many times it fell limply into every crevice of the worn mattress. A simple table was an instant catchall for Pia and my badge.
The room smelled old, but in a homey way—of oiled wood and fresh linen, of worn leather and just a hint of lemon cleaning solution. A large dresser and an adequate closet—is any closet ever really big enough?—would provide space for my things, and I found a small buffet held exactly two wine glasses and two sets of dinnerware.
I lay my overnight bag at the foot of a leather chair upon an ancient but radiant wool rug. The dyed crimsons, ochres, and indigoes were still vibrant despite centuries of wear and tear. It was soft but firm beneath my toes, and I closed my eyes and lay my head back against the chair, stretching my neck and melting into my new home.
“Damn. Damn, damn, damn.” This string of curses and muffled clanging alerted me to the existence of another door on the left side of the room. I opened it slowly, and discovered a visibly frustrated Timbra Redfern.
“Oh, it is you,” she said. “I was trying to make some room in this bathroom cabinet. My room is just through there.” She pointed to a door on the opposite side of the room.
We stood in a Jack and Jill-style bathroom with doors to our bedrooms at either end. While it was small, it had been recently updated, and had a double vanity and the clean lines of contemporary design. The chrome fixtures were muted and tasteful, but another wool rug provided a shock of color and comfort.
“What was all the “damning” about?” I asked Timbra, who had continued to make space within the cabinet for my things.
“Oh,” she said, and looked up, embarrassed. “I’m all knees and elbows, you know, and can hardly turn around in here without breaking something.”
This mental picture was too much, considering she was so…so…deer-like, and I could just picture a real deer in our bathroom slipping around on hooves, all knees and elbows like Bambi wearing stilettos on ice. I giggled, and when she ran an elbow into the door it erupted into a full-blown belly laugh, at which point she got over being affronted and simply joined in.
And there in our shared bathroom, with the audible sigh that accompanies the end of all belly laughs, we became friends.
Timbra helped me dress for the mixer, having a firm grasp of what the term “smart casual” represented. Between the few things I had packed and her particular talent with hair, makeup, and accessories, I almost approached presentable. In stretchy black jeans, a thinly striped top, black heels and gold jewelry, I felt pretty good about my first foray into Radix society.
This self-confidence lasted until Timbra met me in the hall. She was one of those people who always looked thin and perfectly put together. Being her friend was going to be tough.
Chapter 7
T he two of us entered an already-populous ballroom, and while the looker beside me deserved all the attention, I knew all eyes were on me. Chill bumps skittered up my spine before my lungs seized. I stood unmoving, not breathing as paranoia fought with embarrassment.
Timbra nudged me and cleared her throat. When I still didn’t move she patted me on the shoulder and whispered, “You got this.”
I inhaled deeply and fought to overcome my fright. I took another breath, then another, and eased back into my senses. Once the initial shock of being the center of attention, the new girl in a new world, wore off I resolved not to make it easier for anyone to reject me. I stood up a little straighter and headed for the bar with a confidence that was purely superficial. I ordered a glass of liquid courage in the form of a margarita and Timbra had an Old Fashioned. Of course she did. Even her drink was a sophisticated throwback.
A DJ in the corner spun upbeat dance music, and after the initial collective gawk at the new girl, the crowd’s conversations started back up. I had just begun to relax a little when a group of four
The room smelled old, but in a homey way—of oiled wood and fresh linen, of worn leather and just a hint of lemon cleaning solution. A large dresser and an adequate closet—is any closet ever really big enough?—would provide space for my things, and I found a small buffet held exactly two wine glasses and two sets of dinnerware.
I lay my overnight bag at the foot of a leather chair upon an ancient but radiant wool rug. The dyed crimsons, ochres, and indigoes were still vibrant despite centuries of wear and tear. It was soft but firm beneath my toes, and I closed my eyes and lay my head back against the chair, stretching my neck and melting into my new home.
“Damn. Damn, damn, damn.” This string of curses and muffled clanging alerted me to the existence of another door on the left side of the room. I opened it slowly, and discovered a visibly frustrated Timbra Redfern.
“Oh, it is you,” she said. “I was trying to make some room in this bathroom cabinet. My room is just through there.” She pointed to a door on the opposite side of the room.
We stood in a Jack and Jill-style bathroom with doors to our bedrooms at either end. While it was small, it had been recently updated, and had a double vanity and the clean lines of contemporary design. The chrome fixtures were muted and tasteful, but another wool rug provided a shock of color and comfort.
“What was all the “damning” about?” I asked Timbra, who had continued to make space within the cabinet for my things.
“Oh,” she said, and looked up, embarrassed. “I’m all knees and elbows, you know, and can hardly turn around in here without breaking something.”
This mental picture was too much, considering she was so…so…deer-like, and I could just picture a real deer in our bathroom slipping around on hooves, all knees and elbows like Bambi wearing stilettos on ice. I giggled, and when she ran an elbow into the door it erupted into a full-blown belly laugh, at which point she got over being affronted and simply joined in.
And there in our shared bathroom, with the audible sigh that accompanies the end of all belly laughs, we became friends.
Timbra helped me dress for the mixer, having a firm grasp of what the term “smart casual” represented. Between the few things I had packed and her particular talent with hair, makeup, and accessories, I almost approached presentable. In stretchy black jeans, a thinly striped top, black heels and gold jewelry, I felt pretty good about my first foray into Radix society.
This self-confidence lasted until Timbra met me in the hall. She was one of those people who always looked thin and perfectly put together. Being her friend was going to be tough.
Chapter 7
T he two of us entered an already-populous ballroom, and while the looker beside me deserved all the attention, I knew all eyes were on me. Chill bumps skittered up my spine before my lungs seized. I stood unmoving, not breathing as paranoia fought with embarrassment.
Timbra nudged me and cleared her throat. When I still didn’t move she patted me on the shoulder and whispered, “You got this.”
I inhaled deeply and fought to overcome my fright. I took another breath, then another, and eased back into my senses. Once the initial shock of being the center of attention, the new girl in a new world, wore off I resolved not to make it easier for anyone to reject me. I stood up a little straighter and headed for the bar with a confidence that was purely superficial. I ordered a glass of liquid courage in the form of a margarita and Timbra had an Old Fashioned. Of course she did. Even her drink was a sophisticated throwback.
A DJ in the corner spun upbeat dance music, and after the initial collective gawk at the new girl, the crowd’s conversations started back up. I had just begun to relax a little when a group of four
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