Read The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year-Volume Four for Free Online Page B

kneeling before the bench.
    "Cookie? Cookie, don't cry."
    "Susana," she said, still turned away.
    "What?"
    "Susana. It's my real name. Susana Herrera." She turned to Cody, and her face was fierce. "I am Susana Herrera. I'm a dancer, I'm not a whore, and I want to know what you've done to me."
    "What I've . . . ?"
    "I dance. I tease, I hint. It makes you feel good, you give me money, which makes me feel good. Sometimes I give a lapdance, but always by the rules: hands on the armrest, clothes on, a little bump and grind, because I need the extra tips. I dance, you pay. It's my job. But this, this isn't a job! I don't know what it is. It's crazy. I let you—" Her cheeks darkened. "And I would do it again, for no money. For nothing. It's crazy. I feel . . . It's like . . . I don't even know how to say it! I want to talk to you, listen to you talk about your business. I want to see your house. I didn't sleep last night. I thought about you: your smile, your hands, how strong it made me feel to give you pleasure, how warm I felt when you wrapped your arms around me. And I'm afraid."
    "Me too," Cody said, and she was, very, because she was beginning to get an idea what was wrong with them and it felt like a very bad joke.
    "You're not afraid." Susana folded her arms, turned her face again.
    "I am. Cook—Susana, do you suppose . . . Shit. I feel ridiculous even saying this. Look at me. Please. Thank you. Do you suppose this is what I—"
    She couldn't say it. She didn't believe it.
    After a very long pause, Susana said, "Dancers don't fall in love with the marks."
    That cut. "Marks don't fall in love with whores."
    "I'm not a—"
    "Neither am I."
    They stared at each other. Cody's phone rang. She thumbed it off without looking. "My full name is Candice Marcinko. I have to fly back to San Francisco this afternoon but I could come back to Atlanta at the end of the week. We could, you know, talk, go to the movies, walk in the park." Jesus, had she left any stereotype unturned? She tried again. "I want to meet your, your cat."
    "I don't have a cat."
    "Or your dog," she said. Stop babbling. But she couldn't. "I want to learn how long you've lived in Atlanta and what kind of food you like and whether you think the Braves will win tonight and how you feel when you sleep in my arms." She felt like an idiot.
    Susana looked at her for a while, then picked up the box at her side. "Do you like Krispy Kreme?"
     
    When Cody turned her phone on again at the airport, there was a message from Richard: Call me, it's important . But she had to run for her plane.
    In the air she leaned her head against the window and listened to the drone of the engines.
    Susana, sitting on the bench while the sun went down, thinking, Love, love is for rich people .
    A cream labrador runs by, head turned to watch its owner, running alongside. Its tongue lolls, happy and pink. Dogs love. Dogs are owned .
    She tears the last three doughnuts to pieces and throws them to the ducks.
     
    On Thursday, Vince and the executive team toasted her with champagne. She took the opportunity to ask for Friday and two days next week off. Vince couldn't say no without looking chintzy, so he told her VPs didn't have to ask permission.
    VP. She grinned hard and for a minute she felt almost normal. VP. Top dog.
     
    Friday morning she had just got out of the shower when the doorbell rang. She was so surprised she barely remembered to pull on a robe before she opened the door.
    "Well, that's a sight for sore eyes."
    "Richard!"
    "Not that I don't appreciate the gesture but could you please tighten that belt, at least until we've had coffee? Here you go, quad grande, two percent."
    She went to get dressed. When she emerged, drying her hair with a towel, he was sitting comfortably on the couch, ankle crossed at the knee, just like Susana in the park.
    "I envy you that dyke rub-and-go convenience."
    She draped the towel round her neck, sat, and sipped the latte. "To paraphrase you,