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the suit so expensively tailored that it looked casual. “If you’re a drag queen, you’re the best I’ve ever seen.”
    “Ah...” Michael struggled for any reply that would be remotely appropriate.
    “Ms. Lassiter is a business associate, Sarah,” Sloan said smoothly as she wedged herself into the remaining chair at the cramped table, depositing Michael’s drink and her own. She tried to hide her amusement. Michael’s beautiful face showed signs of numb shock. “Sarah is a doctor of Oriental medicine, Michael.”
    “Oh, I see.” Not that she did. But it might explain the slight fragrance of spices that clung to the redhead and the quiet contained expression on her smooth, even features that Michael found oddly companionable. It didn’t explain, though, who Sarah was, or why she was there, or how she knew Sloan.
    But then why should anything about this experience make sense? After all , I’m here, and I’m not entirely certain how that came about. I don’t know these women at all, but I feel comfortable with them. Clearly, the rhyme and reason of it is inconsequential at the moment.
    As if sensing Michael’s thoughts, Sarah laughed and laid her hand briefly on Michael’s arm. “Sloan never has gotten over being cryptic, even when she doesn’t have to be. We met ages ago when we both did a stint in Thailand. I ended up staying behind and studying there. We’ve just recently reconnected since I got back to the States, but you might say we’re best friends.”
    “I see,” Michael repeated, nodding as if that cleared everything up. When she saw the look of discomfort pass over Sloan’s features, darkening her gaze for a moment, she didn’t ask for clarification . She’s certainly entitled to her privacy and her secrets.
    “Then,” Sarah continued as if oblivious to Sloan’s glowering expression, “she invited me to see Jasmine perform, and now I hate to miss one of her shows. Have you seen her in action yet?”
    “No,” Michael answered, seeing no point in adding that she had never in her life seen so many women who might not be women, and how did one tell anyway? Mercifully, the lights went down, signaling the beginning of the show, sparing her from any further response.
    And then she was too engrossed to talk.

    *

    Michael could scarcely remember two hours that she had ever enjoyed more. She wasn’t certain what was more entertaining—the costumes, the music, or the genuinely talented performers. To her amazement, the voices of the half dozen or so female impersonators were marvelous. Throughout the show, she was aware of Sloan beside her, laughing softly at some joke, applauding enthusiastically for every performer, and bending close during breaks in the entertainment to fill her in on some of the background of the Cabaret. Once, she had disappeared for a few moments and returned with a fresh drink for Michael, setting it before her with a warm smile. She was considerate, attentive, and altogether charming. Michael had never met anyone quite like her.
    As the lights came up, Michael found herself pressed against Sloan at the tiny table. The noise level had not abated, and if anything, the raucous crowd had become even more celebratory as the evening progressed. She and Sloan had to lean almost forehead to forehead to hear each other.
    “Well, what did you think?” Sloan inquired, her eyes alight with enjoyment.
    “It was amazing,” Michael replied enthusiastically. “They sound wonderful, and they’re so beautiful to look at. The costumes are gorgeous, too. They remind me of birds of paradise.”
    “The flowers?”
    “Yes.”
    Sloan laughed. “I’ll have to remember to tell Jasmine. She’ll love that.”
    At the sound of Jasmine’s name, Sarah leaned forward to join their conversation. “Jasmine has a wonderful singing voice, don’t you think,” she declared, more a statement than a question.
    “She’s incredible,” Michael agreed.
    Sloan caught the tone of admiration in