by Tanai Walker
Whatever I had toked on—I was sure it was marijuana—made my head swimmy. I tried to blink away the bleary feeling and saw Leda in a much different setting than the plush hall. In a lightning flash, I saw her on the muddy bank of a bayou, dark water rushing over the bottom half of her body, meeting with long, black hair.
She was cold, naked, and frightened. She crawled onto flat land beneath a freeway underpass and tilted her head beneath an icy stream of runoff that splashed from above. She drank, then used her hands to sluice away the mud. She smelled smoke and wandered to a camp of homeless old women gathered around a long-dead fire. They regarded her with rheumy eyes and chattered expletives at her nakedness.
The cold fire of wet bits of wood and debris sparked into a roaring blaze. The old women startled, and some of them ran far into the cold night. The ones who stayed watched as Leda walked into the fire, her feet among the now-burning trash. She squatted among the hissing flames for a moment, her skin glowing.
When she stood and walked out of the blaze, one of the old women stepped forward with a pile of clothes. She dressed Leda and received a kiss for her generosity.
I blinked again and found myself leaning heavily against a stool. The blackened edges of my vision cleared. I saw Leda, dancing. She sank to the floor as her upper body slithered like a snake. Away came the veil that covered her breasts, and the third, around her forehead. A collective gasp and applause followed. Only her waist and hip covered, Leda alternately swayed and posed, then spun madly and threw herself dramatically to the floor into a feral crawl. She left her pile of scarves. The music slowed again, now a mix between the paced plucking and erratic strums. The crowd parted for her.
I moved with them and Leda changed direction to follow my path. As she danced closer to me, she shed the veil around her waist, revealing her tattooed midriff, drawing gasps from the partygoers.
She moved close, swaying her hips. I felt her heat through my clothes, and it felt a lot like the pyre in ’83. I glanced nervously around me. This was a hall full of people, not my secret room tucked away in my house behind a wrought iron fence. Jimmy stepped into my view, grinning, with a camera phone in hand, and I felt truly embarrassed. Leda caught my gaze, and her eyes changed, from cool violet to molten gold. She began to dance backward, and I moved with her. I glanced down at my wrist and noticed that she had tied the last scarf around it, and the other end was tied around her waist.
My eyes roamed low on their own behest. A scrap of red lace covered the V between her legs. A new tattoo glowed above her right breast; the seven-sided star glimmered like fire trapped beneath her skin. She ran a hand over the mark, and it brightened like stirred embers. With the same hand, she pointed at me, her finger aimed at my chest.
I tucked my chin and looked down at the mark above my breast. My own seven-sided star burned through the fabric of my jacket. She moved close to me again and wrapped an arm around my waist. She smelled of jasmine and sandalwood.
“I saw you,” I said absentmindedly. “Like a dream while I was standing there just now.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw you climbing out of the mud.”
“You saw my birth into this incarnation,” she whispered. “Each time, I hope it is the last, but then the Sisterhood catches me and burns me.”
I moved to step away from her, but she held on to my waist and clutched the satin lapel of my jacket. The crowd seemed to shrink forward in some kind of anticipation.
“I shouldn’t get involved—”
“Do you know how it feels to be burned?” she asked. “It’s part of their cycle of ritual to burn me every seventy years. This body feels pain, Tinsley, and it hurts.”
I looked down into her eyes, which had returned to their remarkable violet color, and they were teary. In my mind, I saw the Great Pyre burning, and in a split second, imagined a woman among the flames. I saw Leda among the roaring, hungry flames, heard her screams.
“Please,” she said. “Don’t let them burn me again.”
She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against my breast. I realized that the partygoers still watched the two of us in an eerie breathless silence. I removed my jacket and draped it around her shoulders.
Chapter Eight
Before I opened my eyes the next morning, I knew the day would take a foul turn as soon as I ventured too far away from my bed. As soon as I sat up, my room became one of those terrible roadside fun houses. Leda’s party had certainly lived up to its reputation, and before the night had ended, I was sure I saw old horned Bacchus laughing among the revelers.
Somehow, I ended up at home and in once piece, even though my head seemed to have been tampered with during the night. I stumbled to the bathroom hoping a cold shower would wake me.
When I stumbled back into my bedroom—a little more upright than before—my phone sang out Sandra’s ringtone, the Fame theme song. I checked the time first. Ten thirty. I had missed the meeting. Perhaps Sandra was not mad, only worried.
I thumbed over the button to accept the call.
“Hello,” I said attempting to sound chipper, though my tongue felt as if someone had run me over with a freight train.
“Where the fuck are you?” Sandra whispered harshly into the phone.
“At home,” I said weakly. “I haven’t been feeling well, you know.”
“Cut the shit,” Sandra said. “You weren’t at home last night. Juliette and I deduced that.”
My resolve crumbled along with my alibi. I tried to stammer out some kind of explanation, but Sandra hung up. I debated showing up for work after all. Perhaps it was best to stay away until the boss could cool off. Too bad the boss was also my lover and privy to some pretty heavy secrets, like my habit of turning into a beast.
I had lied, and ruined things with Sandra, all for a few cheap thrills with a young, beautiful woman. I collapsed back onto the bed.
“This is not the right time for a midlife crisis,” I told myself.
Leda was so much more than a cheap thrill. I felt a profound connection with her, something that defied time and death. It was certainly something more than renting a U-Haul and taking an Alaskan cruise every other year.
I collected myself and dressed for the day in khaki linen pants and a white blouse. I drove the rental in to work. Once I reached the office, I entered cautiously. Bill Sands trailed me like an idiot, as he was in the main hall practicing on a mini putting green.
“She’s pissed,” he said. “I think she’s been on the phone with Dallas all morning. She’s in her office.”
“I can handle it,” I reassured him. I moved to go up the hall and he caught hold of my wrist, his face practically glowing beet red.
“There’s a lady in your office,” he whispered. “She told me not tell anyone.”
“What?” I asked.
“She’s young, and…” He swallowed. “She’s got on this minidress thing.”
Leda. I felt the blood drain away from my face. I hauled ass to my office and found her standing there in a neon pink clingy minidress and black ankle boots. Black sunglasses nested in her hair. She smiled when she saw me, and for the life of me, I smiled back.
She came close and kissed my cheeks European style. I turned and noticed that Bill watched us, amusement in his eyes.
“Good-bye, Bill,” I said. “Don’t tell Sandra I’m here.”
He grinned and slipped out, closing the door behind him after waving at Leda. I didn’t dare speculate about what he thought of Leda and what he would go tell the other Bill and their pals.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her as pleasantly as I could.
Leda chose to perch her cute ass on the edge of my desk with her legs crossed. “I came to see you, of course.”
“Well, it might not be safe,” I said. “The Sisterhood has been stalking me. I think they’ve figured out who you are. I led them to you.”
Her slight smile quickly faded. “They would have found me, just like they did
before.”
I quickly paced to the door and made sure it was locked. “You should leave town.”
She sighed and reached out her hands, and I stepped close to take them. “I have a plan, Tinsley, a way to free us both.”
My knees weakened at the word free. Was it even possible? I thought of my life without the beast, perhaps with Sandra and the U-Haul and the Alaskan cruise.
“Come to me tonight and I’ll tell you.”
I nodded dumbly. She scooted off my desk and went for the door.
“Be careful,” I said.
She smiled and left me.
I put my things away and then made my way to Sandra. She sat behind her desk with a grave look on her face as she listened to her phone.
“She’s here now,” she said. “We’ll see you soon.”
“Who was that?” I asked when she put her phone down.
“Juliette.”
“Why are you talking to her?”
Sandra stood. “Because it’s every Catholic girl’s dream to save the world from the fabled end times.”
“You can’t believe anything she says,” I said. “The Sisterhood is a cult, just like any other. They’re thieves and murderers.”
She frowned. “Who told you that? Your goddess?”
I narrowed my eyes. Juliette had ratted me out. She was using Sandra to get what she wanted out of me.
“She’s not a goddess,” I said, unsure of how I could tell her Leda’s story. “Not the way you think anyway. She’s scared.”
Sandra sat and threw up her hands. “I suppose she needs you, the beast, to protect her?”
“Yes,” I said. “She is cursed. Like me.”
“Tinsley,” Sandra said decisively. “You’re coming with me to talk to Juliette, whether you like it or not.”
I pondered the demand for a moment. “Yes, okay,” I said. “As long as you’re not mad at me.”
“You lied to me,” she said. “And then Juliette told me you found the Lost Goddess, that the beast led you to her.”
“That’s not true,” I countered.
“Then why are you hiding her?”
It was a good question, and I didn’t have the answer. “They bring her back to life just to burn her in the Sacred Fire. Why can’t they just be rid of her if she’s going to bring about the end of the world?”
Sandra shook her head. “How am I supposed to know how these things work? I’m just glad you’re all right.”
We both walked around the desk until we met in each other’s arms. I couldn’t help but compare holding her to having Leda close. Sandra felt more solid and safe. Dancing with Leda the night before felt as if I were holding a stick of dynamite.
She moved away. “Juliette wants us to meet her at Salacia.”
“No,” I said.
“She says there’s something she has to show you,” Sandra said. “And anyway, I’d like to see the legendary place.”
I shot her a look. “You only know what I’ve told you.” I frowned. “And what Juliette told you, the sow.”
She raised a hand. “Let me give you something.” She went behind her desk and opened a drawer. She returned with a small velvet sack. She opened it and turned the back over in her hand. A tangle of red string and silver charms fell onto her palm.
“Let me tie this around your wrist.”
I smiled and obediently held out my arm. “What are they?”
“Milagros. They symbolize saints that answer certain prayers,” she said as she fastened the red string. “A house is for safe travels, and loved ones at home. The arm is strength. The eyes are for insight and vigilance. The woman’s head is for the safety of your spirit.”
She touched each one as she named it, as if infusing it with the magic she described.
“This praying woman represents St. Rose of Lima. I was born on her saint’s day.” She looked up at me. “And this heart represents love, Tinsley.”
“Thank you,” I said, suddenly nervous in her gaze, not sure if I had it in me to return what she offered.
“It will protect you, I hope,” she said.
I kissed her passionately. “When all this is over, can we pick up where we left off?”
She tilted her head. She stepped backward and waved me away when I tried to follow her.
“Go on, get something done. We’re leaving soon.”
“Fine,” I said and went to my office. Once I was settled behind my desk, my phone chirped letting me know I had a text message.
See you tonight@Foxxies
“God,” I said. “How am I going to pull this off?”
*
Later that afternoon, Sandra drove too fast down I-45 toward Galveston, singing in Spanish along with a smoky-voiced woman crooning an endless set of romantic ballads. I tapped my fingers on the door handle and stared out the window at the open fields of tall grass. In my other hand, I held the ring of keys that would open the iron gates of Salacia, the Tinsley family estate, and any door after that, including those carved with the seven-sided star.
“I don’t know what other dirty secrets she could dredge up,” I said. “We could have met in town. Hell, I would have invited her to my house and we could have talked over cocktails.”
Sandra turned down her music and made a sympathetic face. “How long has it been since you’ve visited?”
“I go every year to check up on the work the caretaker does,” I said. “My father insists I keep up the place just in case I ever want to put it on the market.”
“So why haven’t you sold it?”
I shrugged. “It seems wrong. The place is over two hundred years old, and the land itself has been in the Tinsleys’ possession for much longer. They made their money running a sugar plantation, and yes, there were black Tinsleys who owned slaves.”
“Wow,” Sandra said.
“Degenerates, my father calls them,” I said. “He says he knew, even before he married my mother, that the Tinsleys were tainted.”
“But he married her anyway.”
I turned to look out the window again. I didn’t like to think about my mother, let alone talk about her.
“She was beautiful, and she came from old money, and my father was a ladder-climbing little upstart. She was his prize, and in the end, his biggest shame.”
Sandra chuckled ruefully. “What happened that summer, Tinsley?”
“Everything went wrong. Everything.”
“Tell me,” Sandra said.
It was high summer. I was fourteen and practically on the edge of the passenger’s seat of my mother’s Mercedes. That day, at the end of June, she chain-smoked with the window down. I was always very interested in her when she smoked. She didn’t look like my fussy, worried mother. She said the nicotine evened her out.
Cigarettes were a habit my father disdained, even more so if done publicly. He had strict guidelines of how my mother and I should appear in public. We were to always be impeccably groomed when we went out, especially if he came along.
My mother was a mystery to me, and I only felt I caught glimpses of her true self when she was away from my father. She had more edge. She said “damn” and “hell.” She was beautiful. Her hair was redder than mine and flowed down her back. She was glamorously slender. We had the same skin, toasted ginger. I liked being out with her, seeing the looks she received from men of all colors. She handled her beauty like a great burden, and I, in turn, saw my own blooming beauty as a monstrous responsibility.
That day, we were on our way to Salacia, the estate of her family, the Tinsleys. My aunt Quinn lived there, and I was to spend the summer with her. I had only met Quinn once, at my seventh birthday party. She had given me sapphire earrings and my first bottle of perfume, something flowery she had purchased in Marrakesh. Perfect for a young girl, she had explained.
As my mother drove past a marshy field of tall grass, I thought of the previous seven years. I was no longer a little girl, and though I was certainly conscious of how far along in the dis
tance womanhood waited, I knew it closer than ever.
“What is it, my little thinker?”
Mom was always sensitive to my moods. No one since had been able to read me quite like she could. As always, I told her what I thought she would like to hear.
“I’ve never been away from you.”
“No, you haven’t,” she said. “This is a good thing, though. Aunt Quinn is very excited about spending time with you.”
“Why did she never get married?” I asked.
My mother lit another cigarette, all the while watching me from her periphery. “Your father doesn’t want you to know this, but Quinn doesn’t care for the company of men.”
I frowned. Who did?
My mother glanced from the road ahead to me and then back at the road again. A group of older kids flew by in an old station wagon, playing loud pop music. The car rattled loudly and belched a cloud of exhaust, but the chrome of the bumper sparkled in the sun with youthful abandon.
Mom spoke again, carefully, as if Dad were in the backseat. “Your aunt Quinn takes women as lovers, not men.”
I felt my face flush as the faces of certain female school friends of mine plagued my brain. They were girls that I had strange stirrings for, feelings I should have had for boys at my age. I had desperately tried to smother these feelings for some time to no avail, and so I hid them away.
Mom grinned at me. “Well, there’s no need to be embarrassed. It’s just the way things are sometimes. Believe me; it’s for the best. I don’t want you to think that your only lot in life is as some rich man’s wife.”
I looked at my mother. Not sure what to say. She was talking to me as if I were a grown-up, and it made me uneasy. “You’re a rich man’s wife.”
She puffed a short cloud of smoke out the window and chuckled. “Yes. I’m a good wife. It’s a noble servitude. It was my destiny. But I knew the day you were born, you would have more.”
My visit with Quinn took on a new meaning. My beautiful spinster aunt was suddenly my beautiful lesbian aunt who lived her life as she pleased. She would show me how to do the same. I decided I would tell her about those girls at school, the ones I sneaked sidelong looks at and daydreamed about kissing when I could bear to allow myself to. It all thrilled me, and being a timid child, it frightened me.