Suicide Notes from Beautiful Girls

by Lynn Weingarten

  “Daaamn.”

  “Yup.” The first one snorts. “Thanks so much for backing me up.”

  “Well, you’re the one who brought the vodka up to them. What did you think they were going to do, make you a martini?”

  These are the guys from last night.

  I walk faster, fall in with their steps. “Hey.”

  They turn toward me. One of them smiles slightly, looks me quickly up and down, the way guys do. I can feel my hair blowing around my face. I’ve never thought I looked like very much—average height, kind of curvy, eye-shaped eyes, nose-shaped nose, dark blond hair that falls right below my chin.

  Delia always insisted I was hotter than I realized. “Everyone else who looks at you sees something you don’t” is what she used to tell me. But she was the type of person who would say that anyway, would actually think it anyway, because she loved you. Only, maybe these guys are seeing something now—I can tell by the way they’re looking at me, smiling slightly. They’re glad I’m there until I say, “You’re Delia’s friends.” And then all of their expressions change.

  They start walking a little faster. I keep their pace.

  “I saw you last night,” I say.

  “Oh?” says the tallest one. He stops then and looks right at me. “What’s up?”

  He has dark hair gathered into a topknot, smooth cheekbones, a strong jaw, and full lips. Up close I get a sour whiff of last night’s alcohol seeping through skin. I remember them down there, drinking, laughing.

  “Tigger?” I say, in case he’s one of them.

  They’re all silent for a moment. “What’s that?” Topknot asks.

  I pause. “I’m looking for Tigger.”

  “Bouncing, bouncing, bouncing, bouncing?” Topknot says slowly. “Fun fun funfunfun?”

  “Check Pooh’s corner,” says one of the others, grinning. This one is scruffy-faced, with a black wool hat pulled down low. He smiles.

  I grit my teeth and force myself to smile back.

  “I’m looking for Tigger the person,” I say. “I thought you might know him.”

  Scruffy and Topknot glance at each other.

  “Nope, don’t think so,” Scruffy says. But he’s lying. His voice is gravelly and low. I recognize it. He’s the one who said Delia was trouble.

  I feel my palms begin to sweat. I have an idea. “I need a hookup,” I say. “Delia was always the one who went to him, for both of us. And I don’t know where else to go now. I need a little . . .” I pause. “Help.”

  They stare at me, wary, all of them.

  I reach into my pocket. There’s a folded twenty I keep in there for emergencies. I pull it out and thrust it forward. “For your trouble,” I say.

  Top Knot and Scruffy exchange another look, and I know this was the wrong move. Now they’re even warier. “Sorry, can’t help you,” Scruffy says. “Have a good day.” Scruffy and Top Knot turn and keep walking.

  But the shorter one, he hesitates. He is broader than the other two, and his face looks softer, younger. Maybe he can hear in my voice how desperate I am. Maybe he really needs the money. He looks back at his friends, who have realized he isn’t with them and have stopped a few feet away. They’re watching him. He reaches out and takes the bill.

  “Listen,” he says softly. He dips his hand into his black canvas messenger bag and pulls out a chewed-up pencil and little green notebook. There’s a tiny sticker on the cover, a fluffy chick with a parasol. He opens the notebook and starts to write. “There’s a party tonight at his house. If you need something, you can get it then.” He looks me in the eye. “But you probably shouldn’t mention Delia.”

  I force myself to breathe slowly, to try to keep my voice from shaking. “Why’s that?”

  “They weren’t always on the best terms.”

  “Oh, really,” I say. “Delia never mentioned . . .”

  The guy shrugs. “I don’t really know the deal. I think she might have stolen something from him, not too long ago? All I’m saying is if you drop her name, he might try to jack up the price. He can be a dick like that.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “Don’t tell Tig I told you that. Or about the party either, actually.”

  “No problem,” I say. And then, “I don’t even know who you are.”

  He bites his lip as he hands me the folded-up notebook paper. There on the back of his wrist, where a watch would be, is something I’ve seen before, something I remember from a night with Delia a long time ago—an infinity sign inked in black. I remember when this tattoo was fresh, and I first saw it by a bonfire. I remember how scared I was then, that fear a very different fear than what I’m feeling now. Warmth spreads across my cheeks. When I look up, he is staring.

  “No,” Infinity says. He looks me straight in the eye and smiles ever so slightly. Does he remember? “I guess you don’t.”

  I unfold the paper. There’s the address—Pinegrove Industrial Park, Building 7. And there’s my folded-up twenty.

  “It’s in Macktin, down by the water,” he says.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Infinity nods. “Good luck.” He turns to walk away, then stops and turns back. “Be careful. Tig . . . isn’t always the nicest guy.”

  “I can handle it,” I say. And I shrug, more confident than I feel.

  He gives me a half wave and goes back to his friends. I start the long cold trek back to my car.

  What the hell had Delia gotten herself into?

  Chapter 9

  2 years, 4 months, 17 days earlier

  Delia and June lay on their backs on the grass, fingers intertwined between them, staring up at the big blank sky.

  “Imagine floating off into that,” Delia said. Her voice sounded dreamy and wistful, the way it did when she was fucked up, which she currently was.

  “If I ever get the chance to go to space,” Delia went on, “I’m definitely going.”

  June laughed. But she closed her eyes. She didn’t even want to look at it.

  “I’m serious. I’d do it in a second. Everything down here is meaningless . . .”

  June wasn’t high like Delia. She was sober as usual. She hated the idea of so much emptiness, above them, around them, everywhere.

  “. . . but nothing bad has happened out there yet.” Delia finished. “It’s all brand-new.” Delia inhaled deeply like she was sucking in the sky. “And if I go, you’re coming with me.”

  Without even meaning to, June inhaled also. She felt Delia’s feelings curling into her body with her breath.

  And when June opened her eyes again, she saw only soft velvet blackness, endless possibilities. It was beautiful.

  Chapter 10

  It’s nighttime again and I’m alone, driving down the dusty streets in Macktin, where I’ve never been before. It’s a strange and uninhabited place full of sprawling industrial buildings, mostly deserted.

  I pull into a parking lot. The building next to it looks like a prison. The fear I’ve been trying to squelch starts bubbling up again. I can take care of myself, but I’m not an idiot. Maybe this isn’t really the place, and Infinity was messing with me. Maybe I should have asked Ryan to come too. Or even told him where I was going.

  Except I couldn’t. I get out of the car and remind myself that telling him would have just made him worry. Earlier this afternoon I brought up the idea that someone might have done something to Delia. Ryan shook his head, worry lines between his eyes. “The whole thing is really, really sad, but that doesn’t mean there’s a mystery here,” he said. He put his hand on my cheek, so softly, talking to me like I was someone he had to be careful with. He’d never acted like that before, and it made me feel embarrassed. To him I am tough. He likes that. I like it too. “She was a very messed-up girl who did a lot of messed-up things,” he went on. “It’s why you stopped being friends wit
h her in the first place. You said so yourself.”

  He was right; I had. Maybe I even halfway thought it at the time. But it wasn’t the whole truth.

  I didn’t press it after that. And really, it’s better that I’m alone for the exact reason that I’m wondering if it’s smart to be: I’m unintimidating. Not a threat. People tell me things sometimes without really meaning to.

  Maybe someone will tonight.

  I’m up at the door now. It’s propped open with a brick. I let myself inside.

  There are bare bulbs dangling from the ceiling, leading the way down a long hallway. At the end is a set of stairs, a piece of paper stuck to the railing, on which is written MAYHEM: THIS A’WAY over a bright pink arrow pointing up. And so I climb and climb until, legs burning, I’m finally on the top floor. There’s another door there. I can feel my pulse in my ears, my temples, my throat.

  I open the door and look out into an enormous open loft.

  It’s eerily beautiful. I’ve never been anywhere like this.

  There are only thirty or so people here, but the place could hold hundreds. Dozens of tiny white lights dangle from the ceiling, and dozens of white pillar candles sit in clusters on the concrete floor. The music is an otherworldly rumbling that rattles the inside of my chest. The air smells like plaster and wax.

  In one corner of the loft there’s a modern kitchen, all white lacquer and chrome. There are rows of glass bottles piled up on the white kitchen island and a handful of people standing around pouring themselves drinks.

  I start to make my way toward them, but I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder. I turn. There’s a man in a suit holding on to me. He has a big round head and a space between his two front teeth.

  “What’s the password?” he says. His voice is a growl.

  Password?

  “I . . . ,” I start. I think fast. “My friends are already in here.” I point toward two girls walking past. They’re a few years older than me, wearing short sheer dresses, high shoes. I’m still in jeans and Delia’s sweater. “I think they forgot to . . .”

  The guy shakes his head. “No one gets in without a password. I’m going to have to ask you to leave, then.”

  But I can’t leave yet. And the idea of someone trying to get me to go makes me brave. You’re the sweetest little honey pie, Delia said once, until someone tells you that you can’t do something.

  I clear my throat. “Be careful what you say, now. Tig’s expecting me, and if you stop me I doubt he’ll . . .”

  The guy puts his hands on his hips and sets his jaw. And then, suddenly . . . he bursts out laughing, like this is the funniest joke he’s ever heard in his life. “Ah, I’m only messing with you, dolly.” He looks me right in the eye. His pupils are enormous. “It’s the suit, right? Makes me look like I get to make the rules.” He winks and steps aside. “Have a big ol’ blast!”

  I feel a flood of relief, because I’m in. And then right behind that, ice-cold fear, because I’m in. I grit my teeth. It’s time to do this.

  I make my way forward. I’m the youngest person here. Everyone looks like they’re in costume—colored fishnets on their arms, top hats, jewel-toned tuxedos, tiny glittering dresses. Delia would have loved this place. Maybe she did.

  I look out at the rest of the room. It’s all raw open space. There are three enormous white sculptures off to the side—a ten-foot-tall head, a dancer with no arms, two bodies entwined. At the back of the room is an entire wall of windows, looking out over dark buildings and beyond that a cold white moon that looks carved too.

  “For me?” a voice says.

  I turn. There are two girls standing next to me: one tall and thin with a huge glittery choker, the other shorter, her eyes lined in green. Choker hands Eyeliner a small white pill. Eyeliner raises her perfectly arched eyebrows.

  “Yup,” Choker says. “His very finest.”

  They place the pills on the tips of their tongues and swallow them dry.

  I stare at them, like I want what they have. “Hey, do you know where I can find Tig?”

  Eyeliner gives me a puzzled look, then points toward the back corner of the room. A doorway. “Where else would he be?”

  I force myself to inhale slowly, to exhale slowly. I pass a couple swaying against each other. I pass three girls laughing.

  This is it.

  I look through the doorway now; it leads to another room, much smaller than the first. In the center of the room is an enormous old-fashioned sleigh bed, covered in pillows. And on the bed is a guy sitting cross-legged, head shaved smooth.

  Tig.

  A girl with long bleached-white hair climbs on Tig’s lap and presses her lips to his. I step back. He looks up. He pulls away from the kiss.

  “Come on in,” he says. His voice is high and breathy. He points at me and curls his finger. I walk forward.

  Tig’s face is thin, lit from below by the small stained-glass lamp on the nightstand. He could be any age at all.

  He leans back, stroking the girl’s hair like she’s a cat. His shirt is half unbuttoned, revealing a hard, pale chest. “And how may I help you, pretty girl?”

  “I was hoping you could hook me up,” I say. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Fear rises up from my stomach.

  Tig tips his head to the side. “What are you looking for?”

  “Something . . . fun,” I say.

  Tig twists his mouth to the side. “I don’t know you. Who are you here with?”

  “No one.”

  Tig licks his lips and smiles, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “So what the hell are you doing in my house?”

  Another wave of fear washes over me. But I hold his gaze.

  “I’m here because . . .” Because I want to know if you killed my friend. “Because I heard there was a party.”

  “Like fuck, you did.” He shakes his head. “Tell me or get out.”

  A jolt of electricity shoots up my spine. I think of Infinity and my promise, I think of my dead best friend and how no one can hurt her anymore. I think of the fact that someone did. I clench my fists. “Delia sent me.”

  Tig raises one eyebrow ever so slightly. “Ah-ha, a message from the underworld, then.” He whispers to the girl on his lap. She pulls herself up off the bed, smooths her small white skirt, and heads for the door. When the girl is gone, his smile fades. “Save your bullshit,” he says. “What do you want?”

  Maybe Delia’s ghost really is here, because Delia wouldn’t have been scared of this guy for a second, and suddenly neither am I.

  “I want to know what she stole from you,” I say. But, really, I just want to get him talking.

  “So she told you about that, did she?” He clenches his jaw.

  “She told me a lot of things.”

  “Well, then you know a hell of a lot more than me.” Something in the room shifts.

  “What did she take from you? And what did you do to try to get it back?”

  “Well, well,” Tig says. “Are you here to avenge your poor dead friend?” He purses his lips into a frowny little pout. “How sweet.”

  Something inside me bursts. I open my mouth, and then it’s like I can’t stop. “I know where you live, and I know what you do. And if you did something to Delia . . .”

  “Are you really threatening me?” His eyes don’t look right. I realize then that he’s on something—lots of things, probably. “That would be an extremely silly thing to do.”

  I want to turn and run. I exhale through my nose. “I’m not making a threat,” I say. “I’m stating some facts.”

  “Well, then I’ll state some facts too. You shouldn’t be poking other peoples’ beehives. But you have balls, and I like that in a girl.” He pauses. “So I’ll do you a favor and tell you a little thing about your friend: She was up to some fucked-up stuff that even I wanted no p
art of, and that is really saying something. But I didn’t do anything to her, if that’s what you’re here to find out. She told me she needed it for ­protection—that was her excuse.”

  It. “Who did she need protection from?”

  Tig shrugs and his lips spread into a slow smile. “Based on what happened, I’d say herself.”

  He pulls himself up off the bed then, tall and sinewy. He opens the drawer of the nightstand, takes out a pill bottle. He walks toward me, falling, catching himself, falling again. He grabs my wrist. His hand is strong and too hot. He forces something into mine, then lets me go.

  “What’s this?” Sitting on my palm is a small white pill.

  “A goodie bag,” he says. “Because it’s time for you to leave my party.”

  He stands there, hands on narrow hips. And I realize there is nothing left I can do. He’s not going to tell me anything else.

  My body still buzzing, I walk back out into the main room. Someone is watching me—a girl with short dark hair. For a second I think she looks familiar. She reaches up and waves.

  “Go on then,” Tig says. He is standing behind me. “I’m not going to ask you so nicely next time.”

  I drop the pill onto the concrete floor as I walk and crush it under the sole of my boots. I feel angry, sharp-edged, sick scared. I don’t know what to make of what has just happened. I don’t know what to think or what to believe.

  I stop in the doorway and look back at the party one last time. The music is different now. People are dancing with their arms in the air. A girl in a long gold dress is crouched down on the floor where I left the pill, snorting up the dust.

  I start down the stairs, taking them two at a time. The crowd climbing up grows thicker the closer I get to the bottom, my eyes are starting to cloud, the faces blending together. Up above, someone cranks the music.

  I came here looking for answers, but now I am filled with questions. There’s one thing I do know though: if Delia thought she needed protection, it means this wasn’t a surprise.