Eight
There was a women's restroom adjacent to the hotel bar, around the corner from the piano player. Two of the yellow-skinned, black-haired ladies with the tipped eyes were at the basins, one washing her hands, the other fixing her hair, both of them twittering in their birdy-lingo. Neither paid any attention to thekokujin lady who went past them and to the stalls. A moment later they left her in blessed silence except for the faint music drifting down from the overhead speakers.
Mia saw how the latch worked and engaged it. She was about to sit down on the toilet seat when Susannah said:Turn it inside out.
What?
The shirt, woman. Turn it inside out, for your father's sake!
For a moment Mia didn't. She was too stunned.
The shirt was a rough-woven callum-ka, the sort of simple pullover favored by both sexes in the rice-growing country during cooler weather. It had what Odetta Holmes would have called a boatneck. No buttons, so yes, it could very easily be turned inside out, but -
Susannah, clearly impatient:Are you going to stand there commala-moon all day? Turn it inside out! And tuck it into your jeans this time.
W...Why?
It'll give you a different look,Susannah replied promptly, but that wasn't the reason. What she wanted was a look at herself below the waist. If her legs were Mia's then they were quite probably white legs. She was fascinated (and a little sickened) by the idea that she had become a kind of tu-tone halfbreed.
Mia paused a moment longer, fingertips rubbing the rough weave of the shirt above the worst of the bloodstains, which was over her left breast. Over her heart. Turn it inside out! In the lobby, a dozen half-baked ideas had gone through her head (using the scrimshaw turtle to fascinate the people in the shop had probably been the only one even close to workable), but simply turning the damned thing inside out hadn't been one of them. Which only showed, she supposed, how close to total panic she had been. But now...
Did she need Susannah for the brief time she would be in this overcrowded and disorienting city, which was so different from the quiet rooms of the castle and the quiet streets of Fedic? Just to get from here to Sixty-first Street and Lexingworth?
Lexington, said the woman trapped inside her.Lexing ton.You keep forgetting that, don't you?
Yes. Yes, she did. And there was no reason to forget such a simple thing, maybe she hadn't been to Morehouse, Morehouse or no house, but she wasn't stupid. So why -
What?she demanded suddenly.What are you smiling about?
Nothing,said the woman inside...but she was still smiling. Almost grinning. Mia could feel it, and she didn't like it. Upstairs in Room 1919, Susannah had been screaming at her in a mixture of terror and fury, accusing Mia of betraying the man she loved and the one she followed. Which had been true enough to make Mia ashamed. She didn't enjoy feeling that way, but she'd liked the woman inside better when she was howling and crying and totally discombobulated. The smile made her nervous. This version of the brown-skinned woman was trying to turn the tables on her; maybe thought shehad turned the tables. Which was impossible, of course, she was under the protection of the King, but...
Tell me why you're smiling!
Oh, it don't amount to much,Susannah said, only now she sounded like the other one, whose name was Detta. Mia did more than dislike that one. She was a little afraid of that one.It's just that there was this fella named Sigmund Freud, honeychile - honky muhfuh, but not stupid. And he said that when someone always be f'gittin sump'in, might be because that person wantto be f'gittin it.
That's stupid,Mia said coldly. Beyond the stall where she was having this mental conversation, the door opened and two more ladies came in - no, at least three and maybe four - twittering in their birdy-language and giggling in a way that made Mia clamp her teeth together.Why would I want to forget the place where they're waiting to help me have my baby?
Well, dis Freud - dis smart cigar-smoking Viennese honky muhfuh - he claim dat we got dis mindunderour mind, he call it the unconscious or subconscious or somefuckin conscious. Now I ain't claimin dere is such a thing, only dat he saydere was.
(Burn up the day,Eddie had told her, that much she was sure of, and she would do her best, only hoping that she wasn't working on getting Jake and Callahan killed by doing it. )
Ole Honky Freud,Detta went on,he say in lots of ways de subconscious or unconscious mind smarterdan de one on top. Cut through de bullshit fasterdan de one on top. An maybe yours understand what I been tellin you all along, that yo' frien Sayre nothin but a lyin rat-ass muhfuh goan steal yo baby and, I dunno, maybe cut it up in dis bowl and den feed it to the vampires like dey was dawgs an dat baby nuffin but a big-ass bowl o' Alpo or Purina Vampire Ch -