Xochi slid off her leather jacket. Twisting so she could hang it on the back of her chair, she was oddly conscious of her body. “So,” she said, slouching down in her seat, “what about you?” Her voice sounded weird, too. Was she drunk?
“What about me?”
“Your story.”
“Which one?”
“You and Io. How did you meet?”
“Ah, that story,” Leviticus said. “You ready? It’s kind of long.”
“I’m ready.” Was she, though? It was so nice here in this moment, just the two of them, her body vibrating with the honeyed fatigue she felt after a summer day at the river.
“The first time I saw Io,” Leviticus began, “she looked just like the decoration on my cousins’ birthday cakes—strawberry whipped cream with a plastic blonde ballerina on top. They make them in the Mission, at the bakery we passed on Valencia.”
“Did you get that kind for your birthday, too?” Xochi leaned back, stretching her legs out in front of her, parallel to his. “Or are you a chocolate person?”
He cocked his head, one eyebrow raised. So that was where Pallas got it.
Something shifted between them—cooled. Xochi was suddenly lost, the bar too loud. She replayed the last few minutes, and there it was. She’d been flirting this whole time. She knew from exposure, rather than experience. Flirting had been her mother’s specialty and her gift.
Xochi rewound to the fluttering lashes, the languid slouch, her teasing tone when she asked if he liked chocolate. All Gina’s moves. Xochi imagined her mother’s lithe body superimposed over her own.
The silence was growing awkward, but Leviticus remained quiet. “It’s weird,” Xochi said. She had no idea what to say next. She thought of the tattoos she’d seen when he was shirtless onstage last night, the owl on his bicep and the tiny typewriter script curling around his neck and back and arms.
“What is?” Leviticus glanced at his watch. Was he bored?
“Seeing you here and remembering you onstage,” Xochi said, relieved that the words had emerged. “It’s like you sort of switch back and forth between two different people.”
“Yeah, that’s what it feels like. Me and that onstage guy? People confuse us all the time. The scary thing is when I get confused. You’ve been with us—what? A month?”
“Almost.” It had been twenty days since Xochi had moved into her attic bedroom.
“You haven’t seen much of anyone, then. It gets busy before a big show. I love rehearsal, but the rock star thing—not so much. But then when it’s time to go onstage, I change completely. It’s been like that since the first time I played a real show. It used to take me weeks to come down. Ky says I’m a bad transitioner. Now, if I’m chill at the parties and remember to eat and sleep, it’s a lot quicker. So yeah. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
“I wonder if that can happen other times, to anyone.”
“What do you mean?” Leviticus put his boots on the floor and leaned on the table with both elbows. Xochi seemed to have gotten herself out of groupie territory and back on solid ground.
“You just said it. Jekyll and Hyde. It’s like a different being climbs into your skin and hangs out there for a while. What if it happens to all of us sometimes, and we don’t even know it?” Like just now. Xochi suppressed a shiver. Had she really momentarily channeled her slutty runaway mom?
Leviticus’s eyes gleamed. “There’s a shamanic aspect to performing. Rock and roll has always played with that. But I think it’s a part of yourself you’re connecting with, not some outside force.”
“It could be both. Like the collective unconscious—maybe there are times we tap into it.”
“Right. Like the walls between you and the world around you evaporate. I like that feeling a little too much. That’s when the trouble starts.”
“Trouble how?” Xochi blinked away a sudden image, the invisible wall between her and Leviticus dissolving, skin on skin.
“Almost every way you can think of, lady.” He took a sip of beer. “But not these days. At some point, I got it. I want something real, and that takes focus. So no drinking, no drugs. It’s why we fast. Most of us, anyway.”
“I think I saw some of that last night. At first it was about the spectacle, but then something changed.” Xochi recalled the moment the energy shifted. The lights turned greenish and hazy. One by one, the instruments fell away until the bass drum was all that remained. Xochi’s eyes had grown heavy, her body downshifting to match the perfect regularity of the drum’s giant heart. “It was like . . . an initiation. Like you opened the door to this magical world and invited us in.”
“But do you think it’s too much?” Leviticus’s forehead wrinkled. “I worry the spectacle makes it seem unattainable—the gods onstage, the mortals below. I don’t want that.”
“I get what you’re saying, but not everyone can do what you guys do.”
“People always talk about talent—I don’t know if it really exists. Our thing is about ritual, about being in the moment, not some perfect end result. Sometimes I think we should just pare it down. Acoustic guitars. No eyeliner. No glitter. What do you think?”
Xochi laughed. “Well, some of us like the eyeliner and electric guitars. People need a little magic in their lives.”
He smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling again. How old was he, anyway? Thirty? Thirty-one? Xochi sat up straight, her posture mirroring his. A restlessness droned in her belly. She sent it a lullaby—no mission to accomplish, no sweet stuff to want. Just two people sitting in a bar, possibly becoming friends.
“So,” Leviticus said, “where were we? You wanted a story of some kind, didn’t you?”
“I think we digressed at birthday cake.” It was good to be back in a world where cake was innocent and things were perfectly fine.
“Right,” he said. “Strawberry or chocolate.”
Xochi knew this look, one dimple almost showing, deadpan eyebrows over sparkling eyes. It was the same one Pallas wore when she was teasing, waiting for Xochi to take the bait. Was he flirting now?
“The answer to your question is that most of the time, I’m a devout chocolate person. However, in the case of birthday cake, the strawberry whipped cream from that particular bakery is my favorite.” He lowered his lashes.
Xochi’s piercing tingled. She took a long breath. Leviticus was her boss. He was Pallas’s dad.
He drained the last of his beer. “Sadly, I was never allowed to have one myself. ‘Too girly.’”
“Wait, how can a cake be girly? I mean, yeah, I guess the pink and white—but come on. It’s food. Couldn’t they just swap out the ballerina for a race car and call it a day?”
“You’d understand if you met my dad.”
“What’s he like?”
Leviticus paused. “Macho. Religious. A bad combination.” Something flashed across his face. Anger? It disappeared too fast to tell. “I left home at fifteen. Eventually, I made it all the way to London. I used to busk for money, and Io did ballet by my favorite spot. Later I found out dancing wasn’t even her main thing. It was horseback riding. She almost made it to the Olympics.”
“Why didn’t she?” Xochi took a sip of her beer.
“Her mom caught her climbing in the window one morning, and that was it. Sold Io’s horse and signed her up for boarding school.”
“She was in high school?”
“Turned seventeen a month before Pallas was born.”
My age. “My mom was young, too. Sixteen. We don’t look anything alike, so people always thought she was my babysitter.”
“Sixteen? That’s how old I was. We used to lie about our age. The second people knew how young we were, all they did was look for mistakes.”
“I know what you mean.” Xochi pictured Gina in her Van Halen shirt and cutoffs, hurrying down the beige hallway of yet another new sc
hool.
“It was hard for Io at first, but she refused to go back. People in England talk about class way more than we do here. It took my friends a long time to accept her. After she inherited the money from her dad, she was almost embarrassed. She still keeps it on the down low. People think the way we live now is all because of Lady Frieda, but it’s not. A lot of it is her.”
“She got kind of upset the other day when she found me doing the dishes. She said I shouldn’t feel like the hired help.”
“She’s right.”
“Yeah, but . . . I am the hired help.”
A protest rose to his lips, but Xochi interrupted. “I mean, I know I’m not the maid. But you guys pay me. I don’t know how it works with other people in the house, but with me, it seems pretty straightforward.”
He fiddled with his empty glass. His cuticles were ragged, his nails painted the same blue as Pallas’s bathtub. “I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, we pay Pad for set design and stage managing. And the band splits everything.”
“And Kiki?” She paused. “It’s none of my business, I know. You shouldn’t give me whiskey if you want me to stay polite.”
Leviticus laughed outright. People at other tables glanced over. “I prefer honest to polite. And I don’t remember any whiskey at the breakfast table.”
Xochi looked down.
“Don’t be embarrassed. You want to know who you’re living with.” He put his open hand on the table, a gesture to draw her in.
Wait, Xochi thought. If he was sixteen when Pallas was born, that makes him—what? She pushed her brain to do the simple math. Twenty-eight?
“Kiki has her own money.”
“Like Io?” Xochi asked.
“Yes and no. Kiki’s grandma is a duchess or something. She and Io met at this school where even having a banker for a stepdad made Io one of the poor kids. By the time Pallas was born, Io was broke and disowned. Then, after we moved to New York, Io’s dad died, and it turned out he’d cut her into his will. He was a music producer and Io’s mom was a backup singer. She got sick of waiting for him to leave his wife, so she ended up with the London banker. To look at her now, you’d never guess she used to party with The Rolling Stones.”
Xochi tried to picture Gina dressed like a regular mom with a grown-up hairdo and sensible shoes. Maybe that was how she looked now. Six years was a long time.
“So yeah,” Leviticus said. “Io’s dad—he hadn’t seen her in years. But he left her the house in San Francisco and a pile of cash.”
“Wow.”
“Our place in New York was smaller than the pantry at Eris Gardens. One minute we’re street kids, the next we’re parents with two jobs apiece, then all of a sudden we have this outrageous house.” He sipped his beer. “When Kiki moved in, it got better. She organized us. She was the one who found Pad. They shacked up until their infamous breakup a few years ago.”
“Wait a second. Those two were together?”
Leviticus nodded. “Star-crossed. Pad’s a young soul. They may be the same age, but Kiki’s got at least a couple of lifetimes on him.”
“How about everyone else?”
“I knew Kylen when I was a kid. When we started the band and needed a drummer, Ky tapped Aaron. They go way back. After that, Pad became our set designer and stage manager, Kiki made costumes. It all fit.”
“What about Bubbles?”
“Io and Kiki met Bubbles at Mitchell Brothers.”
“Wait, the strip club with the dolphin mural? That was right by my SRO. I thought it was a pet store till I went around the corner and saw the sign. So Bubbles was a stripper?”
Leviticus nodded. “She was headlining, doing her burlesque thing. After Ky and Aaron were done fighting over her, she joined the band and moved in.”
“Interesting. I didn’t think Kylen felt that way about girls . . .”
“It’s complicated—there’s history there. Ask Bubbles if you want the entertaining version.”
“Wow,” Xochi said. “At first I thought the house was full of these set couples . . . then I realized I was probably wrong.” Her color rose.
“I never thought about how it looked from the outside. Most of us don’t really do monogamy.”
Xochi nodded. “Bubbles explained polyamory to me. I see the logic behind it, but I can’t really imagine it working.”
“It’s hard at first.” Leviticus picked at the corner of a paper coaster. “When I was young, I wanted Io to myself. But for most of my friends, marriage was political—capitalism with jewelry.”
“But what about jealousy? I mean, it’s natural. Even animals feel it.”
“Io didn’t speak to me for three weeks once because I fought a guy for hitting on her. It’s how I was raised—defend your woman’s honor. Io said her honor was her own business. Can’t argue with that.”
“So I guess you came around?”
Leviticus hesitated. “We used to talk about it a lot, trying to figure out the best way to live. We tried a ton of crazy stuff. In the end, I guess it boils down to loving each other and telling the truth. Live and let live.”
Xochi leaned forward, catching a flash of uncertainty in his voice.
“It’s definitely a process. But so far, it’s been worth it.” He stopped, an easy silence. “So that’s us,” he said, stacking their empty glasses. “How about you? What were you up to before you hitchhiked to San Francisco?”
Xochi clenched her hands under the table. “Not much.” She made herself hold his gaze like she had nothing to hide. “My life’s been pretty boring up to now.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.” Leviticus stood up. “Come on.” He grabbed Xochi’s jacket and held it out for her. “I know the perfect way to end the day.”
11
Six Bells Chime
The sky was clear and the stars were out as Leviticus zoomed back through the financial district. Back in the Haight, he stopped outside a huge red Victorian-turned-movie-theater. A poster in the entry advertised “wings of desire.” A woman swung on a trapeze as a winged man in a trench coat sat on top of a building, gazing down at her. Underneath, it read, “there are angels on the streets of berlin.”
The movie was screened in a large front room with mismatched couches instead of regular seats and baked goods and hot tea for sale at the snack bar. Leviticus got them a plate of brownies and a bowl of popcorn. They claimed a faded sofa close to the screen. Xochi had checked her coat, and when she shivered, he laid his leather jacket over her like it was the most natural thing in the world. It smelled like rosemary and clean fur, a scent she’d come to know during their ride. The animal comfort of it made her want to close her eyes.
“You okay?” Leviticus frowned. “I should’ve told you to wear long johns.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m getting you some tea.”
“No, it’s fine, I’m—”
She was cut off by his hand lightly touching her cheek.
“I knew it. Freezing. Sit tight.”
Why is he being so nice? Xochi pulled her knees up under his jacket, making herself as compact as possible in spite of her long legs and big feet.
“Here you go.” His hands shook as he passed her the steaming cup. Chamomile with honey.
The couches filled as more moviegoers arrived. The music in the background switched from classical to rock. “Wild Horses,” Xochi registered. Gina’s favorite.
“Xochi?” Leviticus’s voice was calm, but Xochi sensed something else underneath. “How old are you?”
Her stomach dropped. “Nineteen,” she said. It was her stock answer. The only person in the city who knew the truth was Pallas.
“You’re not nineteen.” He tried again. “Did you run away from home?”
Xochi looked at her hands and sipped her tea. She reminded herself to breathe. The lie took f
orever to make its way to her constricted throat. Finally, she exhaled a single syllable into the charged air between them. “No.”
She traced a pattern on the arm of the old sofa, a trail made by other fingers, people waiting for something to start. Taking another shallow breath, she met his eyes. “No one’s looking for me. It’s a good thing I left. I should have done it sooner.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “It doesn’t change anything here.”
Xochi closed her eyes. Janis Joplin was singing now, a song about having nothing to lose.
“Want a brownie?” Leviticus’s voice was uneven.
“Sure.” Xochi took the brownie and began to pick at its edges. “So what’s the movie about?”
Leviticus hesitated. The lights dimmed, and the screen came to life. Under the low strains of a cello, he answered. “It’s about love,” he said. “True love.”
12
The Starlit Mire
At the Red Victorian, Xochi sat in thrall of the creamy black-and-white images on the flickering screen. Filled with the swelling strings and gravelly punk of the movie’s soundtrack, her pulse followed the fortunes of the old man, the new lovers, the brooding musician, and the fallen angel. She let her tears and sighs come unguarded, Leviticus’s shoulder pressed against hers. They stayed through the credits without looking at each other. They didn’t have to. Xochi knew it would be like looking in a mirror.
Emerging from the blanket-fort darkness of the theater, she zipped her jacket against a blast of wind that smelled like the sea. Their easy silence relaxed into custom as they got on the motorcycle. Swaying with the wind, she, Leviticus and the motorcycle moved as one graceful being. Xochi closed her eyes and rested her head lightly against his back.
The moon shone silver over Eris Gardens. The house was dark, the curtains drawn. Leviticus parked behind the kitchen. Xochi’s limbs were stiff, her hands numb from cold. Following the sound of laughter down to the basement, they found the family gathered around a grainy home movie.
All of Us with Wings Page 7
