She caught Jo’s suddenly intense gaze, and her smile faltered. “Jo? What’s the matter?”
“You referred to money as dinars earlier. And now you use the term chobos.” Jo walked to Becca slowly. “Chobos were a weapon utilized by an ancient Amazon clan. But only an Amazon clan portrayed by a late nineties television series. The term chobos does not exist outside this particular television series.”
Jo had reached her, and her eyes still held that strange light. Becca realized why the light seemed strange to her. Jo looked happy. She reached out and clasped the chobos gently, her hands between Becca’s.
“Becca,” Jo said softly. “You’re a Xena fan.”
Chapter Seven
‘Sin Trade.’ We could be watching ‘Adventures in the Sin Trade’ instead of this.” Marty pelted another handful of popcorn at the curved glass screen of the old television. “‘Bitter Suite,’ we could be watching. Or ‘Destiny’!”
Khadijah made a rude buzzer noise, emitting a genteel spray of popcorn, never taking her eyes from the flickering screen. “No way, baby, we’re not watching ‘Destiny.’ No episodes where Xena dies, uh-uh.”
“That limits our choices. A lot.” Becca was curled beside Khadijah on the living room floor. “Xena died at least once a season. So we can’t watch ‘The Quest.’ Or ‘Greater Good.’ Or ‘Friends in Need.’ Or ‘Ides of—”
“No ‘Ides of March.’” Jo laid down the law. “Gabrielle also dies in ‘Ides of March.’ Absolutely not.”
She had never been able to abide watching Xena’s young blond sidekick suffer so much as a parchment cut. They could kill off the Warrior Princess weekly without ruffling Jo’s feathers, but Gabrielle could not be touched. Music trickled from the ancient TV, and she straightened. “Ah. This is why we’re watching this one.”
A few moments later, Khadijah sat back on a deep pillow and sighed happily. “Oh, my. Would you looky here at lil’ Miss O’Connor.”
Jo assumed O’Connor was the name of the actress who played Gabrielle, but the people behind the series had never held much interest for her. It was the characters who were compelling to her, the relationship. She watched Gabrielle dance slowly among a throng of painted revelers, brushing her hand lightly across her bare waist. A sweeter portrayal of a young woman’s sensual awakening didn’t exist in popular culture, elitism be damned.
“Gabrielle’s not so little, from here on in.” Marty got it at once, which pleased Jo. “This is the first episode where she stops coming on like a pesky girl brat, and starts moving like a woo-man.”
“Martha darlin’, you know I cherish you.” Khadijah smiled dreamily at the screen. “But if that buxom little bard ever wants to dance into my bed, you’re sleeping in the yard.”
“Okay.”
“Will you two shut up and let the cute little woo-man dance?” Becca crammed more popcorn in her mouth, her eyes sparkling.
It was their second night in the house, and Becca seemed more relaxed than she had in days. That faint line between her brows was fading, despite the location and the lateness of the hour. Time with her friends was helping.
Unless she counted the nights she had worked sleepless in laboratories with colleagues, Jo had never attended a slumber party. Tonight was taking on the tone of one. Apparently, Marty and Khadijah had brought over the entirety of the Xena series, and they were on their third episode. No one showed any evidence of tiring, either of the stories they loved or the company. Including Jo, which surprised her.
Jo had indulged in one pop culture celebration in her life, and it was this series. She had never shared her affection for it with anyone. There were national gatherings of Xena fans, but conferences were not Jo’s thing, unless she was presenting at science or paranormal symposiums. But the way Becca’s face had lit up as they stood together last night, holding those sticks between them, this party was all but inevitable.
Tonight, for the first time, Jo could see this living room as a place a family would gather, rather than a room adjacent to a murder scene. Lit only by the colorful light of the old TV left by previous tenants, there was no sense of gloominess in the large space. They were lounging on the floor before the TV, Becca and her friends laughing frequently, decades vanishing from their faces as they watched. It was a cozy scene, but as the dance music faded, Jo felt the beginnings of restlessness at last.
She got to her feet quietly and stepped around Marty’s long legs, not wanting to interrupt their friendly but rather incessant chatter. The readings on the Spiricom needed regular monitoring, and she wanted to check the tuning of the radios in the room.
“I apologize for my earlier scorn, Doc. I’m ready to salute your taste in Xena eps.” Marty lifted her bottle of pop to Jo. “Your taste in Xena episodes is now your most redeeming feature.”
“My only one so far, I’m sure.” Jo considered even partial redemption with these friends a positive development. She hadn’t failed miserably at the Rose, but she hadn’t made the best first impression, either. She wanted to keep her promise to Becca to do better.
“All right, what’s next?” Khadijah squirmed closer to the box of disks. “Are we wanting blood and guts? Comedy? Jo, prove you’re on a roll now. You pick.”
“Anything that focuses on the bond.” Jo bent over the Spiricom, adjusting its frequency minutely.
“Heavy on the subtext between X and G?” Marty brushed her palms together. “Hot dog. More rated-PG erotica for little Marty. I’ll take it.”
“No, not the sexual subtext, necessarily, the friendship. Their love for each other.” Jo was satisfied the Spiricom was scanning well. She glanced up and caught Becca’s gaze, unexpectedly still and searching. With that new and strange familiarity, Jo could read her thoughts, the question in her mind. She spoke to Becca as if they were alone in the room. “I may not be very good at such things, that depth of friendship. I may not be able to paint a masterpiece, either. But I can still stand in front of one and appreciate its beauty.”
Becca smiled at her, and Khadijah looked at them both and raised a sculpted eyebrow. Luckily, Marty was distracted by something she found on the coffee table.
“Hey, don’t forget to check this one, Jo.” She picked up the sound recorder Jo had last used at that unsavory dinner party the night before, and extended it toward her. There was a muted click, and Mitchell Healy’s curt voice crackled into the room. “I believe Rachel has explained all that, Joanne.”
“Whoops.” Marty tried to turn the recorder off.
Jo bit back an impatient command. “It’s all right. Here, I can take it.”
“Tragedies happen in families afflicted with mental illness. It’s a fact of life.” Mitchell’s voice continued from the small speakers. “Pat and I see it every day in our work, and we both deal with the carnage that kind of sickness leaves in its wake.”
“Either find the off button on that thing or let me whack it with a chobo.” Becca tossed a small pillow at Marty. Her tone was light, but she wasn’t smiling anymore. “It was bad enough sitting through all that the first time.”