by Tanai Walker
I raised my eyebrows. “You wanted to be a rebel too.”
He smiled. “It was 1939, a dangerous time for a soft, colored boy to travel through the South alone. I made it, and Malcolm was there in New Orleans taking pictures of naked girls.”
“And Leda—Letty was one of those girls?”
“Everyone loved Letty,” Uncle Charles said. “She was like a ray of sunshine wherever she went, and Malcolm spent his last dime on her. We had to go crawling back to Salacia with our tails between our legs.” He turned the picture over and his grin sagged to a more grave expression. “We took Letty.”
A short gasp escaped my lips.
“Then you know what happened to her?” Uncle Charles said hopefully.
I shook my head. “What do you know?”
“Malcolm and I thought that if we went to Salacia just before one of those seven-year meetings, we could get some money from Mother and leave,” he said, his clouded eyes glazed over as he looked back into the past. “Mother welcomed us. She and our sister, your grandmother Cornelia, welcomed Letty and offered her a room. Malcolm didn’t want to cause a row, and he didn’t go to Letty’s room when the house was quiet. We got drunk in the library.”
Uncle Charles’s voice choked on emotion, and he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. “The next morning, Letty was gone,” Charles said. “We looked all over for her, but could find no trace, but Malcolm knew. Cornelia had scratches on her arms, and there was a scorch mark in the room where Letty had slept, like a fire had burned.”
“Did you call the authorities?” I asked.
He laughed. “We didn’t dare. We were frightened of Mother and Cornelia’s cult. We knew they burned a big fire out on the lawn every seven years. Malcolm and I left and did not return for a long time.”
“And Letty?” I asked. “Do you know where she came from?”
“She never talked of her past,” he said. “She was a creature of pure delight: dancing, drinking, playing, fucking…she made a man feel like a million bucks.” He placed a worn and wrinkled hand over the picture. “May I keep this?”
I felt something protective rise up inside me, almost like the beast would. “I could mail you a copy,” I told him.
He frowned. “What would you want with it?” he asked. “Why would you come here asking about her? You didn’t come here for nothing.”
“I was only curious,” I said.
I reached over the chessboard to retrieve the picture, and Uncle Charles grabbed my wrist in a viselike grip. I tried to escape his grip and knocked over all his chess pieces.
“Selfish woman,” he growled. “Too stupid to let Mother’s cult go about their business to see something greater than yourself.”
“They frightened you and Malcolm,” I said. “You said so yourself. They did something with Letty and you did nothing.”
He let go of me and I stood, snatching the picture. He bowed his head and covered his face with his hands. The attendant returned, a look of concern on his face as he went to Uncle Charles. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We were only talking. I may have mentioned a family issue that upset him.”
“He gets like this sometimes,” the attendant told me. “Maybe if he got more visitors…”
I found myself apologizing again. “My family was never very close.”
“Everybody has an excuse,” the young man mumbled and turned away to console Uncle Charles. He shrank before my eyes, his elbows on his knees, his head down as he began to sob. I stared, not sure what to do or say. I backed away a few steps, ready to flee. Charles glanced up at me as he dispassionately wiped the tears off his cheeks and struggled to compose himself.
“If I had known you would get upset, I wouldn’t have come,” I said.
He snarled. “You Tinsley women are all alike,” he said. “So high and mighty, with your secrets. We should all be glad to live in your shadow.”
“There are no more secrets,” I said.
“There are plenty,” he said, his face dry, his breathing less unsteady. “Now don’t leave here and forget what you promised to send me.”
“I won’t,” I told him.
*
That evening, I sat in my parked car. Despite the cool air that rolled through the vents, I felt as if the sinking sun slowly roasted my skin. Once again, I was in one of those nearly forgotten corners of town with the hopes of catching a glimpse of the woman called Leda. After visiting Uncle Charles, I went to work and scanned the picture of the woman he called Letty. I printed a copy and had it sent to him by courier. I found that I couldn’t concentrate at all on work. I kept sliding the pictures out of my satchel and looking at them. I made dinner plans with Sandra for six and went to the address on the flyer Jimmy had given me.
Little Foxes was housed in an old tan brick building that squatted in a questionable neighborhood. My hopes were to happen to see her without having to actually go inside.
There were several businesses on the block: a pawnshop, a liquor store, a barbeque joint, and a tire shop. All the parking was on the street, so I parked and sat inconspicuously with a view of the entrance. In the two and a half hours I waited, two men left and a woman entered. They looked like normal people, in normal clothes. I had done my research. Little Foxes was not listed among the city’s businesses, most likely because places called modeling studios were often raided by the police under suspicions of illicit practices, as they were fronts for prostitution.
Discouraged and out of time, I went to Sandra’s for the evening. She accused me of being distant and as aloof as the day we were introduced. She forced me to sit with her and look through a picture album of her childhood on the Texas-Mexico border. I got into her record collection and we slow danced to Al Green until things got serious. I stayed the night.
I returned to Little Foxes the next afternoon with several bottles of iced tea, some light snacks, and a pair of opera glasses inherited from my mother. I waited three hours before gathering enough courage to take a stroll past the building. I paused on the sidewalk just feet from the entrance. Up close, I noticed that the cracked brick crawling with a tiny green vine budding with purple flowers was merely an old façade from the twenties. A stone placard over the lintel of the entrance read Fox, and I wondered if that was how Little Foxes got its name.
I then noticed a man who seemed completely composed of rolls of fat trundling toward me on a motorized wheelchair. He grinned and poured new sweat that mixed with the yellowed stains of old on his white T-shirt.
“Hey, sister,” he hollered. “You got any change?”
I backed up a few steps, turned, fled to my car, and drove away from that place. I spotted a side alley as I made my escape. I made a mental note to inspect it the next day, but I never made it.
Chapter Five
The next day was Friday. That morning, I woke with the Little Foxes stalking game on my mind, and I decided that the coast was clear to stay at home. I planned to work through the morning and spend the entire afternoon in my car watching for Leda. Work ran over, though, and I finished with my last project a little after noon.
When I went out to my car, those Sun Monster kids were out playing. They gathered at the gate and called me Professor Swiggleslock. I smiled at their game, only because I had my own to play that afternoon. The character card one of them had handed me still lay in one of the cup holders between the Volvo’s front seats.
As I cruised out onto the street, my phone rang. I answered it as I carefully negotiated the crowd of small children playing in the street.
“Hello, Sister of Flame.”
I rolled my eyes. “How did you get this number, Juliette?”
“We need to talk,” she said. “I know you’ve discovered the Lost Goddess’s incarnation.”
I turned off my street, not sure what to say.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.
“The place called Little Foxes,” Juliett
e said. “What would Sandra say if she knew you were hanging around such an establishment?”
A hot flash of anger passed through my body. “It’s none of her business, or yours, since we’re on the topic.”
I ended the call, fuming. My phone chirped as another call came through. I checked the readout. Juliette again. The bitch just didn’t know when to quit. I answered just to tell her off.
“This is harassment, you know,” I said.
“Tinsley, why did you go visit Charles?”
I drove to a line of cars waiting at a congested stoplight. I looked in my rearview mirror expecting to see her following me.
“Are you even in the country legally?” I asked distractedly.
“You need to put your bitterness aside,” Juliette said. “If the beast and the Lost Goddess were ever to come together—”
“Not my problem,” I said and ended the call.
The traffic in the other lane coasted forward. A taxi van rolled past me and stopped. A placard mounted on the trunk advertised a new premium tequila. A familiar face stared out at me from the photo below overly gilded script.
My Golden Goddess, also known as Leda, dressed just as she was in the flyer Jimmy had given me. In this shot, she leaned forward showing her small but shapely cleavage, her hands cradling what looked to be a wine bottle. Her expression was sleepy and sultry. My phone chirped.
Behind me, some idiot honked. Traffic was moving. Before I could tear my eyes away from the billboard, I pressed the gas a little too enthusiastically. The car in front of me had barely moved a foot. I stomped on my brakes to avoid a collision. Tires screamed in protest. A loud bang followed, and then I heard the roar of glass shattering as my back window exploded into bits. For an instant, the violent impact jarred my world. The force threw me forward. The seat belt jerked me back into an upright position.
Beneath the blur of tears that sprang into my eyes, I saw the men on the street and the asshole behind me rocking behind the wheel as his car shook from the collision. Then things were quiet, except for a ringing in my ears. I reached out numbly, unlatched the door, and climbed out of the Volvo on unsteady legs.
The douche bag who rear-ended me shouted in a high-pitched voice as he grabbed the back of his neck. I couldn’t understand his words, but I could understand his anger. I felt it radiating at me like heat. This aroused and strengthened the beast.
My right shoe tightened around my foot, suddenly three sizes too small. I knew through my numbness that the hair had grown back on the top of my foot. My hand began to chime and buzz. The phone still remained clutched tightly in my fist. I turned it over in my hand, and for a few seconds, it was a foreign object that I regarded as an insect in a shiny black and silver carapace. I knew then that I saw the world through the eyes of the beast.
Someone touched my shoulder gently. I nearly jumped out of my skin. A man in a hard hat inspected me with dark, darting eyes, a look of concern on his face.
“Are you all right, lady?”
I tried to speak, but no words would come. I looked at the back of my car. The glass of the hatchback had shattered, the section where the taillight had been left hollow, and red plastic shards littered the pavement like confetti.
The owner of the car I rear-ended sat on the curb. He pointed at me and swore as a suited man attended him. I looked for the taxi van. The billboard of my Golden Goddess blocked out the sun. In my hand, the phone continued to buzz. Once again, I knew its purpose. The beast was fading back. My humanity flooded back into my body. I willed myself to answer.
“Hello?” I burbled.
“If you won’t listen to me, listen to Sandra.”
My fingers opened. The phone fell from my hands and clattered to the street. Someone asked if I wanted to go to the hospital. The sturdy hands of men guided me. In the distance, an ambulance wailed.
*
“I’m fine,” I said. The EMT removed the blood pressure cuff from my arm. She didn’t look old enough to buy cigarettes, let alone administer medical treatment. I sat in the back of the ambulance listening to this kid lecture me about my vitals. I saw Sandra pull up to the scene. She stepped out of her car, her face strained with concerned.
“What happened?”
“Someone rear-ended me.”
“Are you…ill?”
“No,” I said, directing my gaze to the EMT. “I’m fine. Now.”
“Then it’s settled,” Sandra said.
She assured the young medic that she would take care of me, and we walked to my car to survey the damage. The back of the Volvo was ruined. Sandra helped me gather my personal effects, including the Professor Swiggleslock card.
“And you make fun of my card tricks.” She grinned.
I shrugged as I signed for a random tow truck dispatched by my insurance company and then watched the man haul it off.
“That asshole hit you pretty hard,” Sandra said as we climbed into her SUV.
“Well, I was distracted,” I said. “Juliette called to hassle me about her Lost Goddess.”
“How’d she get your number?”
“I don’t know,” I grumbled. I sank down in my seat and let my thoughts wander to the ad on the taxicab, to Leda.
Sandra took me home and waited on me hand and foot before she left again to tie up some loose ends at work. I tried to work on a project, but my thoughts kept wandering to Leda. There wasn’t much I could do with no wheels. I retrieved the two photos of my Golden Goddess and their modern counterpart. I Googled Bacchanista Tequila and clicked on the first link.
A short animated Flash intro played through, and the website’s home page appeared wreathed in some antique, bronze-colored filigree popular with designers. The site was slick to say the least. There was a still of her in a shiny black leather corset trimmed in what looked to be barbed wire, a blackened monocle over one eye, and metallic razor tips at the ends of her fingernails. She held a bottle in one hand, a shot glass in the other, over-pouring as rivulets ran over the glass. Her eyes were a violet color. More photo-editing magic?
Fortune turned in my favor when the insurance company delivered a car to my front door. All I had to do was sign for it. After the insurance agent left, I hung out at the gate looking for any sign of Juliette. I saw those Sun Monster kids across the street playing. The boy who had given me the Professor Swiggleslock card came over.
“Hey,” I said. “Have you seen a strange lady around here with scars on her face?”
He grinned and nodded solemnly. “She talks funny.”
“Are you shitting me?” I said more to myself than the kid.
“She’s a Dark Agent,” he volunteered. He brought out his deck and shuffled it. He showed me a picture of a woman in a black trench coat with silver buttons and a hat with a large brim that shaded her face.
“Does she pass by my house?” I asked.
“She waits at the corner.” He pointed toward the end of the street. “In a black car. She ain’t there today.”
“Good,” I said. I reached into my wallet and gave him a ten-dollar bill.
He smiled, revealing two missing bottom teeth. “You want me to tell you when she’s there?”
I paused to think how that would help me. There weren’t many ways out, as Valentine was a one-way street. I looked through the bars of my gate at the kid who stared up at me expectantly.
“What’s your name?”
“Bobby,” he said, folding and unfolding his prize.
“Okay, Bobby,” I said. “You tell me when she’s here.”
He nodded and sprinted away.
I climbed into the rental and drove to Little Foxes.
Chapter Six
As the sun began to sink low, I cruised past Little Foxes in the rental car several times before parking. For fifteen minutes, I sat out front and stared at the place and tried to plan what would happen once I walked inside. This was more than a reconnaissance mission; this would be direct contact. I only needed a glimpse of her and I would know.
When the street was empty of cars and pedestrians, I made my move.
At the entrance, I paused to steel myself. I smelled something small and dead in the sparse shrubbery, perhaps a bird or a rat. The purple flowers on the vines gave a sweet, green odor. A feverish flash ran through my body, and I knew the beast was near.
“No, not now.”
I waited, measuring the weight of the beast’s presence as if it were the beginning of a toothache. The beast stayed low, so I straightened my shoulders and entered Little Foxes.
The place was still laid out like a house. In the dim foyer, I made out the shape of a podium of dark wood. A velvet rope blocked the way behind it. I tried to peer past, but not a glint of light from outside crept beyond the rope.
I cleared my throat and gave a timid hello.
No answer. I debated leaving.
“Who the fuck is it?” a voice bellowed, startling me.
The outline of a large man filled the hall beyond. A light winked on overhead and I saw him―beefy with hairy forearms and a bald head and a short beard. He wore a white tank top, yellowed from sweat around the neck. He also wore several thick gold chains with various medallions. The largest had the name Claudio shaped into it. He had a large keg belly and flabby pectorals like misshapen breasts.
“Jimmy sent me,” I stammered.
Claudio frowned. He had heavy jowls, and his words growled from them cloaked in a dark Eastern European accent.
“The goat man.” He came close to inspect me with tiny dark eyes. “What do you want?”
I dug into my satchel and removed the glossy flyer.
“Okay, you wanna see a girl,” Claudio stated impatiently.
I pointed my finger at Leda’s image. “This girl.”
He laughed. “The fucking lezbos are coming out of the woodwork for Leda.”
“Pardon?”
“That’s what you are, eh? A lezbo?”
“I don’t think that is any of your business.”
Claudio laughed cruelly. “It is my business. You are here to see my girls. So you’re either a lezbo or a cop.”