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I glance at her once more before turning to follow Phoenix. She’s past the bar and through the door in a matter of seconds, her black hair braided down her back in a long rope. I mean to call out to her when I see her in the parking lot, but there’s something about the way she’s moving that makes me hold my tongue. I’ve seen her move like that before. I watch as she pulls up her hood, obscuring her face almost entirely. With her hands in her pockets, she jogs toward the street, head down.
I follow her for a few blocks, before she takes a sharp turn down an alley emerging onto another street, this one rougher than the last. The houses lean, collapsing in on themselves, windows held together with boxes and duct tape.
I stand in the shadows and watch as she stops at a house that was once painted green, the only remnants of the color clinging defiantly on a few places near the door. The steps are falling apart, and she dodges the uneven spots as she jogs up the stairs to the front porch. I watch as she looks around quickly and then tucks a bag between the screen and the door. When she takes off running down the street, I try to catch up but quickly lose sight of her.
I walk back toward the house eyeing the windows and street for any onlookers. There would be no mistaking me if I was caught. The stairs creak and I’m almost there when a voice sounds, almost making me jump out of my skin.
“Sir, can I help you?” Cody, one of my security team, comes up behind me.
I wave her away, looking around to make sure no one is watching.
“I’m fine. Wait for me in the car, please.”
“It’s not safe out here, Mr. Emerson.”
“Fine. Stand there and be quiet.”
She nods and folds her hands in front of her while I pick up the bag. It’s worth the trouble. Inside the brown paper bag is a heavy gold bracelet. I weigh it in my hand, confused.
“Sir…” Cody says.
I tuck the bracelet back in place and wedge the envelope where Phoenix left it. Who is this woman? And what is she up to?
Back at the compound, I pull up everything I can find on Phoenix Moyo. A sperm bank baby, they call them The Last Ofs...the solution before the Society took over with The End Men. Her mothers are Sylvia and Bisa, lesbian by birth and not circumstance. She’s been dancing since she was five. Attended Julliard. Her friends call her Bird, and she has a tendency online to talk more about what she doesn’t like than what she does, which I gather as: other women, sushi, greed, traffic, tardiness, dumb questions, cats, the Brown Region, friends who borrow things and don’t return them, and last but certainly not least, the End Men. That one makes me laugh. I read about her until late into the night and watch a few videos of her dancing. She’s something special off the stage, but on it, she becomes vibrant, an energy that I can’t look away from. I watch for a few minutes before buying a ticket to one of her performances. Selfish will just have to rearrange my schedule accordingly. I’m already considering how I’ll see her, talk to her again.
And then it’s there at the bottom of the screen, a banner, information that makes me smile, and I know exactly what I have to do.
FOUR
PHOENIX
The honey bee caste system is matriarchal.
The queen and worker bees are all female.
The males only exist for fucking.
Once they’ve mated with the queen, the males die, no longer needed.
I’m still feeling the endorphins bouncing through my body as I walk down the corridor to the after-party. Not even a glossy floor could’ve stopped me tonight. I strive to never show anything less than my best, but occasionally, something extraordinary happens and every single nuance is executed perfectly…not just by me, but by everyone. These are the nights I live for.
“Good job tonight, Phoenix,” Laurel calls as she walks by.
I smile, though I never know if they’re making fun of me or not. Laurel seems to be one of the nicer girls, but you can really never tell.
The lobby is sparkling with evening wear, crystal glasses filled with champagne, and trays of hors d’oeuvres passed around by white-gloved waiters. A few years ago, the company began a yearly tradition of auctioning off ten lessons with me, wherein all proceeds go to the arts. The girl who won last year was accepted by my alma mater’s dance program. I’m looking forward to working with this year’s protégé. I look around to see if I can spot who it might be. Sometimes the same eager dancers that have grown up watching me have wealthy mothers who see how far they can outbid one another to win the coveted role. If it weren’t for a good cause, it would be embarrassing.
I can’t afford to get sick this season, so I take a glass of champagne when it’s offered to me; it helps put off all the hand clutches and cheek kissing.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Sean says, his hand touching my waist.
Everything with Sean is done lightly, like he’s afraid too much pressure will crack his position in the world.
“Will tonight be the night you agree to go out with me?” He smiles as if he’s teasing, but his eyes are earnest.
He should just tell me that we’re going out. Tell me where to meet him.
“And ruin one of my favorite friendships?” I respond, voice light. He’s one of the few people I genuinely like; I’ll never go out with him. “No one can put up with me for long, I’ve told you that.”
