Blurbs & Excerpts

“William recognized the piercing hazel eyes of the woman on the other side, but for a few seconds, it wouldn’t quite register. “Haze?” She blinked, apparently just as dumbfounded to find him there. “William? Is that really you?” Turning back to Mike, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Her?” Grinning, Mike pushed past William and held his fist out to her. “What up, Haze?” “You’re not black, Mike.” Haze stepped aside and waved them in. “Mike,” William began carefully. “Let me just make sure we’re all on the same page. We’re here for what we talked about at the pub, not tattoos – right?” “Dude, are we at her studio?” Mike scoffed and looked toward Haze, as if to say, can you believe this fool? But Haze did not look at William as if she thought he were a fool. Her restrained gaze put him at ease as he crossed the threshold into her foyer. “Nowadays I only do this for a select few,” Haze explained, closing and locking the door behind them. “Jimmy and Mike have been loyal customers for years.” “Of both enterprises, apparently,” William observed. "Jimmy and I have single-handedly kept her in business all these years,” Mike quipped. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a one-month wait list at the studio,” she retorted. Fantastical creatures stampeded down her arms from somewhere beneath the short sleeves of her black peasant top. The décolletage above its neckline hinted at more. She had never once removed her eyes from William. “Mike didn’t tell you it was me?” William ventured. “No, he did. You just look... different.” He felt the familiar heat rising to his face, along with his old insecurities around women. Every instinct in his body commanded him to look away, but he forced himself to hold her gaze. She blinked first. “Make yourselves comfortable,” she offered, gesturing toward the couch. She settled herself on the adjacent chair, at right angles to them. Her eyes swept past Mike’s grinning leer in favor of William again. “Haze,” he said. “And all this time I thought it was because of your eyes. Or because you were in Hayes Valley.” She returned his smile, circumspect. “After they tore the freeway down, the yuppies moved in. That’s why I’m in the Mission now.” Her voice still bore traces of her Russian origins. A silver barbell septum piercing adorned her nose. She had deliberately streaked her long, shaggy dark hair and bangs with gray. She reached up with slender fingers to tuck a lock behind her ear, showcasing a scaffold piercing with an arrow-shaped earring. She said, “How is your albatross?” “I followed orders, and kept it out of the sun.” Her features remained Russian-stoic. “Are you ever going to let it out of its cage?”