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The black woman smiled. “Joan,” she said. “I want you to call
me ‘Queen.’ Joan just looked at her stupidly, wishing the pain
in her bladder would go away — at least until a less
inconvenient time presented itself. A black queen? “How fitting
for this dirty little chess board,” she thought in fearful anger.

“Ah saw you lookin’ mah way,” Queen continued, slowly removing
the short, dark jacket she’d been wearing. Even in this dim
light, Joan could see the rippling, well-defined muscles of her
arms, clearly revealed by the tight tank top the other woman
wore. “When you smiled back and then came here, I knew whatchu
wanted.” Queen had been moving forward slowly as she’d been
talking and was now only a few inches away. Joan stared at Queen
like a deer gazing at the oncoming headlights of a speeding
truck.

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She heard the soft sound of a door opening. She looked up to see
the black woman pushing the bolt lock into place. Joan’s mind
froze. She’d never expected anyone else to enter the room — it
was a BATHROOM for God’s sake!

The black woman’s voice was smooth and confident. “Hey baby, you
don’ waste any time, do you.” It was a statement, not a
question. “What’s your name, shugah?”

Joan’s ribcage felt too small for her lungs. “The door had a
lock! I should have used the lock!” The pressure in her bladder
was evolving into an actual pain. “Not now,” she tried to will
the feeling away. She looked at the intruder again, summoning
her strength for a possible confrontation