Drag Queen in the Court of Death Read Online Free PDF

into the vocabulary of another life. I sank back into the chintzcushioned armchair and took the ice-cold glass she offered. I sipped as she chatted on about people I used to know and had thought I cared about. It was all vaguely interesting, like hearing about someone's travels to a place you have never even thought of visiting. It felt quite detached from me, my life.
"I haven't seen Ed Summers since university," I said, trying to picture the man behind the name. I had a fleeting memory of glasses and carefully combed hair, of bad skin and well-cut clothes. "So he finally got married. Did you go to the wedding?"
Laura nodded. "It was nice to see some of the old crowd," she said.
"I thought you saw 'the old crowd' all the time."
"Not all of them. Goodness, some of these people I haven't seen since school." She sounded a little defensive.
"Ancient history." I laughed. "Not a place I want to live anymore."
"No one's suggesting you live there, Michael, but a visit now and then can be very pleasant."
Pleasant. Life was always pleasant for Laura, or seemed so. I know she worked hard to give this appearance of effortlessness, but I never understood why.
Laura set down her glass and leaned forward slightly, her back, as always, perfectly straight. "That was tactless of me," she said, her voice dropping.
I looked at her, into her eyes, clear gray with very dark pupils. I didn't say anything, but I was not relaxed anymore.
"I'm not a total boor," she went on, her voice speeding up slightly, as if she wanted to get this out of the way. "I've canceled the dinner party next Sunday. It's the least I can do to spare you."
"Spare me? What are you talking about? I didn't say I wanted out of the dinner party." I had been trying to think how to broach the subject and do exactly that, but now that she had sprung this on me, I rebelled.
"Dear heart, it's all over the news about ... what you've been through recently."
"You mean Ronnie's grim little secret? What's that got to do with me?"
"It's your name that's linked to the whole gruesome thing. I thought it best to cancel, under the circumstances."
"I won't come, if it will embarrass you. Have your party. There's no need to cancel."
"Have you forgotten it was that ... person who broke up our marriage?"
"But Laura—"
"I can assure you that no one else has forgotten. And if by some miracle they had, it'll all come back to them now!" Her voice, even her face, seemed to have sharpened. She looked older. Maybe it was that the sun had moved enough to fall slantwise onto her face, showing the fine lines around her lovely eyes, the occasional glint of silver in her carefully bobbed hair. It hadn't occurred to me how this whole thing might impact on her peaceful existence, how it might once again tear at her inside, as it had before, with such force that it had almost ruined her life. She had never really moved on.
"Laura, you don't have to worry about this. I'm getting out of it as soon as I can. I don't have to be executor for anyone, and I'm resigning the instant the office opens on Monday."
"The connection has already been made," she said quietly. "If anyone cares to dig at all, they'll find a much closer connection than that of executor."
"Oh for God's sake! The tabloids, maybe. Come on, Laura, it's 1990! Besides, in a day or two some other horrifying or scandalous thing will happen down at City Hall or somewhere to knock poor old Ronnie off the front page for good."
"One can but hope." Laura got up and took the empty cut glass pitcher in both hands. I stood up too and reached for it. "Let me take that for you," I said, my hands closing around the cool, damp crystal.
"No need, Michael, I can carry it. I've been carrying it for years."
"Point taken." My hands fell to my sides.
"Really? Do you really understand?"
We stared at each other, and I saw her hands tighten around the pitcher. Two spots of color burned red on her cheeks.
"Laura—"
"Shall we eat out here? There's a slight breeze, but it's