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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.