Love Power

by Martha Reed

  “Nothing like that. I just haven’t heard from her today and I’ve got her dog in my car.”

  “Alright.” Celestine agreed, slowly pressed the coffee lids down firmly with her thumbs. “That’s easy enough to do, but it’s still early, knowing her schedule. I’ll tell her what you said, if I do see her. You all set?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gee handed over her VISA card. “Jane? First time’s on me. Next one’s yours.” Picking up a cup, she risked a hurried sip. “Ahhhh. Delicious. Celestine? You are the voodoo queen of NOLA caffeine.”

  “I’ll need to remember that.” She giggled. “Sounds like maybe that’s my new jingle.” She returned the credit card. “Coffee mojo, girlfriend. Blessings on you both. Y’all have a great day.”

  “Let’s eat these on the way.” Grasping the waxed bag, Gee turned. “I know we’re watching the clock, but we seriously need to wean you offa that Yankee thing about always being in a hurry.” She slipped through the door Jane held open. “Thank you. You’re halfway there, but there’s definitely room for improvement.”

  Piddles yipped when he saw them coming. He started dancing back and forth across the back seat.

  “You know I brought you some of this, Mr. P.,” Gee crooned. “Did you think I’d forget?” Setting her cup on the dashboard, she slid behind the wheel, gripping the folded edge of the waxed bag and giving it a vigorous shake. “Stirring up all that good powdered sugar.” She winked. Opening the bag on her lap, she selected one beignet, tossing it between her palms. “Smoking hot, too! You cannot have a bad day when it starts with Café Irene.”

  Jane’s mouth watered as she scented the sugar and hot grease. Securing her coffee cup in the console holder, she reached eagerly into the bag. Hot oil scorched her fingertips as they slid across the powdery melted glaze. Pinching one beignet between her fingers, she raised it to her lips and snapped off a toasty bite.

  “Oh my God, I’m drooling. I haven’t eaten carbs in three days.” Jane licked the sweet stickiness off of her fingers. “You want any more?”

  “Nope, they’re all yours. One’s my limit.” Gee relit her cigar. “Keeping this slim takes work.”

  The second beignet had slightly cooled. With a chomp, Jane bit it in half. It was even tastier than the first. The beignet had the perfect chewy texture and a golden sweetness that gilded her tongue like honey. It was orgasmic. She closed her eyes. “This shit is crack. We should never have got these.” Stuffing the beignet into her mouth, she playfully extended both arms across the dash. “These are so good, I’ve gone blind.”

  “Look at you.” Gee chortled. “Glad to see you finally enjoying something. You are wound way too tight.” Hooking her fingers into horns, she set her right hand on top of her head like a tiara. “Stick with me, Jane. I’m the good kind of devil. I only have fun.”

  The fine powdered sugar tickled Jane’s nose and she sneezed.

  “God bless you.” Gee snorted, before pointing at the pebbled dashboard. “Better wipe that down. If the cops stop us, they’ll arrest you for doing blow.”

  Jane swiped the dashboard with her greasy hand. “Shit! I’m only making it worse. Did you grab any napkins?”

  “Napkins? You mean serviettes? Oh-mi-god, look what you’ve done to my car! Get out!” Gee ordered. “Get out of my car this instant!”

  “What?” Jane cowered, blinking and confused. “Huh?”

  “Get out! People like you are why we can’t have nice things.”

  “I’m sorry!” Jane scrambled to unlock the door, smearing the door with even more greasy fingerprints. “I’ll pay to have it detailed. Send me the bill.”

  “Girlfriend, relax!” Gee howled with laughter. “Back at you, babe. I’m just fucking with you now.” Reaching over her shoulder, she fed Piddles her final bite. “Jane, we need to seriously work on your sense of humor. You can’t hurt The Boat. She’s seen it all. That’s why I bought her.” Swiping her greasy fingers on her knees, she restarted the car. Taking another slurp of her coffee, she eased away from the curb before banking left for South Dauphine Street.

  Ryan Embry called Gee a force of nature. He was right. Leaning forward, Jane set the beignet bag on the floorboards next to her boot. She sure knows how to live and she just puts it out there. She’s fearless. Doubt darkened Jane’s admiration. Or is she reckless? I do feel a connection, but can we be friends? Reticence raised a caution flag. We only just met.

  Come on. No games now. Her chronic fear rippled uncertainly. What’s the real issue? Settling in, Jane dove deeper. This is really about trust. When did I stop trusting my judgment about people? Sure, it’s easier to not trust anyone, but when did I include not trusting myself?

  The Marigny neighborhood was beginning to stir. The gutters and sidewalks were littered with empty pint glass bottles and flattened red Solo cups from the previous night’s revelry. The corner bars were shuttered and hushed, still grated, but the old black men were already parked on their benches and their broken stoops sipping their daily malt liquor 40s. The quick stop grocery stores were open, bustling with the new day’s cigarette and lotto needs. Gigi blatantly ignored the orange construction fencing and the plastic traffic cones and the concrete barricades running along St. Claude Avenue like they weren’t even there. She roared around a trolley stopping to pick up downtown commuters and deftly wove The Boat through clusters of hipsters pedaling their bikes toward Crescent Park and Washington Square. Jane clutched the padded armrest as they blew through an intersection on a yellow changing to a fully red traffic light. She closed her leaden eyes. That’s it, universe. I surrender. The channeled leather seat cupped her in upholstered comfort and she dropped her chin. I will trust you enough - again - to do whatever it is that you want me to do. She scented sweet country ham spiced with cinnamon, mustard, and clove and the smooth, chocolaty aroma of freshly brewed chicory coffee. In spite of the beignets she had eaten, her stomach rumbled and Jane opened her eyes.

  “Enjoy your nap?” Gigi grinned. “Fancy lives about three blocks down. I’m going to kill her if we get there and find out she’s been ignoring my texts.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jane straightened. The shot of caffeine buzzed through her veins like a live electrical wire and her brain fog had lifted. She felt invigorated and refreshed.

  “Gee? I’m just going to put this out there.” She shifted in the seat. “Leslie said you’re transgender. Is that right?”

  “You’re close.” Spinning the wheel, Gee avoided a cluster of pedestrians huddled protectively in a marked crosswalk. “I’m a transgender person. It’s an adjective, not a noun.” She grinned crookedly. “I’m a straight woman in a male gendered body.” She squinted. “You look confused.”

  “I am, a little.” Jane admitted.

  “You never met a gay person up north before?”

  “Not this gay.”

  Gee howled. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure.” Jane blushed.

  “How do I explain this?” Gee looked to the sky. “Gender identity is different than sexual orientation. I like men same as you. Actually, I don’t know that. You’re straight, right?”

  Jane folded her arms over her chest. “Yes, I’m straight.”

  “Thought so. You look it.”

  “Excuse me? That sounds like a judgment.”

  “Hell yes, it’s a judgment,” Gee snapped. “Welcome to my fucking world. I deal with judgments about the way I look every goddamned day.”

  I’ll just bet you do. Jane chewed her lip. “And Fancy’s a drag queen?”

  “No.” Gigi drummed her thumbs against the wheel. “Fancy’s a gay man who’s a drag queen if we’re still talking about gender identity and not a lifestyle choice.” Blocked by the car ahead, she braked for a solid red light. “Fancy’s a man who likes fucking other men.”

  “But we call Fancy ‘she.’”

  “We do. Because,” she drawled, “that’s the pronoun she prefers.” The traffic light flicked to green. “Whe
ther we admit it or not,” she laid on the horn, “NOLA is the south. Sometimes it’s about courtesy and good manners.”

  “I’m getting the hang of this.” Jane’s head snapped back as Gee floored the gas pedal. “And Delilah? What is she?”

  “Besides being my roommate and my very BFF? Dee’s bi. She likes fucking men and women.” She snorted. “Better watch out, Jane, if you ever see a red dot moving around on your body. Dee likes you. I can tell.”

  “Thanks.” Jane tore the cuticle on her thumb. “I don’t play for that team.”

  “Snap!” Gee laughed musically. Reaching into the console, she shook a slim brown cigar from a pack and pressed the dashboard lighter. “You should see your face right now.” She ducked her chin. “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Hell, girlfriend.” The lighter popped. Gee spoke through the smoke snaking around her eyes. “This is NOLA. You can always change your mind. Most of us reinvent ourselves every day. Whatever it takes to make it work and get by, you know?”

  “Tell me about it.” Jane studied Gee’s plucked eyebrows and strangely hairless arm. “What do you do for a living? For money? Are you a beautician?”

  “Oh, hell no!” She repeatedly puffed the cigar. “I’m a go-go boy.”

  “A what?” Jane sputtered.

  Gee exhaled a steady smoke stream. “A go-go boy, a dancer. I don’t strip, if that’s what you’re thinking. I start off pretty much naked. Got my gold lame trunks and my pole,” she fluttered her eyelashes, “and that’s pretty much it.”

  “I’ve wondered why your skin was so smooth.”

  “Get everything waxed, girlfriend. Smooth as a Barbie doll. Customers hate seeing hair. Hate it! One girl I know got fired for letting her tampon string show.” She inhaled again. “Can’t be human. Not allowed. Got to be a thing.” She stubbed out the cigar. “Work at Club Oz on Bourbon Street. Hate the drunks, but the tips are solid. My boss loves my androgyny. Asks me to play it up. I’m featured on the club’s web site,” Gee announced proudly. “Cater to the tourists. Mid-Westerners eat my act up. They love feeling naughty.”

  She straightened her arms against the steering wheel. “But I need to change my game. I’m getting to old for it. I’m dancing now against boys half my age. What I really want to do is own my own club. A dance club, a real old school disco, know what I mean? Someplace young, and fun, down on Frenchmen Street, a real dance party place where me, Dee and Fancy can sing. Shit! We’d belt it out like a Donna Summers version of the Supremes.” She guffawed. “Can you imagine how much fun that would be?” She rubbed her right thumb and fingers together. “But that shit takes money and backers, and we don’t have that, yet. Yet.” She emphasized. “We tried busking on the street, but the drunks got plain ass nasty. Fancy’s tough enough and don’t fuck with me, but they made Dee cry.” She worked her lips over her teeth. “Can’t have that. Dee deserves better. She sings like an angel. She deserves some goddamn respect.”

  Jane’s curiosity about Gee’s lifestyle prickled and itched. She framed her next question carefully. “Have you ever considered the surgery? The sex change surgery?”

  “Gender reassignment?” Gee fingered her throat. “I’d love to get my Adam’s apple shaved and buy a decent pair of tits. You have a nice rack, by the way. Lucky girl. Mother Nature blessed you.”

  Jane shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Some of my friends have transitioned.” Gee reached for the cigar. “But I have a problem with it.” She glanced over with haunted eyes. “I’m terrified of hospitals. Had a dream once, when I was a kid, a fucking vivid nightmare.” She shuddered. “Saw myself lying dead on a table under a red sheet sopping with blood.” She blinked repeatedly. “There were bloody footprints everywhere, hundreds of them, thousands, and bloody handprints on the walls.” She moistened her lips. “Put the fear of it in me.” White-eyed, she raggedly puffed the cigar. “Can’t get past it. When I think about transitioning, I flinch.”

  “I get that, I do,” Jane said slowly. “But I think eventually I’d have to get the surgery, if that’s who I really was. I don’t know how long I could keep up the fake. I’m not that good of an actor.”

  “Everybody’s working through something though, right? Evidently, I’m not there yet.”

  Stubbing the cigar, Gee pulled up in front of a shotgun house painted minty green. The wide sheltering porch roof was supported by mango orange corbels that matched the shutters on the two tall windows on either side of the single lemon yellow front door. A black wrought-iron railing framed the porch, flowing gracefully down the porch steps to become a fence that protected the two palmettos growing in the miniscule front yard.

  “Nice digs,” Jane noted. “This is Fancy’s place?”

  “She did good with this one.” Slipping the keys into her pocket, Gee stepped into the street and started up the sidewalk. “Scored big. Got this place ten, eleven years ago, right after Katrina flattened the Ninth Ward. Folks then weren’t sure about staying in Marigny, but Fancy sure was. Said Marigny was her home and she was staying put. Took a big chance, but it paid off.” She thumbed the iron latch. The gate squealed as she pushed it open.

  Piddles cocked his ears alertly at the sound. Leaping from the back seat, he snaked around Gigi’s legs and raced for a palmetto. Raising a hind leg, he released a steaming torrent of neon yellow pee.

  “Is Fancy alright?”

  An elderly woman rested her twig broom against the railing of the rundown house next door. Grasping the railing, she shuffled over. She was about five feet tall, rail thin with arms of corded muscle. All of her lower teeth were missing and her gum line was a mass of pink tissue. Her head looked like it had been carved from a block of coal.

  “I see you got her dog. I was worried. Is Fancy okay?”

  “We’re worried too, Miz T.” Gigi strolled across the sidewalk to meet her halfway. “We’re trying to figure out where she is. Haven’t seen Fancy since last night. This is another friend of hers, Jane.”

  “How’d you do?” She bobbed. “I can tell you that Miss Fancy didn’t come home last night or I would’ve heard her. That one truly belongs to the Ghede nanchon, for sure. She do like to make herself some noise.” She slowly blinked like a tortoise. “Maybe you should call the po-lice?”

  “We just came from there,” Jane said. “They’ve initiated a search.”

  “Good. Good.” Miz T rolled her lips. “They’re good enough fellas.” Smoothing her purple blouse, her fingers checked her black pearl buttons. “Do you have a key?”

  “I have a spare.” Gee reached into her pocket. “Used it this morning to let Piddles out.”

  “Then unlock this door.” She started up the steps. “And let’s have a look.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  That’s not safe. Jane’s instinct tripped to high alert as Gigi unlocked the door and politely held it open to allow the older woman to enter. I should go first. In the split second of hesitation, Miz T slipped in.

  Jane rapidly followed. Fancy’s house had a simple floor plan with one long narrow hallway and all of the rooms strung off to the right. The kitchen and the bedrooms were tucked into the rear. The tall living room windows were shuttered and the atmosphere felt airless and stale.

  “Fancy?” Gee flicked a wall switch. The ceiling fan slowly began to stir. “Hello the house?”

  The whirring paddle fan made the only sound.

  “Fancy? Answer me, girl. You here?”

  There was a high-pitched nervous whine. Gee spun around. Piddles still sat on the front porch, white-eyed and trembling.

  “Dammit, Piddles. Heel.” She snapped her fingers. “I don’t have time to fool with you now.”

  Bunching up, the poodle leapt over the threshold, his painted toenails scrabbled for purchase against the polished floor. He raced around the couch and skidding around the turn, heading straight for the kitchen like a wooly black blur.

  “You two to check them bedrooms,”
Miz T directed. “I’ll check the kitchen and the side porch.”

  “Stay behind me, Gee.” The hallway was so narrow Jane could have stretched out her arms and brushed both walls with her fingertips. Gee was here this morning, she swallowed, but that was hours ago. Things might have changed. Her right hand itched to hold a weapon. Lame ass as shit, but even a taser or a duty baton would be something. “Stay ready to move.”

  The first bedroom door hung slightly ajar. Pushing it open with one hand, Jane tucked her shoulder defensively against the interior wall.

  Gigi peered around her. “See anything?”

  “Clear.” The room was set up as a dressing room with a mirrored bureau and a rolling rack of gowns hanging neatly in clear plastic dry cleaner bags. Matching shoes were stacked beneath each dress in boxes overflowing with tissue paper.

  “Where can she be?” Gee recklessly continued down the hall. Marching toward the second bedroom, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  This bedroom was simply a showplace, a piece of theater, a show-stopping set. A queen-sized mattress owned the space with its leopard print duvet and matching black and gold ruched silk toss pillows. The walls were painted pale lavender and a square white shag rug covered the floor. Instead of a ceiling fan, this room held a crystal chandelier. The duvet was neatly made up, and the room was empty.

  “I don’t get it.” Gee walked around the foot of the bed. After checking the bathroom, she turned back, placing her hands on her hips as her face tightened like a fist. “This is so not like her. Sure, she may stay out all night, but Fancy always comes home to sleep in her own bed. Miz T?” She called, trotting back to the living room. “Find anything?”

  “She’s not in this kitchen.” The elderly woman’s voice quavered. “I’m gonna feed this poor dog while I’m in here. There’s a good bag of chow in this pantry.”

  Gee looked perplexed. “I don’t know what to do next.”

  “Too bad we’re not the police.” Jane studied the landline phone. “We could check Fancy’s phone records and credit card usage. That’s where I’d start.”