should he? He was in no danger here. He thought himself immune to disease, untouchable by all, impervious even to death.
“He’s perfect,” I told her, and without taking my eyes from him, I put down my drink, picked up my handbag with my conduit still inside, and rose.
“Wait,” Troy said with sudden alarm. “Where are you-?”
The rest of his words were lost to me as I trailed Joaquin. As I walked, conversations flowed around me, and I bobbed on the ebb and weave of words, but stopped to address no one.
“I can heal people with my penis,” I heard a man say to more laughter than the comment warranted.
Then a woman; high voice, fluttering hands, thick thighs. Disease-laced breath. “When I was little I thought they meant ‘sea men.’ Little tiny sea men? I kept wondering how all these sea men got in the bed…”
Another man, talking above a group of stiff competitors-no pun intended-gathered around a woman so perfect, I’d bet a bill she was really a man in drag. “I like my women fuller, more curvy,” the suitor was saying, eyeing him/her up and down. “After all, who wants a bumpy ride?”
I kept Joaquin’s back in sight, unheeded and almost entirely unnoticed, until a man the size of a giant pit bull stepped in front of me.
I sighed and stared down at him from my leather-booted height. He was shaven bald, with squinty eyes parked too close together on his round face. Tattoos coiled around his neck, disappearing beneath a chain-link vest, which had to be murder on his nipple hair. He greeted me, then waited for me to fall all over myself to fuck him. I just stared.
Women, I had once read, found unrelenting eye contact trustful and reassuring. Men, however, often deemed it as an act of aggression, thus the innovative ways they devised to communicate without having to look at one another. Sports. Cars. Games. No eye contact equals no aggression equals no confrontation. This was why women got together for lunch, and men got together in bars.
The man asked me a question-a simple yes or no would’ve sufficed-and without changing my expression, I allowed the silence, and the eye contact, to draw out between us.
His left eye twitched. “I said, are you here with someone?”
“Yes.” I moved to step around him. He planted himself in front of me again.
“Well, maybe your someone and you would like to come and play with me?” It didn’t sound like a question.
“You’re not his type,” I said, and searched over his shoulder for Joaquin, but he’d disappeared in the thickening crowd. Damn.
“Well, maybe I’m your type. You never know till you try.”
I shook my head, smelling the stubborn need oozing from his pores. Dammit. “Believe me, I know.”
“Oh, I see,” he said, and I glanced back over at him, wondering exactly what he saw. “You’re one of those squatters, a one-trick pony. A tease who comes in here pretending to be up for anything but really looking for an easy mark and a rich husband.”
Yes, that’s me. Superheroine by day, squatter by night. “No. I only look for rich husbands on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Now excuse me.”
He stepped in front of me again. And this time he put his hand on me. “So what are you looking for tonight?”
I stared hard at where he’d grasped my arm until he released it. Then I angled my gaze back up, meeting his head on. “A tall man with a big dick. Sorry.”
He responded with the requisite “Bitch!,” I yawned, but was finally allowed to move on. Thank God. Throwing him into the teeming stack of porn mags to our right would have really blown my cover.
But Joaquin was gone. I knew it before I inhaled, but tried not to let it get me down. We’d all perfected the art of masking our natural scents. It’d flare only under stress or emotion, so I either had to find him again by sight, or wait until he got excited…which, considering the things that excited Joaquin, meant it’d be too late. Circling back the way I’d come, I moved faster, head swiveling without making eye contact…and nearly ran into Ian.
“Olivia,” he said, like he hadn’t known I was there.
I raised my brows. It was impatient, and slightly rude, and so was the way I scanned the room over his shoulder. “Ian?”
His optimistic expression wobbled a little. “Uh…wanna dance?”
I thought about it. It would be a normal thing to do. Besides, I could survey the room from the dance floor, rotating him along, as Ian didn’t exactly look like the leading man type. “Sure.” I shrugged and followed him to an elevated platform centered in the room. Dozens of other couples were spazzing out to what must have been the music in their heads…because it wasn’t to the music that was blaring out of the surrounding speakers. Ian joined them immediately. Watching him made my eyes ache. Had the reputation of white computer geeks not preceded him, I would’ve called 911.
“So, how are you?” he asked, jerking his head to the right.
“Fine, Ian. Just fine.” Other than all the near-death experiences. I angled over to my right, forcing him to follow. Still no sign of Joaquin.
“Yeah, me too. Busy, of course. Lots of programs to…program.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I said, pivoting to my left.
“But busy is good, right?” He paused, waiting for my nod, before slapping his knee. “Yeah, busy is good.”
We kept at this masochist little bob and weave for a few minutes longer.
“So, I know Suzanne has mentioned me, probably talked me up quite a bit,” Ian said, huffing slightly. His breath was like warmed milk, but soured with nerves. “And of course I know all about you. Who doesn’t, right?”
He laughed self-consciously, and I angled him so he wouldn’t crash into the guy in back of him. “Your point?”
“Well, I think we have a lot in common,” he said, bumping the guy anyway. I shifted again. “And when Suzanne told me that you read the Zodiac series of comics as well…well, I knew this was going to be a great date. I subscribe.”
Uh-oh. “Do you?” I said, keeping my voice light. He nodded, banging into another dancer. She grabbed his butt in return, which sent him into a whole new set of spasms.
“Anyway, it’s the strangest thing. I saw this girl…you know, the Archer? She, uh, looks like you,” he said, even that coming out sounding like a question. “I bet that’s where you got the idea.”
“The idea?”
“You know, for your costume. You’re dressed as a superhero, right?”
A figure pulled up behind Ian, swaying slowly to the frantic beat, and I nearly froze in place. Oblivious, Ian continued dancing, inches away from Joaquin’s leering, attentive face.
“Let’s not talk about it now, okay?” I told him, backing up, hoping he’d follow my lead. He did, but so did Joaquin, eyes locked on mine like Scud missiles. Fuck.
“Okay, but I just wanted to tell you I think it’s cool. Lots of people diss comic books as being, you know…” He stuck his finger down his throat, miming being sick, always an attractive gesture, and I managed a half smile. Behind him, Joaquin mimicked the move. Homicidal smartass. “Anyway, it takes the pressure off a bit. I can just be myself, just Ian Hanson going out with Olivia Archer, on a regular ol’ date.”
I nearly deflated as a smile bloomed on Joaquin’s face. He mouthed the words
I fumbled at my bag, grasped my conduit, pushing by Ian, who started apologizing immediately, but Joaquin had disappeared. I caught a whiff of metallic rot-his excitement at learning my identity-and followed it. Ian stepped in front of me. I was getting supremely tired of men doing that. I flashed him a hard smile.
“Wait, was it something I said? Olivia, I’m sorry, it’s just-”
“It’s all right,” I said impatiently. “I’ll be right back. Just stay here.”
“But-”
“Stay,” I repeated, like I was reprimanding a bad dog, and Ian stayed.
A quick scan of the main ballroom showed me nothing I hadn’t seen before. Joaquin wouldn’t have left, not yet, not with so much destruction left to cause…or with my identity still fresh upon his lips. I swallowed hard and turned toward the common room, not even needing my sense of smell to guide me through the heavily curtained area. I heard my name called out behind me, Cher or Suzanne still sitting at the table where I’d left them, but ignored it,
