Read Murder in the Collective for Free Online Page B

also, perhaps, what Elena was drawn to.
    We sat down and ordered a pitcher. Fran also asked for a shot of Jim Beam and when she got it, tossed it off in two gulps. Immediately she looked more relaxed.
    “So, do you think it’s all a lost cause?” Elena asked me, chewing on a finger. The air of confidence she’d worn crossing the crowded room had vanished. She watched Fran as if looking for cues.
    “Probably,” I answered as frankly as I dared. “I could see Penny and maybe June coming over to the idea with a certain amount of persuasion—it does make some business sense after all—but not the rest.”
    “But with you and Elena, that’s four, that’s a majority,” said Fran. Her voice, after the bourbon, was husky, confidential, intimate. Her dark-edged light hazel eyes were warm now and she had a droplet of beer in the faint dark moustache over her full, well-formed lips. Her bulk and height gave her a presence that was hard to resist.
    I said, with some stiffness, looking at the glass in my hand, “I haven’t said what I think—that’s the first thing. Second, we don’t decide anything by majority but by consensus. I think it’s important to realize, in the third place, who we’re talking about: a couple of men who feel threatened and three people of color, all of whom have doubts….”
    “We’re not racists,” protested Fran, knocking back her beer and pouring herself another. “And as for the men, I don’t think it would be that much of a problem, if we had separate work spaces. Hell, the typesetting would be separate anyway.”
    “I liked what you said, Pam,” Elena broke in, “about maybe not merging collectives, but sharing some facilities. Maybe that’s the way we should be going.”
    “Margaret and Anna certainly don’t seem too pleased with the idea. Either way, merging or sharing,” I observed.
    “Margaret and Anna can go to hell,” said Fran suddenly, pushing aside her second empty beer glass and calling the waitress over to order a double Jim Beam. Her voice had thickened still more, gone a little slurred. “I’m really getting sick of the way they treat Elena. I’m not going to stand for it much longer.”
    Elena looked at her nervously but laughed and poured herself another beer. “Margaret thinks I tried to become the star of the local lesbian scene. Anna’s suspicious of me for working in a mixed collective. Hadley…” she glanced quickly at Fran. “But we can probably work it out.”
    I said, as gently as I could, “I don’t think they’re going to change their minds somehow—or Jeremy or Zee or Ray either.”
    Elena shrugged, drank, chewed on her finger. “Who knows?”
    The waitress brought Fran’s double. “We’ll take another pitcher,” Fran said. “Here. And keep the change.”
    Fran’s face was flushed and her hazel eyes very bright, a little unfocused. Her voice was losing its intimate growl, becoming belligerent. It was happening very fast. Why didn’t Elena stop her? But Elena was finishing off the first pitcher, pouring them both another beer. I put my hand over my glass.
    Fran said, “I’ve always wondered, how come you don’t have more lesbians in your collective? There are a lot of dyke printers, you know. Dykes go in for printing. I’ve been a printer myself, used to be anyway.”
    I shook my head. I felt the young professional couple at the next table looking at us. “I don’t know.”
    “Don’t give Pam a hard time, Fran,” Elena said. “She could ask you the same kind of question. Where are the women of color in B. Violet?”
    “They’re in short supply,” Fran laughed. “The ones who are out are in big demand. Black lesbians, Asian queers, Chicana dykes, everybody wants one to put in the display case.”
    “I don’t much like that kind of talk,” I said. “Even as a joke.”
    “Sorry,” said Fran with a sneer. “I guess we’ve all got our sensitive spots.”
    I began to make motions to leave. “I’ve got a long day