Read Online Drag Queen in the Court of Death by Caro Soles - Free Book Online
Authors: Caro Soles
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years, and look what happens! I unplugged the phone.
We didn't talk much after that. I just sat back and watched him finish off the rest of the cake. He didn't seem to mind. Perhaps he was used to being looked at.
His hunger satisfied, he leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. His tight jeans clung to his lithe body, the color washed out around the creases of his groin and fly as if worn off by a lover's hand. I poured us both more coffee, thinking as I did so that it was a good thing I had switched to decaffeinated.
Gradually it was understood between us that he would move into the little room on the second floor, over the garage. It was a mess, full of cast-off things and junk from the previous owner I had meant to sort through and never had. That could be his first job. And then there was the garden.
"It needs a lot of work," I said. "I'm putting in a reflecting pool and a small waterfall. All that needs to be dug out and concrete poured."
"Sure. I can do that."
"Good."
When I led him up the back stairs to the room, he looked around with pleasure as if the place was the royal suite at the King Edward.
"Cool," he said. "I can fix this place up good."
"Easy, Ryan. We're taking this one day at time, okay?"
"Yeah, sure."
I felt a disturbing warmth in my loins as I watched him. I cleared my throat. "Sleep well. I'll see you tomorrow."
The last I saw of him that night he was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the narrow bed as he sorted through the few possessions in his backpack. For a second, I flashed back to another room under a sloping roof—Ronnie Lipinksy sitting cross-legged on the bed while we shared a joint and planned a future that would never come to pass.
I ran downstairs, cleaned up the kitchen, and went for a long walk.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Seven
Ryan's presence filled every corner of the house. As I lay in bed awake, staring into the darkness, I was aware of him. As I sat in the kitchen drinking an early morning cup of coffee, my mind's eye pictured him tousled in sleep, his body twisted in the sheets. Even when I couldn't hear him, I knew he was there. When he was up and working on some task I set, every creak and rattle penetrated my consciousness, a continual distraction, pulling my mind away from Ronnie's grim secret. You've lived alone too long, I told myself. Maybe it was good to have someone around for a while to shake me out of the deep rut I was in, to fill my mind with life, keeping death at bay.
He was a good worker, as long as he was supervised. If I left him on his own too long, he would drift off into inactivity, as if his battery was running down. I would find him staring off into space or lying in the grass, smoking, looking up at the clouds. I kept him busy, working on the garden. He dug a new flower bed in the front and planted the perennials we brought home from the nursery. He sawed up an old tree limb that had come down in a storm a few weeks ago and tied it into the requisite bundles so it would be taken away by the city. He cleaned the gutters on the roof, pulled down the old ivy, trimmed the back hedge. I was always catching sight of him as he worked, sweat glistening on his arms, his legs, his sun-streaked hair damp and curling around his face. His energy was unfailing. It crackled in the air, unnerving me in ways that were alarming.
Julie snapped pictures of him while he worked, her expensive camera clicking and whirring. "Relax," she told me. "Go with the flow." She laughed and told me Jeff, her boyfriend, was getting jealous. I suspect she meant this as some sort of compliment, but I found it irritating. She hadn't found any trace of Al Vecchio yet, even though I had unearthed the right spelling, and the newspapers hadn't come up with anything really new.
Of course they were still pursuing me, still parked outside, lying in wait, leaving notes on my car, when they finally found it out back, and phoning constantly. I had turned all the phones off
We didn't talk much after that. I just sat back and watched him finish off the rest of the cake. He didn't seem to mind. Perhaps he was used to being looked at.
His hunger satisfied, he leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. His tight jeans clung to his lithe body, the color washed out around the creases of his groin and fly as if worn off by a lover's hand. I poured us both more coffee, thinking as I did so that it was a good thing I had switched to decaffeinated.
Gradually it was understood between us that he would move into the little room on the second floor, over the garage. It was a mess, full of cast-off things and junk from the previous owner I had meant to sort through and never had. That could be his first job. And then there was the garden.
"It needs a lot of work," I said. "I'm putting in a reflecting pool and a small waterfall. All that needs to be dug out and concrete poured."
"Sure. I can do that."
"Good."
When I led him up the back stairs to the room, he looked around with pleasure as if the place was the royal suite at the King Edward.
"Cool," he said. "I can fix this place up good."
"Easy, Ryan. We're taking this one day at time, okay?"
"Yeah, sure."
I felt a disturbing warmth in my loins as I watched him. I cleared my throat. "Sleep well. I'll see you tomorrow."
The last I saw of him that night he was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the narrow bed as he sorted through the few possessions in his backpack. For a second, I flashed back to another room under a sloping roof—Ronnie Lipinksy sitting cross-legged on the bed while we shared a joint and planned a future that would never come to pass.
I ran downstairs, cleaned up the kitchen, and went for a long walk.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Seven
Ryan's presence filled every corner of the house. As I lay in bed awake, staring into the darkness, I was aware of him. As I sat in the kitchen drinking an early morning cup of coffee, my mind's eye pictured him tousled in sleep, his body twisted in the sheets. Even when I couldn't hear him, I knew he was there. When he was up and working on some task I set, every creak and rattle penetrated my consciousness, a continual distraction, pulling my mind away from Ronnie's grim secret. You've lived alone too long, I told myself. Maybe it was good to have someone around for a while to shake me out of the deep rut I was in, to fill my mind with life, keeping death at bay.
He was a good worker, as long as he was supervised. If I left him on his own too long, he would drift off into inactivity, as if his battery was running down. I would find him staring off into space or lying in the grass, smoking, looking up at the clouds. I kept him busy, working on the garden. He dug a new flower bed in the front and planted the perennials we brought home from the nursery. He sawed up an old tree limb that had come down in a storm a few weeks ago and tied it into the requisite bundles so it would be taken away by the city. He cleaned the gutters on the roof, pulled down the old ivy, trimmed the back hedge. I was always catching sight of him as he worked, sweat glistening on his arms, his legs, his sun-streaked hair damp and curling around his face. His energy was unfailing. It crackled in the air, unnerving me in ways that were alarming.
Julie snapped pictures of him while he worked, her expensive camera clicking and whirring. "Relax," she told me. "Go with the flow." She laughed and told me Jeff, her boyfriend, was getting jealous. I suspect she meant this as some sort of compliment, but I found it irritating. She hadn't found any trace of Al Vecchio yet, even though I had unearthed the right spelling, and the newspapers hadn't come up with anything really new.
Of course they were still pursuing me, still parked outside, lying in wait, leaving notes on my car, when they finally found it out back, and phoning constantly. I had turned all the phones off
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