Page 27 of Throwing Shade
The traffic noise and smells of exhaust and baking from outside was replaced by a seductive musky perfume and the clatter of pins being knocked down.
“Hold my balls, sug.” Two small bowling balls, the kind used for five pin, were thrust into my arms. A lithe Black woman about my age, with an afro shaved close to her head and brown eyes magnified by funky cat-eye glasses with bling in the corners, carried a cardboard box with bowling shoes sticking out of them.
“Buy a lady dinner first.” I traced a crack in one of the balls with my thumb.
She propped the box on her hip. “What’ll a bag of M&Ms get me?”
“Peanut?”
She frowned. “Like any other kind is viable. Don’t insult me.”
“In that case, I’ll not only hold them, I’ll handle them any way you want.”
She grinned. “I’m Ava.”
“Miriam. Miri.”
“Love the dress. Well m’lady, follow me,” she said. “Oral delights await.”
“At long last.” I followed her out of the foyer and into a large bowling alley, where she dumped the box on a counter, ducking under the bar flap into a small area with dozens of cubby holes for shoes.
Ava motioned for me to put the balls in the box, adjusting the hip belt on her low-slung capris. Grabbing a couple of packages of candy from the rack on the back counter, she tossed one to me.
“Thanks.” I tore open the package and popped a handful in.
While Ava unpacked shoes, inspecting the laces and soles on each, I leaned back against the counter to survey the room.
One woman knocked down a single pin, followed by a blur of speed and the rest tipping over. In the blink of an eye she’d returned to her starting position, yelling “strike” with her arms thrown up in victory. Another patron rolled a gutter ball. His friend laughed, shit-talking him, and the bowler’s neck puffed out like a cobra’s about to strike.
“Hey, Willie!” Ava said. “Shift in here at your peril.” She waved a broken shoe at him.
He hissed at her with a forked tongue, but when she planted her hands on her hips, her eyebrows raised, he ducked his head and changed back to human features.
The alley was only about a quarter full, but being around this many Ohrists set my teeth on edge, even if they couldn’t tell what I was unless I showed them. I doubted there were any other Banim Shovavim here, since our kind was so rare.
I’d asked my dad once why Ohrists disliked us so much. I mean, we all had magic. He’d replied that Banim Shovavim and Ohrists were like two magnets with the same poles touching—we repelled each other. I’d pointed out that if you reversed the poles, the magnets would stick together. He’d patted my head and said maybe one day I could make Ohrists understand that.
Hands sweaty, I babbled, “Did you know that evidence of bowling was found as far back as ancient Egypt?”
“Uh, no.” Ava gave me the “why do you know this” look that I was all too familiar with.
“I’m a Librarian?”
“You’re not sure?” She whisked off a tattered lace and set the shoe in a separate pile.
“No, I am. I’ve worked in different libraries and you pick up random facts. Like hey.” I pointed over at a rack containing packages of chips, pretzels, and peanuts. “The oil in peanuts contains glycerol which can be processed to produce nitroglycerine, one of the key components of dynamite. So if you’re ever under siege, go for the snack food and kabam!”
She looked at me like perhaps I should be escorted outside.
Abort! “This place is fun,” I said, like a normal human being.
Ava surveyed her territory with an amused smile. “It has a certain charm. So what brings you to my establishment?”
I pulled up a photo of Jude and showed it to her. “Do you know this woman?”
She tore a broken rubber heel off a shoe. “Why?”
“She’s a friend of mine and she’s missing. I found your matchbooks at her place and was hoping someone here might know where she is.”
