Does Bevel know that the color of Lucy’s soul is autumn?
As Lucy danced, I could see her branches sprouting in different directions, while yellow leaves flew everywhere, like star-pointed birds.
You want to kiss me really, really bad, don’t you?
I stared into Lucy’s lacquered eyes, then tracked to her crescent-shaped scar and hung there, waiting for my words to catch up to me.
I’ve had a lot of blues and greens tonight, I said, and conscientiously ran my fingers through my hair, as if that were something a person who had drunk a lot of blues and greens might do.
Then I opened my eyes, not realizing they had been closed, and saw that I was in a corner, near the restroom, sucking my thumb, and Lucy was nowhere in the vicinity. I unplugged my thumb from my mouth, and stepped forward, scanning the club.
There she was. Dancing with Bevel to the Culture Club’s “Karma Chameleon.” Lucy was wearing a paisley cotton dress, which clung to the upper half of her body and flared at the hem. Her tennis shoes were impossibly white.