Strange Ladies: 7 Stories

By Lisa Mason

As Lisa Mason mulled over her short fiction, she found seven wildly different stories with one thing in common—a heroine totally unlike her. Mason is the girl next door. She has no idea where these Strange Ladies came from.

In “The Oniomancer” (Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine), a Chinese-American punk bicycle messenger finds an artifact on the street. In “Guardian” (Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine), an African-American gallerist resorts to voodoo to confront a criminal. In “Felicitas” (Desire Burn: Women Writing from the Dark Side of Passion [Carroll and Graf]), an illegal Mexican immigrant faces life as a cat shapeshifter. In “Stripper” (Unique Magazine), an exotic dancer battles the Mob. In Triad (Universe 2 [Bantam]), Dana Anad lives half the time as a woman, half as a man, and falls in love with a very strange lady. In “Destination” (Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction), a driver takes three strangers from a ride board on a cross-country trip as the radio reports that a serial killer is on the loose. In “Transformation and the Postmodern Identity Crisis” (Fantastic Alice [Ace]), Alice considers life after Wonderland.
“One of the joys of reading collections is getting a better sense of an author’s range. In this instance, Strange Ladies offers everything you could possibly want, from more traditional science fiction and fantasy tropes to thought-provoking explorations of gender issues and pleasing postmodern humor. In each of the stories, we meet a very different woman....This is a must-read collection.” The San Francisco Review of Books

Lisa Mason has published ten novels, including Summer of Love, a Philip K. Dick Award Finalist and San Francisco Chronicle Recommended Book, The Gilded Age, a New York Times Notable Book and New York Public Library Recommended Book, a collection of previously published fiction, Strange Ladies: 7 Stories, and thirty-one stories and novellas in magazines and anthologies worldwide. Her Omni story, “Tomorrow’s Child,” sold outright as a feature film to Universal Studios.

Her latest novel is One Day in the Life of Alexa.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Mason
• Release date: Jun 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301978144

Lisa Mason

Lisa Mason is the author of eleven novels, including Summer of Love (Bantam), a San Francisco Chronicle Recommended Book and Philip K. Dick Award finalist, and The Golden Nineties (Bantam), a New York Times Notable Book and New York Public Library Recommended Book.Her most recent speculative novel is CHROME.Mason published her first story, “Arachne,” in Omni and has since published short fiction in magazines and anthologies worldwide, including Omni, Full Spectrum, Universe, Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror, Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, Unique, Transcendental Tales, Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, Immortal Unicorn, Tales of the Impossible, Desire Burn, Fantastic Alice, The Shimmering Door, Hayakawa Science Fiction Magazine, Unter Die Haut, and others. Her thirty-two stories and novelettes have been translated into Chinese, French, German, Italian, Japanese, Portuguese, Spanish, and Swedish.Mason’s story, “Tomorrow’s Child,” first published in Omni Magazine, is in active development at Universal Studios.Lisa Mason lives in the San Francisco Bay area with her husband, the renowned artist and jeweler Tom Robinson. Visit her on the web at Lisa Mason’s Official Website, follow her Official Blog, follow her on Twitter @lisaSmason, or e-mail her at [e-mail].

Book preview

Strange Ladies

7 Stories

Lisa Mason

As the author was mulling over her published short fiction, she discovered seven wildly different stories with one thing in common: a heroine totally unlike her. Mason is the girl next door. She has no idea where these Strange Ladies came from.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2017 by Lisa Mason. Cover copyright 2017 by Lisa Mason.

Colophon copyright 2017 by Tom Robinson.

All rights reserved.

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Bast Books Ebook Edition published June 2013.

Bast Books Author’s Print Edition published November 2017.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Smashwords Edition

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 my hard work

For information address:

Bast Books

[e-mail]

Thank you for your readership! Please visit the author at her Official Web Site for all her books, ebooks, stories, screenplays, blogs, interviews, cute pet pictures, and more.

Lisa Mason

Table of Contents

Praise for Books by Lisa Mason

Strange Ladies: 7 Stories

About Lisa Mason

Books by Lisa Mason

Praise for Books by Lisa Mason

Strange Ladies: 7 Stories

Offers everything you could possibly want, from more traditional science fiction and fantasy tropes to thought-provoking explorations of gender issues and pleasing postmodern humor…This is a must-read collection.

—The San Francisco Review of Books

Lisa Mason might just be the female Phillip K. Dick. Like Dick, Mason's stories are far more than just sci-fi tales, they are brimming with insight into human consciousness and the social condition….a sci-fi collection of excellent quality….you won't want to miss it.

—The Book Brothers Review Blog

Fantastic book of short stories….Recommended.

—Reader Review

"I’m quite impressed, not only by the writing, which gleams and sparkles, but also by [Lisa Mason’s] versatility . . . Mason is a wordsmith . . . her modern take on Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland is a hilarious gem! [This collection] sparkles, whirls, and fizzes. Mason is clearly a writer to follow!"

—Amazing Stories

The Garden of Abracadabra

So refreshing! This is Stephanie Plum in the world of Harry Potter.

—Goodreads

Fun and enjoyable urban fantasy

This is a very entertaining novel—sort of a down-to-earth Harry Potter with a modern adult woman in the lead. Even as Abby has to deal with mundane concerns like college and running the apartment complex she works at, she is surrounded by supernatural elements and mysteries that she is more than capable of taking on. Although this book is just the first in a series, it ties up the first episode while still leaving some story threads for upcoming books. I'm looking forward to finding out more.

—Reader Review

I love the writing style and am hungry for more!

—Goodreads

Summer of Love

A San Francisco Chronicle Recommended Book of the Year

A Philip K. Dick Award Finalist

Remarkable. . . .a whole array of beautifully portrayed characters along the spectrum from outright heroism to villainy. . . .not what you expected of a book with flowers in its hair. . . the intellect on display within these psychedelically packaged pages is clear-sighted, witty, and wise.

—Locus Magazine

A fine novel packed with vivid detail, colorful characters, and genuine insight.

—The Washington Post Book World

Captures the moment perfectly and offers a tantalizing glimpse of its wonderful and terrible consequences.

—The San Francisco Chronicle

Brilliantly crafted. . . .An engrossing tale spun round a very clever concept.

—Katharine Kerr, author of Days of Air and Darkness

"Just imagine The Terminator in love beads, set in the Haight-Ashbury ‘hood of 1967."

—Entertainment Weekly

Mason has an astonishing gift. Her characters almost walk off the page. And the story is as significant as anyone could wish. This book will surely be on the prize ballots.

—Analog

A priority purchase.

—Library Journal

The Gilded Age

A New York Times Notable Book

A New York Public Library Recommended Book

A winning mixture of intelligence and passion.

—The New York Times Book Review

Should both leave the reader wanting more and solidify Mason’s position as one of the most interesting writers in science fiction.

—Publishers Weekly

Rollicking. . .Dazzling. . .Mason’s characters are just as endearing as her world.

—Locus Magazine

Graceful prose. . . A complex and satisfying plot.

—Library Journal

One Day in the Life of Alexa

Incorporates lively prose, past/present time jumps, and the consequences of longevity technology. An absorbing read with an appealing narrator and subtly powerful emotional rhythms.

—Goodreads

Five Stars! Like all the truly great scifi writers, what [Lisa Mason] really writes about is you and me and today and what is really important in life. . . . I enjoyed every word.

—Reader Review

Lisa Mason's character Alexa is not imprisoned in a gulag, but she is caught in the conviction she must continue the life-extending drug regime to stay alive. She tries to make the world a better place for other refugees, but side effects of the drugs limit her. She finds her internal resource that allows her to survive many more days in a much more uplifting manner than poor Ivan Denisovich. Discovering where her strengths [lie] is not depressing but uplifting for this reader.

—Reader Review

Celestial Girl (A Lily Modjeska Mystery)

Passionate Historical Romantic Suspense

5 Stars! I really enjoyed the story and would love to read a sequel! I enjoy living in the 21st century, but this book made me want to visit the Victorian era. The characters were brought to life, a delight to read about. The tasteful sex scenes were very racy….Good Job!

—Reader Review

Strange Ladies: 7 Stories

The Oniomancer

Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine

Ed. Gardner Dozois

Guardian

Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine

Ed. Gardner Dozois

Felicitas

Desire Burn: Women Writing from the Dark Side of Passion

Ed. Janet Berliner (Carroll & Graf)

Stripper

Unique Magazine

Ed. Tamara Sellman

Triad

Universe 2

Ed. Robert Silverberg (Bantam)

Destination

Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction

Ed. Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Transformation and the Postmodern

Identity Crisis

Fantastic Alice, New Stories from Wonderland

Ed. Margaret Weis (Ace)

The Oniomancer

The Chinadoll denies she’s a thief. She swears she’s never stolen anything. She finds things, that’s all. She’s always found things. From street curbs and trash bins and secret city places, things come to her like hungry cats.

She’s delivering a Priority One Hour to some bigwig at the Hyatt Hotel when she finds the cube. Talking heads from the tube, with their techs and camera crews, are swarming all over the lobby. Craning their necks to get a gander at the headline of the hour.

Fame scenes cut no ice with the Chinadoll. Not when she’s hustling down another zip code. The suits check out her fuchsia croptop, fourteen motley hoops banging down her hearwings. Lone Ranger mask drawn in kohl across her peepers. Beat-around black leather, rude girl rags. Security guards glare at her like she just crawled out from under something.

Then there it is: a small object getting kicked around by all those shuffling feet. Tumbling here, tumbling there across the tessellated marble floor. The Chinadoll can empathize.

So she scoops.

It kind of bounces up into her hand, this perfect cube. Size of a medium Rubik’s. Iridescent like mom o’ pearl. Strung from a stud on its crown on a superfine chain with the high, silvery sheen of platinum. It hums. Not a machine hum, but a soft rolling purr-purr.

Little hungry cats. How the Chinadoll loves you.

Quick as a wink, she stashes the cube in her T-shirt pocket. Dashes across the lobby, takes the elevator upstairs, makes the delivery. The bigwig’s got a girlfriend lounging on the bed, so he doesn’t come on to her like some of the drop-offs do.

Down she goes, zooming through the lobby again, and the scene has suddenly gotten weirder. Everybody jazzed, talking in loud, excited chatter. A voice of authority crackling with feedback issues garbled commands. "Nnnn—stay calm, and proceed in an orderly fashion—eeee!"

She doesn’t stick around to find out what’s the hassle.

The cube pokes through her pocket like a Picasso nipple. A Real Find, Chinadoll. Not for nothing is she known as an oniomancer. And she thought she was down on her luck. Knows right away she can’t tell Flash about this. For sure, don’t let Bulldog see it.

Out at the rack, she unlocks her Schwinn.

From inside her pocket, the cube hiccups. The soft little sound of a lost thing that’s been found.

* * *

The Chinadoll came to see finding as a gift, though she didn’t always see it that way. She first discovered finding when she was a sorry little five-year-old named Suki Fong. It’s possible she found things before then. But that’s the first time she remembered the finding.

And what came after.

It was a fresh autumn day with a bit of wind, and Mama had come home from shopping on Grant Avenue. Pink cardboard boxes of dim sum and fried rice dangled from one of her hands, a whole roast chicken swung from the other. Papa was in the living room, watching ninja moves on Channel 60. All Chinatown smelled of Sunday supper.

The kids were in their playground: the sidewalk in front of Yick Sing Meat Market. Ben and Jimmy quarreled over a blue paper dragonfly kite. May and Kim whispered over a pocket mirror and a contraband lipstick May had shoplifted from Three Spirits Pharmacy.

Suki, the youngest of them by some years, sat alone on the curb and sniffed roast chicken. Go away, baby, May had ordered. Jimmy had pushed her. So she scratched in the gutter by herself, hummed lullabies, picked at scraps. From the TV inside came clatter and shrill sounds. She could hear the bloodcurdling scream of some ninja lopping off a demon’s head, made tinny by Papa’s ancient Sony.

With that thin, scratchy scream, the finding feeling came. Empty cup contentment. Waiting but not waiting. Nothing-full.

A crumpled wad, the soft gray-green of a dried herb, skittered past Suki’s toes. She scooped it, smoothed it flat across her knee. She saw small pictures on the crinkled paper strip. There was a tiny old-fashioned car and tinier pedestrians. A grand building with tall columns. On the other side, a curly-haired grandpa who wouldn’t look at her, but that was okay. Suki knew curly-haired grandpas didn’t look at a Chinese girl like her unless they had some evil on their minds.

She smiled. She smiles to this day at that tiny Model T.

From inside the apartment came Mama’s wail. Cheat me! Mr. Yee cheat me! And rent due! I go back! She ran out onto the street, dragon-faced. Stopped short in front of Suki.

Oy! Mama said. What that you got there, girl?

Suki held up her find. Grateful for attention, any attention, from Mama.

She snatched the bill from Suki’s hand. So here my ten dollar. Mr. Yee didn’t cheat me. Where you get this, girl?

I found it, Mama.

Mama jerked Suki up off the curb by her skinny arm and hauled her inside. Suki heard May and Kim giggling.

I say where you get this, girl? Mama demanded,

"I found it, Mama. I found it."

Mama slapped her across the face, one two three times. Suki’s lip stung against her teeth. She tasted shame.

I teach you not to be a liar, Mama said. Youie? Youie? Papa grunted, tore his eyes away from the TV. "This girl, this runt, this accident, she steal money from her own mama. And rent due. You teach her not to steal."

"But I found it, Papa. I found it!"

Mama slapped her again. Papa stood, unbuckled his belt, slid the leather strip from his pant loops. Mama wrestled Suki over the kitchen table, pinned her arms down on the greasy oilcloth. Then Papa lashed the belt across her tiny butt, smack smack smack. Suki couldn’t count how many times.

That’s when she learned not to show or tell.

She would have given up finding, if she’d known how. She didn’t try to do it any more than she’d made Mama forget the birth control on the night five years ago when Papa knocked her up with a fifth child. A pinch-faced, unwanted little Suki.

But not long after her first humiliation, some-thing else tumbled into her hands like the temptation of an evil spirit.

Mama sent her out before dark for cooking oil. It was a lovely cool evening, the breezes scented with coming winter. Lipped with arabesques of light, Cathay House Pagoda shone against the scarlet dusk. Suki skipped down Grant Avenue, filled with the unaccountable joy of childhood.

At the edge of her eye, she saw something. A scrap bounding across the concrete like a wind-blown leaf.

The finding feeling came. A ghost push. Seeing and not seeing.

She scooped.

It was another piece of that velvety green paper. This time a cocky, bushy-haired fellow looked her right in the eye. Andy Jackson. A twenty dollar bill! She could hardly believe it, having only just learned the dark passions such velvety green paper inspired.

She carefully folded the bill, tucked it in her jeans pocket. She brought the cooking oil back to Mama. The next day, she bought herself a bag of candied pineapple rings at Mrs. Lee’s sweetmeat shop, a jade ring at Canton Bazaar, a tiny ivory horse at Shanghai Fine Arts, and one of those polyester bags that passes for embroidered silk, all green and purple chrysanthemums. She kept a dollar ninety-seven in change.

And said nothing to anyone.

But secrets can be hard to keep.

* * *

The streets around the Hyatt are jumping. State-of-siege cha-cha-cha. The wind socks grit in the Chinadoll’s eyes, sending tear tracks down her facepaint. She dodges cop cars, minding business.

Bucks her bike, rolls onto Drumm Street. Hauls out her cell phone, punches up headquarters. The dispatcher at Speedster & Company has her on for one last pickup at 815 Market.

Shoot! She’ll have to pedal her ass eight blocks west on a slow but steady uphill grade. It’s nearly five o’clock in the p.m. and she’s cat-o-nine-tails beat.

For luck, she fishes the cube from her T-shirt pocket, checks it out. The closure on the clasp is out of whack, so the lock won’t lock. No wonder someone lost it. What a cheap piece of trash, this clasp. She can’t imagine securing a chain of such fine links to hold a cube of such rare beauty with a safety catch that isn’t secure and can’t catch onto anything.

She bites the clasp, shaping the metal with her teeth. There you go, baby.

The cube feels warm, tingling, jingling, like a fistful of hot copper.

Not for the first time, the Chinadoll wonders how things of true value can be treated by the world with such disrespect.

* * *

Finding—it was Suki’s pleasure, the search for treasure amid the doldrums of daily life. Just a kid, she stalked the streets alone.

And found things all the time.

Sure, there was junk. She found knuckletop computers the size of a postage stamp. What excuses did the scamps around town tell their lovers when they didn’t message? She found flat plastic rectangles with miniature holograms and necklaces of numbers. How many credit lines got hacked due to lost credit cards? She found Ziploc bags filled with white powder that tasted bitter. What illicit dreams had been abandoned in shadowed alleys?

These things meant nothing to a kid. Just junk.

Some things, though, were truly treasure. She filled soup cans with coins, preferring pennies and dimes. Made a twelve-foot daisy chain out of red and blue rubber bands and paperclips in cool shapes. Stockpiled chewing gum packets and breath mint rolls, hundreds of them perfectly packaged, the safety seals still sealed.

She saw treasure everywhere, the hint of it, the glint of it.

She hid everything in a secret place.

Finding seemed so natural in the free-for-all of the City. Maybe the wrong of it was she got something for nothing. Mama said they had to pay their dues. Papa said they had to work hard. And finding was so easy. Things fell into her hands with no work on her part. No dues paid. That had to be why she couldn’t show or tell.

Too easy. She had to wonder if other people found things, too. Surely they must.

In a bold mood one day, she asked her sister May, "Do you ever, like, find things? You know, on the street?’

What do you mean, Suki? May said sharply.

Bad timing. That afternoon, May had seen that Suki had seen her smoking Marlboros with her boyfriend in Washington Square Park.

Find things on the street? Like some bag lady, some street person, some Vietnamese? You stealing again, Suki? You’re stealing again, you little creep, you spy. Mama!

Mama searched the bedroom Suki shared with her sisters and found her secret place—two Kinney shoeboxes beneath her underwear and socks. Mama