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the bar behind me and watched, sipping her fresh drink. I tried to concentrate and stay focused, wishing I hadn’t joined this game. I missed my second and third shots. I aggressively ignored Raven Red, who was obviously alone. No one else dared approach her either. Suddenly, I felt my back prickle from the nearness of her as she stood behind me on tiptoe and whispered, “Play the shadows.”
    I whirled around to say, “Femmes don’t know shit about pool,” but she was gone. I got a scent of perfume and damp air as the door closed. I shook my head and with a smile, regained my composure and made every shot.
    “Play the shadows, my big black dick,” I muttered.
    By the time I finished playing at nine o’clock, the bar was standing room only. I fought my way back to the bartender and yelled, “Darcy here yet?” Only in a gay community could you count on this intimacy of strangers. The barkeep nodded and pointed vaguely to the other end of the bar before getting caught up in more drink orders.

Chapter Six
     
    Great,” I said without enthusiasm, slicing my way sideways through the crowd. I was the tallest woman there so I could see easily. I was relieved that there were some sistahs here. I nodded courteously to each. Like kings and queens, each met my gaze regally and inclined her head just right in return. I reached the corner of the bar and noticed a group of four, three women and one man. I evaluated the group and made instant judgments just on posture and appearance. Darcy had to be the one in the middle, and she was a self-important stocky butch wannabe with the sort of swagger only a huge ego and massive insecurity could cause. The other two women were both blond, one built like a bear and the other one like a stick. Hoping to be proven wrong about Darcy after introductions, I approached. Holding my beer above my head out of harm’s way, I stuck my hand out. “Darcy Tate? I’m Nora.”
    Darcy looked me up and down and finally shook my hand. “We’re drinking slippery nipples,” she announced, grinning at the blond stick, who giggled. “’Cause they’re better in pairs.”
    “So true,” I murmured, wondering just how fast and far to run.
    “This is my lover, Ava-Suzanne Morgan-Frazier,” Darcy said. She pronounced the second name “Sue-zAHn.” My mouth twisted. I supposed Ava-Suzanne played the pee-AH-no and put dah-zies in a vahse. I did not offer my hand because Ava scowled at me with such disdain. I wanted to snap this skinny white twig in half. She was plain enough and bony enough to be a supermodel.
    “This is Jhoaeneyie Crosswaithe, quite the capable egg,” Darcy continued, introducing the bear.
    Jhoaeneyie and I shook hands, and I was surprised to find my hand engulfed in a firm grip. “How you doin’?” Jhoaeneyie boomed in a strong twang within a foghorn voice. “My name is pronounced Joanie, but if you ever write me a letter, it is spelled,” Jhoaeneyie touched her cheek and winked, “quite unconventionally. You see, I am a nonconformist. Definitely not a traditional type.” People sitting close were startled by Jhoaeneyie’s voice and stared for a moment. She continued. “No offense, but I’ll never remember your name.”
    “None taken. I’ll never remember yours or how to spell it,” I replied.
    Jhoaeneyie was seized by laughter that bellowed out of her throat. “Touché, touché, touché,” she replied, pronouncing it “toosh.”
    “And this is Jack Irving.” Darcy indicated the man who was busy doing shots of Black Jack. He smiled merrily at her, his brown eyes warm, and shook my hand.
    “Here, come sit here, I’ll give you my seat.” Jack slid to a recently vacated stool and patted the one he emptied.
    “Thanks, Jack.” This was unusual. Gay men rarely hung with dykes. The rule is gay men with straight women, period. Fraternization between the two homosexual cultures was the rare exception. I sat and observed the bar in comfort. There were lots of jocks