by Halle Butler
The golden hour came and Megan and Randy walked to the barbecue. A few times Megan punched Randy in the arm as hard as she could and Randy said, “Don’t you fucking do that. Don’t you fucking do that.”
“Why are you such a fucking asshole all of a sudden?” she asked.
“I’m surprised you can’t think of anything more interesting to say to me than that,” he said.
“I guess my mind is too clouded with disgust.”
“Oh, you’re adorable,” said Randy. “Hey, look, here we are. Hey, have fun tonight.”
“You dick.”
They walked to the backyard through a wooden gate. They walked down a gangway. Megan could hear it before she could see it. That stupid fucking tinkle or twinkle or whatever it is that a party has. That buzz, that hateful buzz. There were grills and Tiki Torches and street lamps back there, and as soon as they were spotted, Tiffany or Kimberly or whoever she was came over and hugged Randy and said how much she loved the website. Great, thought Megan. I hate everyone here. She tried to find the beer, and it didn’t take long. She drank in solitude, like some kind of disgusting shithead. “Doctor, how do you pronounce this l-e-p-r-o-s . . . s . . . y?” Three or four beers she drank just standing by the cooler alone. She tried to think about the movie Sid & Nancy and how cool it was, sometimes, to feel kind of nihilistic and self-destructive and a little “fuck the po-lice” but. “Alas,” she whispered. “Alas, alas, alas.” She lit a cigarette. She’d bought her own cigarettes so she wouldn’t have to be beholden to Randy in any way tonight. She rehearsed announcing that she would be happy to sleep on the couch. A girl she sort of knew from school was looking at her from across the party. The girl walked over.
“I’ll hang out with you for a while if you give me a cigarette,” said the girl.
“Uh, sure,” said Megan. “But the cigarettes are free to you, if that’s what you prefer.”
“No, I’ll hang,” said the girl. She must have been one of those “It’s always good to have a new experience” people.
“I forgot your name,” said Megan.
“It’s Anthea,” said the girl.
Anthea. Oh, right. Anthea.
“You see that guy?” asked Anthea.
“Yeah,” said Megan.
“He can’t see me smoking. He gets pissed when he sees me smoking. But he won’t make a commitment to me, so fuck it, I can still smoke. If he made a commitment to me, I’d consider quitting.”
“Well, you can use me to shield yourself from him if you want.”
“I mean, I’m not a total asshole. I don’t smoke in front of him, not even in my apartment. I never ask to smoke in his car. I’m considerate.”
“Yeah. So, is he dating other people?”
“I don’t know,” said Anthea. “Probably, right?”
“That would seem usual.” Megan sucked on her beer until it was gone, then opened another.
She remembered Anthea from classes they’d had together. Anthea was a few years younger than Megan and would say stuff like “You’re so cool” but would bum cigarettes off of Megan and not really want Megan to say anything. She’d just stand there and talk about fights she was having with her friends and how some certain guy or whatever had slighted her, and Megan would interject awkwardly from time to time. But the awkward interjections didn’t come from a real place of awkwardness, they were a sort of Kabuki awkwardness that amused Megan, so she usually welcomed this girl’s company. Anthea was small and pretty in a weird way (which only made her prettier) and completely oblivious to body language and sarcasm. Either that or she was some kind of genius. Either oblivious or completely aware and playing a game.
Megan surveyed the yard, looking for Amanda.
* * *
• • •
Jillian was at home. She took the last four Tylenols and was singing along to the radio in the kitchen while Crispy and Adam watched TV in the living room. She danced a little, but not much.
* * *
• • •
Amanda was there, talking to Carrie. Whatever, thought Megan.
“It’s, like, the opposite of the problem I had in high school, when I had three consecutive boyfriends and none of them would fuck me.”
“Huh? Sorry, I missed the first part,” said Megan.
“No, it’s just that I’m sleeping with that guy over there and I’m also sleeping with another guy, but neither of them will date me. And I was just saying how that was, like, the opposite of my problem in high school. And it’s just funny how your problems change all the time.”
“Is that really the opposite problem?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Well, I guess, in high school, having sex is a big commitment. It’s something a girl can hold you to. Like, ‘We had sex, you have to keep dating me!’”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I’m just saying your problem hasn’t changed. It’s the same problem. For some reason guys don’t want to commit to you. It’s probably in your personality or something.”
Anthea made a face. “Ugh, what the fuck, you’re right.”
“Sorry,” said Megan. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Hey, man, I don’t give a fuck.” Anthea shifted and drank her beer.
“I mean, it’s like how I have this same problem of being an asshole to everyone all the time,” said Megan.
“Oh, come on, you’re not an asshole,” said Anthea.
Megan wanted to say, “Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you know about me? You have no idea who I am or what I think, so go fuck off.” But then she would have to stand by herself.
* * *
• • •
Randy was still super pissed, and it was like every time he laughed or had a decent time, he was doing it to spite Megan, who he was pretty sure he was going to break up with sooner rather than later after today. God, just look at her over there. She already looked hammered and it was only nine.
* * *
• • •
Amanda kept shooting Megan glances and getting kind of mad that Megan wasn’t coming over to say hello. Wouldn’t that be the big thing to do? Every time they’d ever gotten into a fight, Amanda had been the person to make up, and she wanted proof this time that Megan could be the bigger person. It would be good for Megan to practice some humility. Unless the truth was that Megan didn’t really want to be friends with Amanda, and in that case.
* * *
• • •
“Adam, honey, do you mind if Mommy goes to go and make a phone call?”
Adam shook his head.
* * *
• • •
Megan wondered if maybe she ought to go over and talk to Amanda and Carrie. What would happen if she walked over there and pretended like there was no beef between any of them? Would that be possible? That seemed to be everyone else’s policy. Maybe she could try it.
* * *
• • •
Anthea was talking out her issues with Peter, the guy she was at the party with, and she was wondering if it was better to keep sleeping with him without them dating, or if she should offer him some kind of ultimatum and then (probably) get dumped and then wait around for someone who actually wanted to treat her decently. Learning a little self-respect might be a good thing. She wasn’t so arrogant that she couldn’t admit she didn’t always have the most self-respect. She started nodding.
* * *
• • •
Jillian went into her bedroom and cradled her cell phone in her hands and looked at it and felt chilly because of the AC.
* * *
• • •
“What is your, like, ultimate goal? What would be the one wish you would ask to have granted right now, if you—I mean, if that could actually happen?”
Anthea started laughing.
“No, I don’t mean his penis or his height or anything, I mean enormous,” she indicated this with her hands, spreading her arms wide and moving them in circular sorts of patterns, “to me. Enormous to me. I want to be psychically overwhelmed by a magical sex man.”
Anthea started laughing.
“What about you?” asked Megan.
“I guess I want that, too.”
“Hey, let’s go talk to my friend Amanda over there.”
“All right, I know her.”
* * *
• • •
Randy watched Megan and the girl walk across the lawn toward Amanda and Carrie.
* * *
• • •
Adam was watching some show he didn’t fully understand about the intelligence of dolphins. He knew he wanted to touch one, to ride one, to have a dolphin choose him as a companion. Then he would know for sure what he suspected to be true, that there was something particular about him. To be chosen by a dolphin would confirm that.
* * *
• • •
Crispy’s skin felt brittle for some reason. Sort of staticky, electric. She rubbed her belly slightly on the carpet and chewed on the rawhide bone. The way it liquefied in her mouth was soothing. She was able to mark her progress by comparing the size of the bone to the size of her hands. It was good to have something to do, some kind of activity, even if you didn’t really understand what you were doing or why you were doing it.
* * *
• • •
Amanda noticed, obviously, that Megan was walking up. Why was she with a friend? Who was this poor girl? Didn’t this girl know what it was like to be friends with Megan, and just how fucking horrible that was? Was Megan going to apologize with witnesses around? Amanda prepared herself for anything.
“Hey,” said Megan. “Do you guys know Anthea?”
* * *
• • •
Rats and squirrels frolicked in the alleys and yards respectively. Groups of raccoons walked around, crossing between alleys and streets, using the gangways. A drunk girl and her boyfriend were walking to the grocery store to get more alcohol, and the girl noticed two yellow-green disks and mistook them for dog’s eyes, since they were attached to a head that was peeking out between the bars of a fenced-in yard. She thought the dog would be cute and she would say hi to it like she liked to do when she was drunk. As they got closer to the animal, she saw eight total of those yellow-green disks, realized they were raccoons, enormous raccoons, then screamed.
“Ah!”
“What?!” said her boyfriend. He put his arms around her. “What?”
She crouched down and started laughing hysterically. “Those fucking raccoons! I thought they were dogs, oh my god, they’re so fucking creepy.”
“Let’s cross the street,” said the boyfriend.
“Okay.”
The raccoons watched the couple, perhaps understanding that they’d been laughed at. One of the raccoons belched softly.
* * *
• • •
The wind rustled the leaves, and the trees appreciated the feeling. A bird who was still awake sat on the branch of one of the trees and felt the warm breeze and listened to the sounds of the trees and the cars and smelled all of that freshness, and he inhaled, puffing up his cute little breast, and felt like he might cry, if only he could cry. If he could, he would, but out of an appreciation of beauty and inevitability, not out of sadness.
* * *
• • •
Carrie thought there was something sort of obnoxious about Megan. She’d heard about the fight between her and Amanda, obviously. She’d even heard about the part where Megan was crouched under the porch screaming and crying or whatever. But it was weird, here she was, acting sort of normal. Carrie examined her skeptically.
“Did you guys see the website?” asked Megan. “Randy did it,” she said, pointing to Randy with her thumb. “I think it looks pretty good.”
And now it was easier because everyone was Anthea, and Megan was just riffing.
* * *
• • •
Elena was at home doing some needlepoint in front of the TV when her phone rang. She had the window open a crack and the fresh air filled her living room. Her boys were out, all of them (her husband, too), and she was working on a project that would be hung in the church. Everyone seemed to really like her needlepoint. This pattern was a line of interlocking flower branches surrounding a phrase about togetherness and sweetness and how the two were related and equal in the eyes of God. She was so happy about the way her life was sometimes. She had plenty to feel good about. She assumed the phone call would be her husband, and she felt so good she thought she would ask him to pick her up a treat from the store. Maybe a pie or ice cream, she wasn’t sure what she wanted. She slipped the needle into her work, set it aside, and reached for the cordless.
* * *
• • •
“How’s it going, Carrie?” Megan asked. She smiled. “How was your thirty-under-thirty interview?”
“It went pretty well. Everyone looks great in their photos. So, so pretty. I’m really excited to see the layout.”
“You do design, right? Is that what you went to school for?” asked Megan. “For design?”
“Yeah, that and writing, painting, and photography.”
“That’s cool, like a mixed major. I bet that’s really useful,” said Megan.
* * *
• • •
“Hello,” said Elena.
“Hello,” said Jillian, but she said it in a hilarious, gruff Batman voice.
* * *
• • •
Megan’s behavior made Amanda uncomfortable. Does she have a gun? Are we all about to die?
* * *
• • •
Jillian had a case of the giggles all night, and had to go into the bathroom twice just so Adam would stop asking her what was so funny. What was so funny was, for some reason, she’d decided to demand that Elena give her hundreds of dollars. Jillian believed in the power of Christ and she had promised earlier that she would trust in any idea He gave to her, and this was His idea. When she thought about it, she would laugh, then moan, then feel like she was going to puke, then feel nervous, then feel nothing. Then a few minutes later, the cycle would repeat. Similar to the feeling she’d had before she called Adam’s dad. Like dread, but also inevitability.
* * *
• • •
“Yeah, it has been pretty useful,” said Carrie.
“Do you have a preference between film and digital photography?” Megan asked.
“Well, I really love developing film and making prints in the darkroom. That was a lot of fun in school. But, for work, it’s easier to use a digital camera. At first we used digital offset plates, which you just print out from a computer, rather than developing, and now we don’t even use an offset printer. We just have a nice printer. If I used film, I’d have to print it, then scan it, then print it again, so . . . The pictures I get from a digital camera with a nice lens are great. And you can, of course, always manipulate the . . .”
Anthea was looking around, bored.
* * *
• • •
“Who is this? Can I help you?” asked Elena.
“This is Jillian,” she said, still using the voice. “Jillian Bradley.”
“Jillian, why are you talking like that?”
Jillian cleared her throat, opened her eyes and mouth as wide as she could, and then called on the power of God. “Sorry,” she said in her normal voice.
* * *
• • •
It looked like Megan was smiling while she w
as talking to Carrie. Randy was watching her and felt nervous and noticed that Amanda looked nervous. But she probably just looked nervous because she and Megan hadn’t made up yet. Probably.
* * *
• • •
“Jillian, what do you want?”
“It’s not about what I want, it’s about what I need. I know what you think of me. I’m not completely oblivious.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Elena.
“Yes you do, okay? So let’s just get that straight. I need you to give me eight hundred dollars for Adam’s day care, and so that is what you are going to do. I need eight hundred dollars from you.”
“Jillian, I’m not going to give you eight hundred dollars. That’s absurd. If anything, you owe me one hundred dollars for all the gas I’ve been using getting your son off to day care, plus a little extra for my wasted time.”
“You shriveled, heartless little bitch, you will give me eight hundred dollars or I will go through with it.”
“Go through with what? You don’t have the guts to do anything to me. You’re weak and you’re too much of an idiot to come up with a way to hurt me. Jesus, Jillian, what are you thinking?”
“Okay, I’m telling, then.”
“Telling who?”
Jillian grinned and giggled, then whispered “God.”
She continued to giggle and whisper things that were not words. She drew herself up into a ball.
* * *
• • •
Megan said a few things that made Carrie laugh and they were getting along fairly well.