“Anyhoo,” Janice continued, “it wouldn’t be a true BRB get-together without someone dolin’ out a dare, and someone else having to fulfill it. Tonight’s a little different, since we’re straying from format to go see Zozobra instead of sticking around the clubhouse all night, but I still say we ought to let Sera have a shot at it. What do you gals think?”
Chants of “Dare! Dare! Dare!” ricocheted through the room.
Sera could feel herself stiffening up; wanting to retreat. This felt like too much attention, too much pressure from too many strangers. Her gaze automatically sought out the nearest exit. But then a wave of unaccustomed calm washed over her. This wasn’t high school, or one of Blake Austin’s premeditated humiliations. This was all just good fun, with good people who clearly harbored only good intentions. And hey, they were giving her the opportunity to dish it out, which meant she didn’t have to take it—not just yet anyway. You came here to try new things, to open yourself up, she reminded herself. Go ahead, Sera, live a little.
“You want me to dare someone? Right now?” She plunked her hands on her hips, surveying the women.
“C’mon, Sera, show us what you got!”
Inspiration struck. As did the urge to giggle. “Well, I don’t really know most of you well enough to venture a dare, but there is one I have in mind.” A sly grin spread across her face, and the women cheered.
“Lay it on us!”
“Yeah, Sera, go for it!”
Sera held up a finger. “Just a sec, I’ll be right back.” And she headed right back—to the back room. It didn’t take her but a moment to find what she needed. She tuned out the various rubber, latex, and realistic “vix-skin” toys, her eyes seeking humble steel (well, fur-augmented humble steel). She grabbed what she sought off a peg on the wall and hustled back to her new pals, who waited anxiously for her reveal.
“This one’s for my aunt. Pauline,” she beckoned with a grin. “Come on down.” Jangling like a tambourine, Pauline sashayed forward to her niece. Her mien plainly said, “Oh, please, you can’t fluster me. I was sexually liberated before you were a zygote.” Sera took her hand, holding it up for the BRBs to see as if she were a referee proclaiming Pauline the victor in a prize fight. In a way, she was a referee, Sera thought, biting her cheek as she drew out her moment with unaccustomed showmanship. Hey! she marveled, This is actually pretty fun! “Hortencia, you’re next. Get up here.”
Hortencia looked as if she might refuse to come forward. “Dear, are you sure you’ve got the hang of the rules?” she prevaricated. “I’m sure it says somewhere that you can only dare one person at a time, and—”
“Horse hockey, Hortencia!” shouted Lou-Ellen. “There’s nothing in the rules that says she can’t dare two for the price of one. You’re just chicken shit.”
“Bwock, bwock, bocka-bocka-bwwwwwock!”
The Back Room Babes were convulsed with laughter. Kombucha and margarita mix sloshed over the lips of cups, and howls of hilarity hit the rafters. Sera herself was bubbling over with mirth. “C’mon, Hortencia. Show a little spine. I know you’ve had a tough day, being raised from the dead and all, but I promise this won’t hurt.”
“Oh, very well, if it’ll stop you ladies from going any more loco than you already have…” Hortencia stepped forward. Sera took hold of her soft, crepe-skinned wrist, holding it close to Pauline’s with one hand.
And with the other, clamped pink, faux-fur-trimmed handcuffs around both of them.
Pauline and Hortencia sent up instant squawks of protest, tugging at their wrists but finding themselves unbreakably bound together.
“Serafina Bliss Wilde!” shouted Pauline. “Unlock us this instant!” She tried for a stern, authoritarian stance, but the sombrero and belly-dancing outfit rather undercut her efforts. With a pang, Sera read a trace of real panic in her aunt’s eyes. Yet even as she second-guessed herself for her impulsive act, Sera noticed Hortencia was biting back a reluctant smile, and she was reassured she was doing the right thing. The wink Hortencia sent sidelong in her direction further reassured her.
“These dares are supposed to be for the person’s own good, right? Help you with your hang-ups and whatnot? Well, it looks to me like you two ladies have got one hell of a hang-up you need to hash out, and you don’t show any signs of doing it on your own. Maybe this will give you the opportunity—and proximity—you need. Come see me for the key at the end of the night if you still want to be separated,” said Sera, grinning fit to crack her face.
“Now, who’s going to tell me about this Zozobra thing?”
Chapter Ten
Where are we going again?” Sera asked Aruni. The Back Room Babes formed a noisy procession, strolling, staggering, and skipping down Santa Fe’s sidewalks in the gathering gloom. They seemed to be heading north of the main tourist destinations, and as they walked, they slid into the slipstream of hundreds of other celebrants, citizens and tourists alike, festively dressed and visibly excited. Despite her request, no one had come forward with any information about the festival with the oddball name, and Sera wished she’d had the foresight to Google it before she came out tonight.
Aruni relented, but just a tad. “We’re headed up to Fort Marcy Park for the burning,” she said, chuckling at her own cryptic comment. “Then after he’s toast, we’ll be coming back to the plaza to eat and drink and dance the night away. Well, some of us will be drinking. Not me, though—pollutes the body, and besides, I want to save room for Frito pie!” She laughed at her own hypocrisy, and Sera spared a moment of gratitude that she wouldn’t be the only one abstaining from alcohol this evening. “You got back just in time, girl,” Aruni continued. “Tonight’s not only Zozobra, it’s also the first night of Fiesta. This town’s been throwing itself a weekend-long party every September since 1712, if you can believe it. I’m told it’s the oldest citywide celebration in North America. The whole city will be dancing and singing and stuffing their faces all night long!”
Aruni did a little jig, thrusting her arms skyward and twirling in a circle, unable to contain herself. But about this “burning” business, she would say no more, insisting Sera would have more fun if she waited until they got there to witness the event with unspoiled eyes. Jesus, Sera thought. This town is like dry tinder. I hope, whatever’s burning, it’s far away from any buildings or loose brush.
They’d started out heading down West Marcy Street, just a block from where their little placita nestled, first turning onto Washington Avenue, which was one of Santa Fe’s wider thoroughfares, then crossing Paseo de Peralta, where the hideous pink erection that was the Scottish Rite Temple (according to Aruni, owned and operated by a local Masonic sect) loomed over the neighborhood like a Pepto Bismol–colored cry for help. They soon passed the turnoff for Artist Road, where Pauline’s house stood, and past which the ski basin opened up, though Sera had yet to visit it. As they walked, more and more people joined the procession, some holding flashlights, others drinking surreptitiously from concealed containers. Many families carried blankets and picnic baskets. With the crowd swelling and spilling onto the streets, it was impossible to take one’s car out tonight, which pleased Sera’s Manhattan sensibilities. She loved to walk, even if the thin air here did steal her breath.
Or perhaps it was the enchantment of the evening that was making her light-headed. Along the adobe outer walls of big hotels, museums, fancy restaurants, and modest homes alike, little brown paper bags lit from within by tea candles—farolitas, according to Aruni—added atmosphere along with twinkling light. Chile ristras—mostly deep red, but some with yellow or green dried peppers mixed in—hung from the patios, door frames, and fences of many buildings, a ubiquitous decorative accent here in New Mexico, though still foreign to Sera’s eyes. Flags featuring Spanish heraldry from what must have been colonial days flapped in the light autumn breeze. Yet decked out as the city was in her festive best, her citizens shone brighter still.