Life in the District

By Lucy di Legge

Adrienne Firenze is a D.C. police detective who has lost her passion for being a cop. While taking time off to emotionally and physically recover from an on-the-job injury, Adrienne meets the irresistible Stella. Soon after meeting, Adrienne makes a series of bad decisions in her personal life, sabotaging her long-term relationship and ignoring the sage advice of those people closest to her. But when it seems like all is lost, Adrienne finally does what’s right and, in doing so, regains her sense of self.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Supposed Crimes, LLC
• Release date: May 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781938108280

Lucy di Legge

In her writing, she draws on her experiences from living and working in various cities in the U.S. and abroad. When she’s not writing academic papers, she avidly reads and writes fiction, tends her container garden, and explores city neighborhoods. She has also published a short story, “Best Service in Town”, as part of the Island Girls anthology (ISBN: 1593500610), and is excited for the release of her first book with Supposed Crimes.

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Life in the District

Lucy di Legge

Smashwords Edition

Supposed Crimes LLC, Falls Church, Virginia

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2013 Lucy di Legge

Published in the United States

ISBN: 978-1-938108-28-0

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Part I

Hiding in public, lost in a sea of patrons in a cafe, was the perfect way to avoid dealing with my life. At one point, the furnishings in the cafe must have been spotless and untarnished. You wouldn't know it by looking at them now: the purple velvet of the chairs worn away in patches, and the wood tabletops randomly spotted with circles the size of coffee mug bottoms. The imperfections gave the place warmth, a feeling of being lived in. I came here whenever I wanted to think — or talk. There was room for both. Tonight I wanted to think.

The weather made it a good night for thinking. Outside, raindrops were falling at a steady pace, while inside, interesting people milled about to distract me, if I were so inclined. The coffee shop was known to attract a queer crowd and many, though not all of the patrons were twenty-something's with the latest styles in clothes and haircuts.

I never was concerned enough with fashion to fit that image. Some probably wrote me off as closeted; others gave me approving looks but I could see it in their eyes that they were searching me for some sign of rainbow. At thirty-four, I was short and petite, with a body that was slender due more to good genes than good habits. I was athletic and strong, but I had never been seen by anyone as physically imposing.

I watched droplets of rain clinging to the windowpane, condensation forming on the inside of the glass, before refocusing my eyes on the people walking by outside. My gaze was on them but my attention was not. I had an unsettled feeling and was looking for insight in my cup of chai tea, still stirring the tea long after the sugar had dissolved. There was a stark lack of Indian wisdom to be found in my cup tonight as my thoughts, like my spoon, seemed to move in circles without reaching any new place.

I spotted David Finkelstein padding across the shop, grande-sized coffee mug in hand, a few seconds too late for me to make a graceful getaway. Shit, I thought. Aloud, I said, Hi, David. How've you been?

Hey, I'm still kickin', so life can't be all that bad. He threw me a smile and helped himself to the wooden chair across from me. Everyone is worried about you, sweetie. Who was everyone, anyway? You missed Claire and Lisa's house-warming party, then brunch last Friday. It was delicious...

David droned on. I liked David. He was witty and seemed to somehow know everyone in town, but at times he could be a little trying on my nerves, especially on a night like tonight.

Adrienne? David pursed his lips and gave me a look I couldn't help but think was reminiscent of a scolding schoolmarm. I was caught; I had no idea what David had just said.

So will you do it? Just this once? he asked.

I—

Great! Thanks, I owe you one. Catching the eye of some new body across the room, David started to rise from his chair. Be there at nine, 'kay?

I was utterly confused. David, what the hell are you talking about? Be where at nine?

The drag show at The Vatican this Saturday. You just said you'd help. His brow furrowed as he sat back down at the table. The cafe was beginning to fill up and David had apparently lost interest in whomever he was going to cruise. Look, it's only for a few hours and you can even keep the tips. I didn't need any tip money. It's for such a good cause, too. You know they're hoping to raise over ten thousand dollars for homeless gay teens? I guess they want to build some kind of group home and—

My cell phone rang and David rose out of courtesy but stood awaiting my response. I shot him a look and replied with resignation, Fine, yes, I'll do it. David beamed as he nodded his thanks. I answered my phone and he excused himself.

Hello? I said reflexively, even though I knew from the screen who was calling.

Hey, Ade, it's me.

There were about five people in my life who would identify themselves as me. The current caller was my girlfriend, Carol. She had a rich, melodic voice that used to render me captive with its beauty. That was at the beginning of our relationship, long before things started getting rocky. Something hadn't been right between us for several months now, and I found myself looking forward more to a quiet evening alone than a romantic evening with Carol that no longer seemed to materialize.

I need to go back to my office tonight. I left some papers on my desk that need to be graded. They're for my Renaissance Women course and I really ought to finish grading them, so, well... I don't want to bore you with the details. I just wanted to let you know there's a pizza in the freezer, but if you want something else you should probably stop at the store on your way home. Where are you, anyway? I would've thought you'd be home by now.

I glanced at my watch. It was later than I realized. I'm on my way now.

Okay. Well, I'm walking out the door as we speak, so I'll just have to see you later. Sorry about this, babe.

No problem. I understand.

Later.

When we hung up, I was left with that all too familiar raw, empty feeling. Was it just loneliness, or should I be worried that it was something more serious? I deposited my mug on the rubber tray atop the trashcan and headed for the neon exit sign.

#

Wind blew through my hair, the gravel road rumbled under my tires, and I was content. I was at home in my aging Ford pick-up truck, windows rolled down, racing down familiar country roads past cornfields that threatened to burst open, so pregnant with sweet corn that awaited harvesting. I knew these sights, these sounds. I breathed in the farm air, gazed out at the fading red in the sky, and tried to hold on to the memory for a second longer, but it had passed, leaving me stopped at a city intersection in my Jeep Cherokee.

The work week passed quickly. Friday night arrived and found Carol and me having dinner together, a rare occurrence these days. We sat at our small, cherry table in the corner of the eat-in kitchen. I wanted to ask her what she was thinking, how her day had gone, and whether she still daydreamed about my breasts, but her eyes told me her mind was elsewhere. I watched her strong, deceptively delicate-looking hands. She ran her fingers through her hair and I tried to remember the last time I had felt the silkiness slipping between my own fingers.

Neither one of us had said anything for a while, and I felt the tension building as the seconds ticked by. Something had changed between us, and it wasn't just about the shift from sharing a companionable silence to a lack of having anything to say to one another; it was more than that. I couldn't remember a specific date or event that had marked this change. It had been gradual, of course. Part of me wondered if I hadn't been deluding myself from the start, thinking this relationship would work out, seeing the ways we complemented each other and selectively ignoring the ways we clashed. Where had all my blind faith stemmed from? More importantly, why did I wish I hadn't lost it? It was true, though, that part of me wished for the sweetness of ignorance.

My flight tomorrow is at eight a.m., Carol said abruptly, breaching the wall of silence between us.

The fork holding a bite of penne pomodoro paused midway to my mouth. What flight? I don't remember you telling me about this.

Didn't I? I could've sworn I did. I'm giving a presentation at the women's 'herstory' conference in Chicago. I've been working on my PowerPoint for a month now. Are you sure I didn't tell you?

Positive, I said, finishing my bite.

She looked at her food as she pushed it around her plate with her fork, picking out the basil leaves and casting them aside. I got the feeling that something more was on her mind. David Finkelstein mentioned you're working a drag show at The Vatican tomorrow night. Did I hear him right? Otherwise I would've asked you along, gotten a hotel with a Jacuzzi tub... Her sentence trailed off.

I smiled but said nothing. I was too cynical to be romanced. I knew Carol booked her hotel and flight arrangements months in advance, as soon as she knew she was going somewhere, and I had only just agreed to help out at the drag show. I also thought about how busy Carol always was at conferences and how, if I went with her, I would be enjoying the luxuries of a four-star hotel by myself.

Are you going to be in drag? Maybe I should stick around after all. She smiled suggestively.

Was there still something between us? I couldn't afford to be optimistic.

No, I'm just going to be bringing people drinks, doing a little crowd control, that sort of thing. They needed a couple of extra hands to keep all the rowdy dykes in line between acts.

Aren't you a little overqualified to be waiting tables? Carol chided me jokingly.

Maybe, I said with a shrug, but it sounds like a good show and it's for charity. Plus, it's got to be more entertaining than another night in front of the TV with a bag of popcorn and the cats. I left off alone, although Carol and I both knew that's what I meant.

She smiled in a distracted sort of way and kept silent.

#

I awoke to a half-empty bed; it took me a second to remember that Carol was out of town. I stretched across the bed and blinked my eyes to adjust to the morning light shining bright streaks between the slats of the mini-blinds. My eyes eventually came to rest on a glimmer of metal on the dresser. I padded across the room, the hardwood floor cool against my bare feet, and paused for a moment before flipping the wallet cover closed over my police shield. As young as I was, I was going to retire from the force. I was going to quit. I hadn't announced it yet, but somehow I didn't think it would be a surprise. I became a police officer after graduating from college. I served my mandatory three years in patrol, plus an additional two years, before taking the promotional exam for detective and being transferred to the burglary squad. I thought I'd found what I would be doing for the rest of my life, but I'd been on leave for just over two months now. With a heavy exhalation, I reached for the bottle of painkillers that rested on the dresser next to my other belongings, and swallowed a couple of pills without bothering to pour myself a glass of water.

#

I held a couple of beer bottles over my head as I worked my way through the sweaty crowd of women who were dancing to The Vatican's pre-show music. I arrived backstage and gave the bottles to two of the drag performers, who were busy applying sideburns and mustaches to their faces.

There you go, gentlemen, I said with a smile. They grinned appreciatively. One was topless except for an Ace bandage wrapped around her chest, presumably to flatten her breasts, while the other was already dressed in Elvis- like attire from the later years.

I glanced around the rest of the dressing room, ignoring the rolling papers and open tin that lay at someone's station. I decided that I would give the owner the benefit of the doubt and assume that he or she was rolling tobacco cigarettes. I also decided that I had better make my exit and return to the bar.

The three bartenders on duty were being kept busy by the masses of women, and a few men, who wanted to get their drinks before the first act started. I joined them behind the bar and acknowledged the closest customer. What can I get you? I asked, glancing to make sure she was wearing a wristband and not a hand stamp.

How about a Corona? She leaned toward me over the bar, smiling too broadly. She wore a low-cut shirt and looked to be about twenty years old, but she wore a wristband, marking her as of age.

Sure, coming right up. I popped the cap off the Corona, squeezed a slice of lime into the neck of the bottle, and placed it on a cocktail napkin. That'll be four dollars.

The youthful looking woman fished her wallet out of her purse but didn't open it. I haven't seen you here before, she said. Are you new?

I'm just filling in tonight, I said, waiting for the four dollars.

That's too bad. I was hoping I'd see you again. She smiled suggestively and handed me a ten-dollar bill. Keep the change.

The customer turned and left, and I caught one of the other bartenders chuckling at me. It's going to be a long night.

The first act began. The crowd turned their attention to the lip-synching performers who danced and swaggered around the stage and the two women in lingerie who accompanied the drag kings. With fewer people at the bar, I had a chance to observe the crowd. A few pockets of people worried me, my cop senses alerted that they were louder and drunker than most of the audience.

Sure enough, by the second half of the show, one of those groups had gotten boisterous enough that it was starting to draw its own audience. Others around them looked annoyed and tried to shift to a quieter area that offered a more unobstructed view of the stage. I was trying to decide whether to say something to the rowdy bunch, when one of them dropped a glass on the floor. It broke into several pieces and the rest of the group erupted in laughter.

I grabbed a