Flamethrower - Maggie Estep [43]
“I want to talk to you about Jody.” Ruby followed The Crone up a set of stairs.
“Doesn’t everyone,” The Crone said.
“Really?”
“You and that fuckwad husband of hers. I guess that’s why he sent you. He knew he wasn’t getting nothin’ out of me.”
Ruby could hear Millie’s breath coming in quick gasps. Even the modest effort of climbing the stairs was winding her.
“And don’t tell Jody I used a double negative, will ya?”
Ruby laughed.
“She doesn’t like me coming off like a moron,” Millie said. “I always told her, if someone wants to pigeonhole me based on my using double negatives, that’s their business. I’m not big on appearances.”
They reached the top of the stairs where a door stood ajar. The Crone shuffled into the apartment ahead. The floors were lovely old wood parquet, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling. The walls were painted blood red, making the place seem vaguely threatening. Ruby followed The Crone into a living room crammed with droopy, expensive-looking furniture. Two old-fashioned French windows looked out over a large garden. The place was pretty but oppressive.
“Make yourself comfortable.” The Crone motioned toward a red couch that matched the walls, then sat down in an armchair opposite Ruby.
“So Jody’s on the lam?” The Crone said.
“Yeah. Tobias can’t find her,” Ruby said.
“What’d she do, take the kidnapping money and run?”
“Oh, so you know?”
“Sure. Jody tells me everything. Well, just about. She didn’t tell me she was gonna take off with the money. But I could have predicted it. She looked like she was well on her way to an episode.”
“Episode?”
“Fugue. Mental fugue. She gets a little lost sometimes. Little mini-breakdowns. She spirals and gets so low she can’t move. Hard to say what brings it on, though in this case probably the husband pulling this stunt.”
“Do you know where she might have gone?”
“Probably,” said The Crone, slitting her eyes. “Remains to be seen if I tell you about it though.”
“Ah,” Ruby said. “What is it you do?” Ruby heard it pop out of her mouth. Sometimes she wished she had a few seconds’ warning before she found herself asking questions like this.
“Do?” The Crone looked peeved. “You mean what’s an old white lesbian doing living in a really nice apartment in the heart of a black neighborhood?”
“Something like that,” Ruby said, deciding she might actually like The Crone.
“I’ve done it all, darlin’,” The Crone said. “Right now, I work for the CF Foundation. Cystic fibrosis. I had a kid sister died of it way back when. As for Harlem, my girlfriend’s black. This is her place.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ruby said, “about your sister I mean.”
“It’s okay. I’m over it,” The Crone said.
Ruby smiled benignly and was about to ask The Crone if she had Jody’s keys, when one of the most beautiful women Ruby had ever seen walked into the room. The woman moved fluidly, barely touching the ground. A pink cotton sundress exploded against her dark skin, and her black hair trailed in slender dreadlocks down her back. She came to perch on the arm of The Crone’s chair and smiled a small, curious smile.
“Babe, this is Ruby, friend of Jody’s. Ruby, this is Felicia, my wife,” The Crone said.
Felicia’s smile expanded, revealing a row of tiny, perfect teeth. She arched one eyebrow in Ruby’s direction.
“Nice to meet you,” Ruby said.
“How do you do?” Felicia said, coming over to Ruby to formally extend her hand.
Ruby shook the hand, taking a moment to marvel over exactly how stubby and white her own hand looked next to Felicia’s. Ruby glanced over at The Crone’s hands. They were tiny and puffy. She could almost imagine coarse black hairs sprouting from the palms.
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Felicia said, turning and floating out of the room. She was presumably out of earshot when The Crone perked up. “How’d an old bag like me land a delicious piece of ass like that?” she asked, winking at Ruby. “I guess the gods like me,” she shrugged and laughed, making herself jiggle.
Ruby laughed back and decided she really did like this Crone, who reminded Ruby