Debonair Dyke

by Roxy Harte

  “No.”

  She looks over her shoulder, a surprised expression making her face look hard. “Whyever not? You’re happier there. I’m happier with you there.”

  “That’s harsh.” I snort. “You don’t want me here? You called me, remember?”

  “I didn’t tell you to change everything.”

  “Everything?” I ask incredulously. “I changed a sign.”

  My mother’s shoulders start shaking, and without seeing her face I know she is crying. Damn. “If I change the sign back will you be happy?”

  “This isn’t about the sign.” She turns to face me. “Do you know how ridiculous you look? My god, your hair is shorter now than when you left home and it was too short then.”

  “This is about my hair?”

  She steps toward me, meeting my gaze. “This is about the loss of my little girl.”

  I move nearer to her but not near enough to be slapped again. “Was I ever your little girl? I remember playing with trucks and climbing trees, skinned knees and a half a dozen casts from playing too rough.”

  “You were a tomboy, true enough, but you had your moments. I remember a sweet-natured little girl with an easy smile who never met a stranger.”

  “I still have an easy smile.” I smile broadly and point at my dimples, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “Such a beautiful smile too. If you’d just try a little, fix your hair, wear a little makeup, you’d have no trouble finding a man then.”

  “You just don’t get it, do you? I like women.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “You know it’s true. Please. Look at me. I’m the same girl I’ve always been. I’m your daughter. I love you. But I’m also your son, because that’s who I am soul deep. I don’t think like a normal girl. I don’t act like a normal girl. But I also don’t think or act like a normal boy, but that doesn’t make me a freak of nature.”

  “No one ever said you were a freak—” Mom goes to the table and pulls out a chair. When she sinks into it she looks utterly defeated. And miserable.

  “Hundreds of people say I’m a freak, but I’m bright enough and educated enough, I have enough self-esteem and confidence, to not believe the words people throw at me.” I look deeply into her eyes, hoping this time she gets it. I know it’s a long shot, but I keep hoping. “Don’t you think I know I’m a disappointment to you…and to Dad—”

  She has to look up at me to meet my gaze. “You’re not a disappointment. We just wish you could be a toned-down version of yourself.”

  “I’m a disappointment. I’m over it. It’s okay. And it’s okay because like it or not, you and Dad made me who I am. You taught me character and strength. Dad taught me everything there is to know about a car.” I pull a chair out and sit facing her.

  “He should have never done that.”

  “Why? Because then maybe I would have liked dolls and dresses?” I take her hand as she blinks back tears and it’s almost my undoing. “Thank god he did teach me everything he knows because now I can help you both out by running the garage.”

  “I should have never suggested that. You already had a career. You were doing fine doing what you were doing, and now people are talking.”

  “Let them talk.”

  “I’m worried about you, Danni.” She grabs my upper arms and holds tight, too tight. “This isn’t New York City. I don’t want someone to hurt you! That’s why I’ve always asked you to tone it down. Not because I’m ashamed of you but because I’m afraid some redneck hick might kill you.”

  She starts crying and I pull her into my arms. “No one is going to hurt me, Mom. It’s going to be okay.”

  “I love you so much, I don’t know what I’d do if someone—”

  “Sh-h, nothing’s going to happen.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Shade

  “Christ, brother. You weren’t lying when you said you were in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

  I’m buried elbow-deep in the heart of a Chevy when I hear his voice from outside the bays. I’m smiling ear to ear before I even lift my head. When I do, it’s in time to see him push his sunglasses down only far enough to check me out from head to toe. His video camera is stretched out at arm’s length, filming.

  “Now that is a scary sight,” he says.

  The one thing about Shade is that he views all of life through a lens. I’m used to the camera. Used to being filmed.

  “Shade.” Wiping my hands on a clean towel, I walk toward him, shaking my head. “That’s right. You haven’t seen me in mechanic mode.”

  He tilts his chin. “And you make it look sexy.”

  I don’t just hug him, I jump onto him, like a monkey. I might be tall, but for the most part, I’m all arms and legs and he takes my weight easily. “What are you doing here?”

  “You said send your stuff.” He gestures to the half-pint rental truck.

  “You drove halfway across country to bring me some old vinyls?”

  “Oh shit. You wanted the vinyls?” He drops me but I land on my feet.

  I smack his arm. “Shade, don’t tease.”

  He grins from ear to ear, his teeth an exaggerated white against his mahogany dark skin. “Don’t worry. Your precious oldies are safe and sound, wrapped in bubble wrap even.”

  I pat my chest. “You wrapped my albums in bubble wrap? You really do care.”

  “I knew you’d kill my ass if anything happened to them.”

  “Probably.”

  “Definitely,” he assures me with pure sarcasm as he wipes his face with the tail of his shirt. In the process he offers up a display of perfectly cut abs. “Is it always so hot here?”

  “Summertime in Kansas. If you’d have waited ’til winter, you could have complained about the goddamn cold.”

  “Cold would be better.” He looks around the filthy shop. “And I might not have dressed quite so fashionably.”

  His shirt is silk and his pants are linen. I’ve never seen Shade dressed less than fashionably. I lead him into the front office, the only part of the building air-conditioned, solely for the comfort of a client waiting for repairs, and mostly clean.

  “Oh this is nice. Much better.”

  “Give it a second, you’ll be too cold. The switch is broken and it’s currently stuck on arctic ice.”

  Shade tips his head as three women walk by—on their way to yoga class if the mats hung over their shoulders are to be believed. “Nice view.”

  “Yoga seems to be a big draw around here.”

  “Can’t believe there’s much else to do, is there?”

  I hadn’t thought about that. “You have a point.”

  He shrugs. I shrug. We both sit on opposite red and white vinyl couches that are so ancient the white is yellowed and the red muted to pink in places. We don’t say anything for long enough that I begin to wonder what really brought him to Kansas. Most of my stuff could have been shipped and the larger stuff stored if he didn’t want to walk around it. “Want a beer?”

  “That’d be great.”

  I retrieve two cold ones from the apartment-size refrigerator under the counter. Holding one of them out to him, I keep it just out of reach when he starts to take it. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  He snatches the beer. Damn long arms.

  “You need an intervention,” he says, reading the label.

  I smirk, knowing he’s distracted by my choice of beer. Local brewery. Very special brew. Dark amber. It’s really very mellow for something as dark as it is, but I’ve been enjoying it since I arrived. “An intervention?”

  “Look around you. There is nothing here. Nothing.”

  “I know.”

  He shakes his head. “That shit you put on your blog about standing up to demons was the last straw.”

  “I hadn’t slept in a few days,” I say in my own defense.

  “Obviously. So what in the fuck?”

  “Maybe I need to see what my life would have been like if I’d never gone to
New York. Could I have made it here if Dad would have just let me run the garage as his partner?”

  “Won’t work.”

  “What?”

  “You aren’t the same person, Danni. There’s no way of knowing if the scared little shit who arrived in the city would have ever bucked up enough to handle here as you are now. New York created Danson, and the strength you have in that persona is what’s allowing you to do this now.”

  He’s right. I let out a heavy sigh, very conscious of the fact my reactions to his questions are being immortalized on film.

  “The question is, are your dreams and goals anchored to this garage, or are your dreams and goals the same ones you had a few weeks ago?”

  I think about the manuscripts on my hard drive, untouched and waiting for me to finish them. I think about the speaking engagements I’ve had to shuffle, and the teaching position waiting for me. On the other hand, I’ve had several phone calls about restoration projects in response to the business cards I handed out at the car show and I got pretty damn excited thinking about that—not for the immediate cash, which will help immensely, but for the challenge. There’s obviously no answer to his question. It’s as if I’m two people trapped inside one body, both wanting to accomplish different agendas.

  And that has been the whole story of my life until now.

  “It’s really complicated. I don’t understand it either, Shade. Why now? It isn’t just because my father’s in the hospital. I was thinking about taking a sabbatical anyway.”

  “A sabbatical? You tell me you need religion and I’m kicking ass and hauling your butt outta here.”

  I raise my hands defensively. “No. No religion.” I let out a heavy sigh.

  Shade leans forward, looking genuinely concerned.

  “Do you ever feel like everything is just too fucking perfect?”

  “Never.” He tips his beer and guzzles. “That, my friend, is you. Your life. A different pussy in your bed every night. More book deals than you can shake a stick at. Radio interviews. If they had an LGBT Oprah you’d have done put in an appearance.”

  “Sometimes it feels like I don’t deserve it. That lies have gotten me to where I am.”

  Shade lifts his brow.

  “I know I’m not making any sense.” I take a drink of beer.

  “You’re right about that. Now get your scrawny ass in the truck and let’s go home.”

  “Can’t do that. If that’s the only reason you came—you wasted a trip.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t.” I laugh and smack him on top of the head. “And since you’re here, you can help me move into my new digs so I can leave my mother’s house.”

  “You’re staying at your mother’s?”

  I nod.

  “Oh god. Why didn’t you say so? I’d have been here three days ago.” He shoos me toward the door. “Point me to the new digs, fast, man.”

  Laughing, I pull him outside into the heat. “It isn’t far.” I point up a ratty metal staircase.

  “Up those stairs?”

  I nod.

  “There has to be stairs? Fuck, Danni. Do you know how heavy that damn bed is?”

  “You brought my bed?” I jump up and down. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  “Mom’s place is really cramping your style, isn’t it?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Even though Shade is wearing sunglasses, I know when he is and isn’t looking at me. He isn’t. I turn my head to see what has his attention to find Janice leading five women in tight, bright spandex across the road to the designer coffee house. “Eyes back in your head. You aren’t staying, remember?”

  “I’ll be here for a day or two.” He tilts his head and I know the feeling. “I know you tagged that brunette already.”

  I start walking toward the rental truck.

  “Oooh! Ooo-eee, I knew it!” He slaps me hard on the back. “Way to go.”

  “Shut up, Shade.”

  He throws open the back of the truck, revealing everything I’ve ever owned. This is really happening. I’m moving back to Kansas. My stomach drops to someplace below my knees, which are suddenly weak.

  “What did you tell the university?”

  “Enough for them to hold my position six months.”

  He whistles. “Six months in Kansas?”

  “Trust me, two weeks has seemed like a lifetime.”

  He catches my arm and keeps me from climbing inside. I meet his gaze through the deep-toned lenses. “You are coming back?”

  I nod. “Of course.” But something twists in my gut, the same something that made me paint the sign and hand out business cards like a madman. I’m not willing to further investigate that something, whatever it is, because I feel as though it might rip me in two. “I’m Dapper Dan. I can’t leave the ladies of New York lonely and wanting forever, can I?”

  “You remember that.” He pushes me up on to the truck bed, whispering, “I need you too.”

  * * * * *

  As we carry the queen-sized box springs up the rickety staircase, I start laughing. This is how we met.

  “Same damn heavy box spring,” he says and I know he is remembering too.

  I’d pretty much been living from sofa to sofa, whoever would have me for the night, when I answered a roommate-wanted ad. He hadn’t cared if I was male, female or blue with tentacles growing out of my head, so long as I could pay my share of the rent and utilities. I’d assured him I could and arrived with a newly purchased mattress and box springs. “Fewer stairs.”

  “Worse stairs. At least the ones in New York don’t move when you go up them.”

  He had me there. “I really need to fix these before they fall completely away from the building.”

  “You think?” He curses as he tries to maneuver the front end to line up with the propped-open door. “This is never going to work, brother.”

  I push harder on the mattress from the back end, remembering…

  We were panting on the fourth-floor landing with two more flights to go when he asked, “So, you are a girl?”

  “Biologically.”

  “Born into the wrong body and all that, huh?”

  I shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

  “But you identify as male?”

  “Mostly.”

  “I’m asking because I don’t want to offend you in the future. Like when friends come over do I say ‘he’ or ‘she’ when I’m talking about you?”

  “You’re going to be talking about me?” I demand, all badass and shit…then I laugh at his expression because he was really sweating it. “Joking. Male pronouns are fine.”

  “Cool. I’m completely bi and get shit all the time. Pick one. Gay? Or straight? Ya know, people just can’t be cool that I really love women and I really love men. I can’t imagine being exclusively with the same sex and having to abstain from the other for the rest of my life.”

  “Gender,” I corrected.

  “Huh?”

  “You said ‘exclusively with the same sex’ and really the correct word is gender. Being male or female has nothing to do with sexuality.”

  “Are you an English major? Because we’re going to have a long row to hoe if you’re going to nitpick my vocabulary as long as we’re rooming.”

  “No, not English,” I assured him. “Women, Gender and Sexuality studies.”

  “And you go to Barnard, an all-women’s school dressed like a man?”

  My mouth twisted. “I said it’s complicated.”

  “Do you have issues with men? Hate men? Is it going to be a problem—”

  “No.” I cut him off. “To all of it. I am a woman. I do not hate men. I have a few gender issues and my career aspirations are centered around helping myself and others understand those issues, not my issues, but the issues of people in the same boat as me.”

  “Okay, okay, brother.” He lifted his hands, clearly sorry he’d started the conversation at all. “Let’s just get this damn thing upstai
rs.”

  He’s been calling me brother ever since.

  The box spring gives suddenly and I fall forward, catching myself on the rusted metal. Shade finishes pulling it into the room before hurrying back out to check on me. I’m inspecting my scraped palm when he does.

  “You okay?”

  “I’ll live.”

  He grabs my hand and looks at the scrape. “You up to date on your tetanus shot?”

  “All my shots are up to date—meningitis, pneumonia, flu, tetanus. University rule to teach there.”

  “Thank god for rules.”

  “I usually revile them as ridiculous, but today it’s saving me a doctor’s appointment.” I pick at the flakes of rust and paint clinging to the bloodied wound. “I should wash this.”

  “Antibacterial soap and that tri-antibiotic ointment if you have some,” he agrees, jiggling the shaky railing. “And this needs to be fixed before we move one more thing.”

  I shake my head. “The only fix would be to tear it down and reinstall a new staircase.”

  “We should do that.”

  “I am not spending another night in my childhood bedroom surrounded by stuffed animals and band posters, and I know you do not want to sleep on my mother’s sofa, so let’s just finish getting the rest upstairs and then we can quit for the day.”

  He isn’t happy. “Really, the bed is the worst of it and it’s done.”

  A not-so-quick bandage job and another four trips to the truck and back later, I am completely moved in. I’m looking forward to spending the evening with Shade, catching up on everything that’s been happening in the city, because two weeks of missed happenings there is like years anywhere else. By the time I finally get back it will be as if I’ve been gone decades.

  “Danni?”

  I smile, hearing a feminine voice calling from the bay. Jessica. She wouldn’t know to look for me behind the building. I can’t imagine why she’s here, but my day just keeps getting better and better.

  “Oooh. Oh-ho-ho, I get it.” Shade slaps his forehead. “It’s suddenly so clear. It didn’t make sense what in the fuck this godforsaken nothing town could offer you—but knowing you—now it does. This is about a woman.” He points toward the floor and the voice emanating through it. “This is about that woman?”