Little Disquietude by C. E. Case Read Free Book Online Page A

and said,
"Leah never missed an event in New York. She's the toast of the
town."
    "Have you ever met anyone famous?" Ward
asked.
    "Your momma," Leah said.
    Ward grinned.
    "What's wrong, Leah?" Adam asked.
    "Nothing's wrong except Jeopardy! 's on
and I need to feel smart." She took her plate into the living
room.
    Ward and Adam finished dinner in the kitchen,
whispering to each other, touching benignly. A hand on a thigh, a
finger tapping an elbow. Adam came and took the dish from her when
he went to clean up. She watched the television silently, her
thoughts too much in turmoil to think of the answers to Adam's
questions, or hear what Alex was saying.
    In New York, she knew everyone. Every star
and writer was a friend of Leah Fisher. Even in their most boring
iterations of the same stories--the reason she'd left in the first
place to try something new--there was camaraderie. A stranger was
just someone new in town, new to the stage, to be introduced to
her. She got invited backstage to every show on Broadway, and into
the dressing rooms of half. She had done what she wanted.
    She'd wanted to leave.
    Now, to walk into a room and not know anyone
felt unreal. Last night's efforts at the bar had been intense and
draining and probably futile. She'd been on the scene since she was
nineteen. Since she had convinced her parents it was all right to
let her minor in theater, because a college degree was a college
degree, that it was no worse than English.
    Going to the Flamingo with Adam and Ward
would not cheer her up. No one would recognize her. She'd be their
third wheel and though beautiful young men would probably dance
with her, and charm her, and maybe even buy her a drink, there'd be
nothing for them to share, nothing to take home. She didn't want to
escape, she wanted to be remembered.
    But staying home in the empty, large house
seemed worse. The drug lords and prostitutes would know, and they'd
come for her. They'd steal the piano. She shivered. If that was
going to happen, she didn't want to be around for it.
    "How am I going to get there?" Leah asked.
Adam and Ward were taking the rental car.
    "You can walk," Adam said, beaming. "It's ten
blocks. Here, let me help you dress."
    "I can't dress myself to go to a lesbian
bar?"
    "Were you going to wear jeans?"
    "No."
    "Oh, honey."
    She sighed.
    He put her in her tightest blue jeans and the
only pair of high-heeled boots she'd brought.
    "I can't walk ten blocks in these," she
said.
    "I put in insoles."
    "Adam."
    "Hey, I need you on stage an hour a night.
Good foot care is important."
    "And gay," she said.
    She picked her sluttiest top and did her own
makeup, which Adam marked over with brighter lipstick and more eye
shadow.
    "I look like a tramp," she said.
    "A vamp. You look like a vamp."
    "Rhymes with tramp."
    He grinned.
    "Do you expect me to bring someone home?" she
asked.
    "It'd be good for you. How long has it
been?"
    She met his eyes in the mirror and said, "Not
long enough."
    "Who?" He placed his hand on her back, and
looked at her earnestly.
    "No one," she said, pulling away.
    "Leah."
    "Just some guy."
    "And?" Adam prompted.
    And every time he'd touched her, she'd wanted
to die. It wasn't his fault. He was the sound technician from her
most recent anime gig. They'd joked together about the crazy love
story she was recounting, in high-pitched oration. She'd been the
one to invite him to dinner, and then a second, and when the
kissing had been fine--a little exciting, even, she'd let the rest
happen.
    He'd been gentle, mistaking her trembling as
he undressed her for excitement. And she'd touched him, remembering
how it had felt to hold Grace, marveling at how different it was
even when all the parts weren't that different. He'd used his
mouth, and she cried and begged him to stop, and when he wanted to
hold her as he slept she'd felt suffocated, had escaped, had never
spoken to him again, despite the flowers he sent, despite his
apologies.
    He had no idea what he was