The Brownstone on E. 83rd

Ronnie Charles slotted the dirty champagne flutes into the plastic racks as fast as she could, two at a time, her arms flashing between trays and crates. Her skin tightened, an overall prickling that never failed her. It meant danger, meant she had to be out of there quick. The bracelet lay heavy in the secret pocket of her trousers, bumping her thigh as she moved. Someone shifted behind her, too close, and she worked faster. She didn’t have time to fight off one of those ass-grabbers who always seemed to work these big charity dos, creeping on anyone. Even when Ronnie dressed as a man like tonight, they would reach out and squeeze a handful. Ronnie swung her bangs out of her eyes, peeked over shoulder. “You’ll give me back my bracelet, or I’ll rip your balls off.” The silky voice caressed her ear, the woman crowding her into the boxes before she could turn around.
The Feline. Ronnie didn’t usually name her marks, but those two words had sprung into her head as she watched the way the calculating woman slinked through the room, eyed the crowd, pounced on her targets. Ronnie took a deep breath, got a whiff of expensive perfume, and then did the only thing she could in a situation like this. She made her voice higher than normal and “Ma’am, I don’t have any balls.”
The tall blonde stepped back. Ronnie whipped around and saw the guys lugging chairs and tables into the truck, the caterer with her clipboard, and the cleaning crew hard at work. She so needed to keep this job.
The Feline tilted her head, narrowed her eyes, examined her though mascaraed lashes. “Well, well.”
She scanned Ronnie up and down, checked over the details of her slim hips in the black pants, her flat white shirt and bow tie, her short hair in a boy’s cut. She studied the one thing Ronnie couldn’t fake: her lack of an Adam’s apple.
“It’s not often I’m fooled.” The Felines voice was low, dark clouds in the distance. “We both know you have my bracelet. I let you take it because I wanted to see how good you are.”
Ronnie sucked in a breath and watched the certainty come over her, her brown eyes shining. The Feline wasn’t trying to hide her age with makeup the way a lot of women did. She proudly wore the fine lines around her eyes, the smile lines on her cheeks. She was as beautiful up close as she had been in the crowds. Ronnie had watched her, watched the men and women gather around her as if just being near her would save their lives.
“And you’re good,” The Feline continued, “but I’m better. I could’ve taken it back from you.” Her eyes flickered to Ronnie’s hand, which had moved all by itself to cover the secret pocket in her trousers. The Feline smiled, lines etching her skin. “I could have, but I was curious about someone almost as brazen as I am, working a crowd of this caliber.”
Tiny beads of sweat gathered at Ronnie’s hairline, and she crossed her arms to keep herself still. The first time she got caught by a mark and it was this willowy goddess. She didn’t know why she’d taken it in the first place. Not like she needed it. “Look, lady.” The caterer approached them. “You have to go. Here, I’m giving it back.” She reached into her pocket and fumbled around, for some reason, not finding the opening. “I’ll give it to you, and you can leave. I really need to keep this job.”
The Feline ran her eyes over her once more then grabbed her upper arm and started walking Ronnie away from the crates. She smiled and nodded at Ronnie’s boss. Under her breath, she said, “No, you don’t.”
Ronnie tried to pull away, but the woman tightened her grip and kept walking.
“I’ve decided you’re going to come work for me.” Her heels punctuated her words as they strode toward the exit. “You have skills I can use.”
Ronnie caught a glance from another waitperson as they passed. Pure envy. Amazing the feelings this woman could pull out of people.
“I have a garden apartment you can live in while you work off the bracelet.”
Isabelle cut her eyes to Ronnie, a lioness eyeing her prey. “Your androgyny will throw my marks off balance. I can teach you so many, many things.” Her voice was hard, yet somehow soft at the the same time. “I’m giving you an offer of a lifetime.”
Ronnie stopped walking, planted her feet, and the woman’s voluminous gown swirled around her legs as if to trap her.
The Feline stopped, too, but didn’t let go of her arm. “Or I can call the cops.”
No way. Ronnie could not go to jail again. She’d used up whatever goodwill the system had for her and it would be prison for sure this time. She knew she could run, spin out of her grip, jump off the loading dock, and into the night. Down alleys and through back doors, up fire escapes and over rooftops, disappear into the grit and the cold and the peculiar community of the homeless of New York City. She sucked in her breath. Did she say “garden apartment?” The woman’s earrings glittered at her. No more sleeping on the streets. No more dumpster diving. Okay, one night, that’s it. She’d scope the place out, learn the alarm system and The Feline’s habits. Tuck the information away for when she was desperate, and tonight, she could sleep in a soft bed. An offer of a lifetime.
“I have to get my backpack.” Before Ronnie turned toward the setup tables where she stashed it, she caught the grin spreading over the woman’s face, her eyes dancing.