Read Online Moonshine: A Novel by Alaya Johnson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alaya Johnson
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darkness of his skin, a milky coffee to my own antique pearl.
"Zephyr. What ever happens, I'll take care of him."
I heard the hard double entendre, but I was familiar with such choices. I nodded.
"So," I said, forcing myself to sound light, to look at him, "you want me to help you? I think you ought to give me a good reason, first."
The slow traverse his eyes made of my secondhand dress, rayon hose, scuffed shoes and tattered lace bandeau made me suddenly cringe. I had the impression that he'd made an exact calculation of my worth.
"Two hundred dollars," he said. I didn't know whether to be elated or offended. Or hurt.
I slammed my glass on the table, sloshing some of the drink on my hand. "Don't talk to me like I'm some high-class whore," I said. "I may be poor, but I won't do this just for the money."
His expression was bemused as he knocked back the rest of his drink. "I find that it suffices for most of you."
I stood and gave him an ironic curtsy. "We're humans, Amir, not a bloody monolith. Good luck finding someone else to buy."
I'd gone perhaps three steps when he roughly grabbed my wrist and swung me around to face him. He looked so furious that I flinched and tried to back away. His grip was uncomfortably warm.
"Rinaldo has taken something very precious from me," he said in a low whisper, and I realized that most of his anger wasn't meant for me at all. "And it behooves me to get it back. There are . . . consequences if I don't. Does that satisfy you?" he said.
He let go of my wrist and I stared at him. It was not, in fact, much of an apology or an explanation, but it did feel like a peace offering.
"I need your help," he said, when I didn't respond.
"Now you're just manipulating me."
That laugh again. And why was his body so warm? "Of course."
"I'll still need two hundred dollars."
He nodded with faux gravity. I couldn't help but giggle. To my surprise, he held out his hand. And quite a lovely hand, too, with long tapered fingers and perfectly manicured nails. "Will you dance?"
I frowned, and turned around. Behind me, Horace's crew had pushed back enough of the tables to make room for a small dance floor, and the main act was ready to play. The white piano player acted as band leader, so he was angled toward the musicians while they all faced us. They started with the Charleston--of course--and dozens of couples streamed into the center of the room. For fortification, I went back to the table and finished my drink before allowing Amir to lead me into the crowded space. The Charleston is like a full-contact sport in any joint smaller than the Cotton Club. I tend to spend most of my time dodging every one else's elbows and trying not to stomp on people's feet. With Amir, however, the area around us seemed miraculously clear. Maybe because he was a good dancer--on beat and relaxed, he moved like the Charleston was an actual dance and not some kind of race.
"Have you ever done a dance marathon?" I asked him. I might have yelled it, actually. The alcohol had rushed to my head and I had passed over corked and was well on my way to splifficated.
He laughed. "Do I hear an invitation?"
I shook my head in strenuous disapproval. "Flagrant waste of the public's time and energy," I said in my best schoolmarm voice.
"Ah. And singing in nightclubs?"
"Oh, just undercover work for the Temperance Union. A wilier bunch of criminals and deviants I have never seen."
I was quite shocked when Amir whirled me around for a partner dance. His hand rested with gentle pressure on the small of my back, and he held me a quite unseemly inch away from his torso.
I am very bad at partner dancing. Daddy might have shot me himself if he caught me doing it back in Montana, and practicing with Aileen hadn't been much help to either of us. So of course I stepped on Amir's shoes.
He gave a little wince and put a few judicious inches of extra distance between us, wearing a smile that was at once ironic and thoughtful.
"I imagine
"Zephyr. What ever happens, I'll take care of him."
I heard the hard double entendre, but I was familiar with such choices. I nodded.
"So," I said, forcing myself to sound light, to look at him, "you want me to help you? I think you ought to give me a good reason, first."
The slow traverse his eyes made of my secondhand dress, rayon hose, scuffed shoes and tattered lace bandeau made me suddenly cringe. I had the impression that he'd made an exact calculation of my worth.
"Two hundred dollars," he said. I didn't know whether to be elated or offended. Or hurt.
I slammed my glass on the table, sloshing some of the drink on my hand. "Don't talk to me like I'm some high-class whore," I said. "I may be poor, but I won't do this just for the money."
His expression was bemused as he knocked back the rest of his drink. "I find that it suffices for most of you."
I stood and gave him an ironic curtsy. "We're humans, Amir, not a bloody monolith. Good luck finding someone else to buy."
I'd gone perhaps three steps when he roughly grabbed my wrist and swung me around to face him. He looked so furious that I flinched and tried to back away. His grip was uncomfortably warm.
"Rinaldo has taken something very precious from me," he said in a low whisper, and I realized that most of his anger wasn't meant for me at all. "And it behooves me to get it back. There are . . . consequences if I don't. Does that satisfy you?" he said.
He let go of my wrist and I stared at him. It was not, in fact, much of an apology or an explanation, but it did feel like a peace offering.
"I need your help," he said, when I didn't respond.
"Now you're just manipulating me."
That laugh again. And why was his body so warm? "Of course."
"I'll still need two hundred dollars."
He nodded with faux gravity. I couldn't help but giggle. To my surprise, he held out his hand. And quite a lovely hand, too, with long tapered fingers and perfectly manicured nails. "Will you dance?"
I frowned, and turned around. Behind me, Horace's crew had pushed back enough of the tables to make room for a small dance floor, and the main act was ready to play. The white piano player acted as band leader, so he was angled toward the musicians while they all faced us. They started with the Charleston--of course--and dozens of couples streamed into the center of the room. For fortification, I went back to the table and finished my drink before allowing Amir to lead me into the crowded space. The Charleston is like a full-contact sport in any joint smaller than the Cotton Club. I tend to spend most of my time dodging every one else's elbows and trying not to stomp on people's feet. With Amir, however, the area around us seemed miraculously clear. Maybe because he was a good dancer--on beat and relaxed, he moved like the Charleston was an actual dance and not some kind of race.
"Have you ever done a dance marathon?" I asked him. I might have yelled it, actually. The alcohol had rushed to my head and I had passed over corked and was well on my way to splifficated.
He laughed. "Do I hear an invitation?"
I shook my head in strenuous disapproval. "Flagrant waste of the public's time and energy," I said in my best schoolmarm voice.
"Ah. And singing in nightclubs?"
"Oh, just undercover work for the Temperance Union. A wilier bunch of criminals and deviants I have never seen."
I was quite shocked when Amir whirled me around for a partner dance. His hand rested with gentle pressure on the small of my back, and he held me a quite unseemly inch away from his torso.
I am very bad at partner dancing. Daddy might have shot me himself if he caught me doing it back in Montana, and practicing with Aileen hadn't been much help to either of us. So of course I stepped on Amir's shoes.
He gave a little wince and put a few judicious inches of extra distance between us, wearing a smile that was at once ironic and thoughtful.
"I imagine
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