Plumage by Nancy Springer Read Free Book Online

soft felt chapeau trimmed with white cut-feather flowers and butterflies, and a wide-brimmed picture hat with a pouf of feather fluff all around, and a toque with multicolored aigrette. Today Racquel was resplendent in a shimmery lavender dress with a banded sweetheart illusion neckline and a peplum.
    Sassy blinked as she walked in; Racquel always seemed to affect her like neon. Sassy wondered how Racquel achieved cleavage.
    â€œHey, woman!” Racquel turned to her, seeming nervously glad to see her. Lavender feathers bobbed above the lacquered, marcellated crest of her hair. His hair. Sassy had trouble thinking of him in the masculine gender. He put her off-balance altogether, worse than meeting somebody you couldn’t tell which it was, and silently but viciously she wished misfortune upon his metallic-sculpted coif; just once she wanted to see Racquel’s hair move .
    â€œWoman, yourself,” Sassy grumped.
    Racquel seemed suddenly affected by a nervous twitch under his oh-so-tweezed eyebrow. “Um, talk with you outside?”
    â€œWhatever.”
    Out on the mezzanine, Sassy said to him, “Will you do something for me, sir ?”
    â€œShhhh!” Sotto voce, he said, “If you keep quiet about me, yes, sure I will.”
    Sassy was by no means sure she should keep quiet. Ever since she had found out about him, her Sunday-school upbringing had been crimping her gut muscles. She eyed him suspiciously. “Maybe I shouldn’t. Women go into your changing rooms—”
    â€œIf I’d gone to medical school, I’d see a lot more.”
    â€œBut women know when their doctor’s a man. They think you’re—”
    â€œShhhh!”
    Sassy lowered her voice slightly. “They think you’re a woman, you hand things in to them—”
    â€œI don’t. My staff takes care of fittings.” Hands hovering in the vicinity of his twin-peaked bosom, he twisted his rings—moonstone, sapphire, amethyst. His fingers were long, strong-looking, and his perfect mauve-enameled nails were decorated with tiny electric-pink primroses with glued-on faux-gem centers. “Anyway, I don’t care about seeing women in their bras or any of that.”
    â€œYou don’t?” Sassy put a freight load of doubt in her tone.
    â€œNo. I don’t. I just—I just like—”
    â€œUh-huh. I know. Fancy feathers.”
    â€œDon’t get so damn superior.” For the first time some edge crept into his low-spoken tone. “You’re a cross-dresser yourself.”
    â€œI am not!”
    â€œYes, you are.” He jerked his chin at her; his hair and the rest of him did not move. “You’re wearing slacks.”
    â€œThat’s not—”
    â€œYes, it is. It’s cross-dressing. If it’s no problem for a woman to put on pants, then why is it such a big deal for a man to put on a skirt?”
    Sassy had no idea. “Uh,” she hedged, “uh, but, I’m not masquerading—”
    â€œI have to. If people wouldn’t get so hysterical ,” Racquel grumbled, “I could go in the men’s room.”
    This debate was making Sassy feel a bit dizzy. Stress. Just let it go, she decided. Perhaps for the worst reason, because she wanted his help, Sassy found herself believing Racquel. He was gay, she told herself. He wasn’t attracted to women. He wasn’t going around with a happy dick under that dress. Okay. Whatever. “All right,” she grumbled, “okay, fine. I’m a cross-dresser too. Here’s what I need you to do.” She explained it to him.
    â€œAre you crazy?” he exclaimed.
    Not for the first time, Sassy considered this issue. “Possibly. I’m not sure.”
    â€œ Why do you so badly need to capture this parakeet?”
    â€œThat’s my business.”
    His metallic-mauve-shadowed eyes widened. “You’re not out for revenge, are you?