Chapter Four
Diana pulled her black tailored greatcoat over her black double-silk tunic and black silk bell-bottoms with quick-release cinch that rode just above the crack in her butt. No bra, no nothing else, just a black watch cap that secured her cascade of strawberry blonde hair. She loved the way silk exaggerated the sensual intimacies of the world, even the cool nip of a lewd Portland breeze. The pockets of her greatcoat held a pint of hundred-proof vodka, a lighter and three fat joints.
Dressed for success, she thought. Her brother would say, “Dressed for disaster.”
He’d come home with his Matrix crap, but she had the need, she had the wants, and she knew tonight, after only a week, would mean more trouble with Brother.
Trouble trouble trouble.
She sniffed the breeze and an electric tingle coursed from her core to her fingertips, toes, skull, lips, tongue.
Teeth.
She ran her tongue along the edges of those perfect teeth that she learned long ago rendered her perfect smile as captivating as her piercing, green-eyed gaze.
Every predator works to her strengths.
Another sniff and Diana followed her nose down Sam Jackson Parkway to the Marquam Nature Park shelter. After the last evening bus, homeless teens and wanna-be-homeless suburban Goth types gathered at the shelter to score what could be scored or to sell what could be sold, then scurried up the trail for privacy. She wanted a girl, this time. Boys were easier, just not as satisfying. The Proxy was a complete waste, she had to admit that now.
Four boys and two girls, all dressed in anarchist black, started up the trail. A short girl with a butch haircut and a cigarillo between her teeth came back to Diana and asked her for a light.
“Well,” Diana said, “I don’t smoke … those. They’ll kill you, but they don’t say when.” Flash of a smile. She pulled a joint and lighter from her pocket and said, “How about we try this?”
“All right!” the girl said. She slipped the cigarillo into her shirt pocket and accepted the joint. The others had already wandered out of sight.
Diana lit the joint for her and kept the girl’s gaze until she lost it through a coughing fit. Her gaze always worked on girls eventually, gay or not. Gay girls found her body as interesting as the boys did, so the gaze was just punctuation on the sentence. Non-gay girls thought that she might attract some not-gay guys. The girl handed back the joint, patted her substantial chest as though apologizing for the cough, and met Diana’s gaze immediately. The joint did nothing for Diana, but she took her turn anyway.
“Do you have anything to drink?” the girl asked. “I’m really more of a juicer.” Even so, she took back the joint and gave it a big pull.
“I do,” Diana said, “but I don’t have anything here to mix it with.” She’d learned patience long ago. Don’t hurry them. Wait until it’s their idea. Offering too much too soon set off alarms in street kids.
“Whatcha got?”
The joint came back, and Diana faked it again, slowly this time, holding that gaze.
“Vodka, hundred-mile, a little harsh to take it straight.” Diana showed her the bottle. “You’re welcome to give it a go.”
The girl uncapped the bottle and sipped some off the top. She shuddered.
“Whooo! That’s pretty dank stuff! Whadda you drink it with?” She handed back the bottle and took the joint. This time she sucked it right down to her fingers.
“I prefer Bloody Marys,” Diana said. “But in a pinch, V8 juice works.” The gaze was working, too. The girl was locked in, swaying a bit, getting that dreamy look.
She handed back the roach, and Diana flicked it into the gutter.
“I don’t have anything at my place,” the girl said, “and it’s halfway across town. I have a couple of bucks. We could stop at a store?” She paused, leaning closer, touched Diana’s arm. Then: “Where do you live?”
They passed the bottle one more time, and Diana considered her options. The apartment was out—too much noise, too messy, and Darius—DanielDanielDaniel!—too much trouble. She knew the perfect spot, back in the park. She lit the second joint. This time the girl didn’t shudder when she sipped, and she sipped again. She passed the bottle back, took the joint, and held Diana’s touch for a couple of heartbeats.
Diana smiled and knew that between her gaze and that well-tested smile she had the girl in the whirl, right where she wanted.
“Let’s go this way,” Diana said, and linked arms with the girl. “I know a private spot with a bench. You’ll love it.”
Diana enjoyed a good fight more than seduction. She felt more complete, more whole, when they fought. Her life would be easier if her teeth were spikey, like in the movies, but then the fight wouldn’t be quite as fair. Or quite as long. Her mother had preferred seduction and a well-placed nick with a well-honed, ivory-handled penknife, but Diana wanted the fight. It helped her to be more patient with her fastidious brother. Her own wounds would heal by sundown tomorrow.
Diana left her non-returnable Empty just before dawn in a small clearing protected by heavy brush. The sun would finish the rest, even in this perpetually gray climate. She was full and exhausted and ecstatic, so she nearly cut her shuffle home too close to the silver predawn sliver lightening the tops of the coastal range. She beat daylight and barely beat her brother who immediately wanted to load up and go, while she only wanted sleep.