.”

“I know, right?”

“You look great,” Kevin flattered.

“Thanks. Pamala and I are going out later. For now, I think I’ll take a long walk.”

“Tody,” Kevin said seriously. “Don’t let us chase you out.”

“You’re not. I’m not good at clock staring. A walk will do me good.”

 

The breeze crept around my legs like an affectionate cat just cold enough for me to put my new pea coat on, the coat a gift from Michelle, a reminder of who we once were. Beyond the apartment complex, I eyed yards needing my services. I didn’t actually have to do any work. I had plenty of money to make weekly deposits.

Most the storefronts on The Avenue were dim, perfect for window shopping and me watching. In the past, I’d watched Antoinette in the reflection, my Antoinette, a mind ghost. Now, I saw a stranger, a stranger who was me. The experience was unsettling.

Collings Nook was still open. I thought I could get a table by the front window, drink coffee, watch the world go by, flirt with my reflection, maybe even ask Shawn why she figured I was gay, if she were still working, which was doubtful.

Expressions Dance Studio was tucked between my bank and Mom’s Pizza. Two nondescript teenage girls sat across from each other at the front table feasting more on each other than the pizza on their plates. I wondered whether they knew they were in love.

I wondered whether people saw Pamala and me that way.

Expressions Dance Studio had a large window display, mostly ballet paraphernalia, photographs, mostly ballet, with one photo eight women in glitter outfits. The window did not provide a view of the interior.

I do not like going through a blind door, which I did anyway, the door giving way easily with only the slightest moan. The room was dim and spacious, the walls lined with photos at eye level and nothing much else.

“Hello,” a voice came from the darkness, a woman standing by a doorway on the other side of the room, tall, slim, attractive, easily in her fifties, dress like a 50’s blue sofa cover sweeping the floor. “What can I do for you today?”

“Eh, I’m not sure. I saw your light.”

“We don’t have a light.”

“I couldn’t think of anything else to say.”

She moved toward me, chucking, a hand extended. “Cassandra Larkin. Would you like to learn to dance?”

Holy fuck. I took the hand, doing my best not to cry, not to fall to my knees. “Cassandra is such a beautiful name. Antoinette Blanc. I go by Toby.”

“Toby! Oh, do tell. Such a unique name for a girl. I knew a Toby once, a beautiful child with a troubled soul.”

“I think we all have troubled souls. That’s kind of their purpose. I was born in October. People called me Baby October for years, shortened to October, then, because people are lazy, shortened again to Toby.”

“Wonderful. I’ll ask again: What can I do for you today, October.”

“Toby’s fine.” I indicated that way I’d come. “The photo, out there, the women in the glitter outfits.”

“Flapper dresses. Yes?”

“Do you teach that, I mean, The Charleston?”

“You want to learn The Charleston?”

“I was all loaded with a smart-ass comment but swallowed it. I have a girlfriend who does The Charleston. I’d like to learn so if the opportunity ever come up again, I can surprise her.”

“I sponsor a dance troupe. The studio does, that is.”

“I think I may have seen them.”

“I doubt it.”

“New Year’s Eve. The Locke Estate.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, that was us. You couldn’t possibly – who are you?”

“I’m just a guppy trying to avoid getting eaten by the big fish. Party crasher. I’d like to continue my ballet lessons with you, too.”

Again, narrowed eyes burned into mine. “As you must assume, oftentimes we must hide our authentic self as to avoid harm.”

“That we do, Mrs. Larken. That we do.”

“Of all my children – Toby, you, ah, eh, never mind all that. May I hug you?”

“Forever and true, Mrs. Larkin. Cassandra. Forever and true.” In that moment, I was eight years old again, because sometimes, that’s the way the universe works.

 

“There’s paperwork.”

“No, there isn’t,” I answered, “unless you mean the kind of paperwork with pictures of dead presidents on them.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Well, sure, there’s Franklin, he wasn’t a president.” I shrugged. “I do not have the words to express what the gift of your time and attention meant to a child all those years ago.”

We entered a long hall with a window cutting the wall to our right. Twenty children, none older than ten, in three rows worked through a routine, the instructor, her back to us – soft brown hair in a ponytail down her back, black leotard, bare feet – called out instructions I could not hear.

“This about your level?”

“Cassandra, I do what I call a bastard ballet. Since I was a child, I’d secret into the woods, kindle a fire in a small clearing, and dance naked following my heart regardless of the weather.”

“That is so tremendously tragic and yet so beautiful my heart is full.”

The dancers stopped, mulling, working out a door on the other side of the room. Mrs. Larkin pulled a door open. I entered

Holy fuck!

“Shawn, let me present Toby.”

Shawn lit up, offering a hand, which I took, keeping her eyes.

“Toby wants us to fix her ballet.”

Shawn nodded at me, keeping my hand. “Is that right. Will you do us the honor and dance for us?”

“I’m not sure I can dance with my clothes on.”

Shawn laughed, more like a giggle. “That’s OK with me. You can use the dressing room –”

“Oh, I’m good.” Freeing my hand, I dropped my bag and coat to the floor. Turning, “Zip, please. I can do it, but it’s so awkward, I don’t want anyone watching me.”

Cassanda accepted my dress. “That child was kicked out not long after they dragged you away to be burned.”

“Really?”

“She wasn’t related to Mrs. Martin, so she had to go.” I shrugged, laying my stockings across the dress. “Just as well, they would have kicked me out for something else, I’m sure.”

I put my dress and stockings on a chair, topped them with my underwear and bra, turning to Shawn. “How did you know I’m gay?”

“You’re gay?” Cassandra asked.

“I’m gay.”

“I kind of guessed by the way you looked at me.”

“You’re dump-fuck-drop-dead glorious. I could have been a straight corpse and looked at you like that.”

She blushed. “What music would you like?”

“The music is all in my head.” I spun away, working through my routine three times, watching myself in the mirror as I could. There she was, real and true, Antoinette dancing beside me. I wondered if I were insane, would I know it.

“Bastard ballet.”

Cassandra and Shawn glanced each other. “That was actually pretty good,” Shawn said.

“I had a good teacher, back in a previous life.”

 

 

Part Fourteen