Shakespeares Trollop Page 0,9

of makeup. Deedra was a virtuoso with foundation, rouge, and eye shadow. She'd had a real gift for it, for using cosmetics to make her look her very best with every outfit she wore. She'd studied the human face and the alterations and illusions a skilled applicator could effect.

I could still see how Deedra had looked as she'd half-turned to tell me what the caller had proposed to do to her; her lower lip a glossy peach and her upper lip bare, her clothes and hair and demeanor just a careful step away from floozy.

"Did she say who she thought he was, the man calling her?"

I shook my head. "Can you check her phone records?" I asked.

"It'll take a while, but we'll get 'em," Marta said.

Her deputy stuck his head into the room. "I've finished searching the bathroom," Emanuel said, his eyes scanning us curiously. "What now?"

"Extra bedroom," the sheriff said. "And bag the sheets on the top of the washer."

His head vanished.

"What about him?" I asked.

"What?" she said, as if she was about to get angry.

"Did he know Deedra?"

Her face changed, then, and I knew she was involved with Clifton Emanuel to some degree.

"I don't know," she said. "But I'll find out."
* * *

Janet Shook aimed a kick at my stomach, and I arched back to dodge it. My hand shot out and gripped her ankle, and then I had her.

"Stop!" called a commanding voice. "Okay, what are you going to do now, Janet?" our sensei continued. He was leaning against the mirrored wall, his arms folded across his chest.

We had frozen in position, Janet balancing easily on one foot, my fingers still circling her ankle. The seated class, looking like a strange nursery school in their loose white gis, studied the problem.

Janet looked grim. "Land on my butt, looks like," she conceded, after a moment's evaluation. I heard a couple of snorts of laughter.

"Lily, what would you do next, now that you're in control of the situation?" Marshall's faintly Asian face gave me no hint of the best answer.

"I'd keep going up on the ankle," I told him, "like so." I lifted Janet's right foot another inch, and the knee of her supporting left leg began to buckle.

Marshall nodded briefly. He faced the other class members. Like the rest of us, Marshall was barefoot and wearing his gi. Its snowy whiteness, broken only by the black belt and the fist patch on his chest, emphasized the ivory of his skin. "How could Janet have avoided this situation?" he asked the motley group sitting against the mirrored wall. "Or having gotten into it, how can she get out?"

Raphael Roundtree, the largest and darkest man in the class, said, "She should've drawn her kick back quicker." I let go of Janet, though Marshall hadn't told me to, because she was beginning to have trouble keeping her balance. Janet looked relieved to have both feet on the floor, and she nodded to me by way of saying thanks.

"She shouldn't have kicked at all," Becca Whitley rebutted.

"What should Janet have done instead?" Marshall asked her, a sweep of his hand inviting Becca to show us. She got up in one fluid movement. Becca often braided her hair for class - and she'd done so tonight - but she didn't lay off the makeup. Her toenails were bright scarlet, which for some reason struck me as improper for karate ... though scarlet toenails didn't seem to bother Marshall, and it was his class.

Marshall Sedaka, our sensei, was also the owner of Body Time, where we were holding the class in the big aerobics room. I'd known Marshall for years. At one time, he'd been more to me than a friend. Now he straightened and moved closer to get a better view.

Janet moved away and Becca took her place, lifting and cocking her leg slowly so everyone could see what she meant to do.

"So," she said, her narrow face intent, "I kick, like so...." Her foot began moving toward my abdomen, as Janet's had. "Then Lily takes a little hop back and her hand reaches for my ankle. That's what she did with Janet."

I obliged, imitating my movements of moments ago.

"But," continued Becca cheerfully, "that was a feint. I snap it back and aim it higher this time." Her leg floated back toward her, bent double at the knee, and lashed out again at my head. Becca was one of the few people in the class who could even attempt a head kick with