Moonlight & Vines by Charles De Lint Read Free Book Online Page B

something.”
    Now she got it.
    â€œLook,” Nita said. “I don’t date customers and—no offense—but I don’t swing your way. You should go back inside and ask for Candy. She’s always looking to make a little something on the side and I don’t think she much cares what you’ve got between your legs, just so long as you can pay.”
    â€œI’m not looking for a hooker.”
    â€œSo what are you looking for?”
    â€œSomeone to talk to. I recognized a kindred soul in you.”
    The way she said it made Nita sigh. She’d heard this about a hundred times before.
    â€œEverybody thinks we’re dancing just for them,” she said, “but you know, we’re not even thinking about you sitting out there. We’re just trying to get through the night.”
    â€œSo you don’t feel a thing?”
    â€œOkay, so maybe I get a little buzz from the attention, but it doesn’t mean I want to fuck you.”
    â€œI told you. That’s not what I’m looking for.”
    â€œYeah, yeah. I know.” Nita ground her cigarette out under the heel of her boot. “You just want to talk. Well, you picked the wrong person. I’m not having a good night and to tell you the truth, I’m not all that interesting anyway. All the guys figure women with my job are going to be special—you know, real exotic or something—but as soon as we go out on a date with somebody they figure out pretty quick that we’re just as boring and fucked up as anybody else.”
    â€œBut when you’re on the stage,” the woman said, “it’s different then, isn’t it? You feed on what they give you.”
    Nita gave her an odd look. “What’re you getting at?”
    â€œWhy don’t we go for a drink somewhere and talk about it?” the woman said. She looked around the alleyway. “There’s got to be better places than this to have a conversation.”
    Nita hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not? It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do. Where’d you have in mind?”
    â€œWhy don’t we simply walk until we happen upon a place that appeals to us?”
    Nita lit another cigarette before she fell in step with the woman.
    â€œMy name’s not Lilith,” she said.
    â€œI know.” The woman stopped and turned to face her. “That’s my grandmother’s name.”
    Like people couldn’t share the same name, Nita thought. Weird.
    â€œShe used to call me Imogen,” the woman added.
    She offered her hand, so Nita shook it and introduced herself. Imogen’s grip was strong, her skin surprisingly cool and smooth to the touch. Shaking hands with her was like holding onto a hand made of porcelain. Imogen switched her grip on Nita’s hand, shifting from her right to her left, and set off down the alleyway again. Nita started to pull free, but then decided she liked the feel of that smooth cool skin against her own and let it slide.
    â€œWhat does ‘Nita’ mean?” Imogen asked.
    â€œI don’t know. Who says it’s supposed to mean anything?”
    â€œAll names mean something.”
    â€œSo what does your name mean?”
    â€œ ‘Granddaughter.’ ”
    Nita laughed.
    â€œWhat do you find so humorous?”
    Nita flicked her cigarette against the nearest wall which it struck in a shower of sparks. “Sounds to me like your grandmother just found a fancy way of not giving you a name.”
    â€œPerhaps she had to,” Imogen said. “After all, names have power.”
    â€œNow what’s that supposed to mean?” Nita asked.
    Imogen didn’t answer. She came to an abrupt halt and then Nita saw what had distracted her. They’d been walking toward the far entrance of the alley and were now only a half-dozen yards from its mouth. Just ahead lay the bright lights of Palm Street. Unfortunately,