Chapter One
Tennessee: 1954
Ruby Rose stood rigid, her shoulders bunched. The prison gates swung open too slowly for her liking. She saved her breath, releasing it only when metal scraped against concrete and swung wide.
She wiped her hands against her skirt. Her gray wool suit, with its belted waist and deep pockets, was quite the berries when she first arrived, but now moths had chewed inside the pockets and at the hem. The hair that was once blond, but was now a flat shade of gray, she pushed behind her ear. Her fingers fluttered from hair to her long face, briefly touched the corner of a green eye. Time changes everything, she thought. Now, shallow crevices leached away from the edge of her eyelid, but her skin was still good. Not flawless like before, but still good enough, she hoped. She nodded. Still good enough.
Standing next to her, the Warden, stinking of sweat, pushed a package at her. On the cover, in a tidy hand, was her identity:
Inmate 804376; Parole Date: September 27, 1954.
“Here’s your papers. There’s also a bus ticket.” He inclined his head toward a station wagon parked in front of the gate with Tennessee Prison for Women painted on the side. “Sam’ll drive you to the bus stop.”
She nodded. “Got a smoke?”
The man pulled a Camel cigarette out of his pocket and handed it to her.
She rolled it in her fingers. “And a light?”
Chapter Two
Paris: 1937
Ruby thought that Paris in the spring was the most beautiful place, especially in the Gardens where the trees with their new leaves gave shade to young children and old lovers, but it was winter in Paris and that was a completely different story.
Huddled backstage, Ruby Rose heard wind rattle the rafters, as frigid air made its way in through cracks big enough for rats to slide through, if it pleased them. Ruby shivered and tried to find some warmth in a costume that was just fans and feathers. She stomped across the stage of the Folies-Bergères, her feet falling heavy and rattling boards hastily thrown together.
“Jacques, something has got to be done with this costume.”
“Like what, chérie?”
“I don’t know.” Ruby flipped the feathers. “They aren’t right. If I’m dancing, and they come off in mid-step, everyone in the audience is going to be privy to a view of my ass.”
“And, they will love you for it.”
“I don’t care. They’re not paying enough money to see my ass. If they want that, they can pay more.”
“Your costume is a work of art, and you want me to ‘fix’ it? You break my heart.” He grinned. “Besides, I do not believe they will notice the ass of anyone dancing on the back row.”
“I don’t care what you call it. I won’t wear it like it is.”
“Of course, chérie.” Jacques sighed, waved her off. “Go. Change. I will work on it.”
