by Jeff Somers
I closed my eyes in dumb autopilot. Opened them. Blinked, and I wasn’t kissing Miriam, I was making out with Mary. She was staring at me as we kissed, and winked.
I convulsed. Reached out. Stiffened, half stood, and shoved her away, and she stumbled back and hit her head on the medicine cabinet.
“Fuck!” she hissed. “Henry!”
I held out one hand, palm out. Warding her off. I was panting. “Don’t. Don’t.”
For a moment we were suspended there. Panting, staring. My hand out, my one thin defense. Mary’s ghost in the room with us, snarling, broken. Miriam tore the door open, stepping out of the bathroom with an almost calm, businesslike manner. I shut the door after her and splashed water on my face for what seemed like a day, then opened the door myself. Tom and Bickerman were standing there.
Tom opened his mouth to say something, so I shouted “Boys! To the bar, where you will do shots with me!”
They exchanged a look as I threw my arms out. “Uh, Hank,” Tom started, but I cut him off.
“Nonsense! We’re all friends here. Have a fucking drink with me, you cocksuckers.”
My face was cheerful. I trapped them both in an embrace and began gently pushing them along with me. At the bar, heart pounding, I did a little jig to extricate myself from them, grabbed a bottle, tossed it into the air with drunken exuberance and caught it, leering at them.
“Tequila!” I barked. They both grinned, smiles blooming on their faces, surprised out of hiding.
I gathered up three half-assed shot glasses and poured a dollop of tequila into each, passed them out, and held mine aloft.
“To friendship!” I announced. This amused them, the bastards, and we clinked glasses and swallowed liquor. I broke out into a sweat. It was cheap stuff. Bick broke down into coughs.
“Flo … not sparing … any fucking … expense,” Tom managed, grinning.
“Again!” I shouted and brought the bottle up.
They acquiesced amiably enough, holding out their glasses (Bick holding his up from his position nearer the floor) and I filled them both almost halfway. Tom eyed me as if watching for sudden moves. Hanging onto the bottle, I held up my glass again, but this time Tom, with the Glee dancing around him like a cloud, beat me to the toast.
“To Mary!”
This caused Bick to choke again, and Tom and I locked stares as we drank.
Bick came up for air, and as I brought the bottle up, Tom grabbed Bick’s glass and held both out for me. I grinned.
“No mas,” Bick coughed weakly. “No mas, por favor!”
“Yes, mas, goddammit,” I said mildly. “Don’t be a party pooper, Bicky.”
“He means don’t be a pussy,” Tom offered, winking at me.
Bick came up red-faced and gasping. “Fuck you both,” he growled, grabbing the glass from Tom and slopping tequila everywhere. He held it up and waited.
“Well, bright boys? What are we toasting this time?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, before Tom could get smart. I was sweating freely and feeling woozy. “Just fucking drink.”
I swallowed liquid nausea and nodded. The world was coming at me in waves, gently lapping at the edges of my sight.
I realized with a slow drooling embarrassment that I was clutching Tom’s lapels in an effort to keep from sliding to the floor. He was stumbling, trying to support my sudden weight, and looking down at me with Glee-filled amusement. It was infectious, and I felt laughter fighting with my rising gorge.
“Is this,” I panted with suppressed giggles, “the end of Henry?”
Tom’s laughter followed me down.
• • •
“You awake, dummy?”
Denise resolved into clarity, and I instantly wished she hadn’t. I felt digested.
“Christ,” I moaned thickly, “they took the legs, didn’t they?”
“What?’
I moaned. I looked around. “Where the hell am I?”
“Flo’s spare bedroom.”
“How long have I been out?”
“About three hours. The party’s still going on.”
“I feel terrible.”
“No, you feel terribly.”
“Not one of your more endearing features,” I groused, “correcting people’s grammar, and being wrong about it.”
She shrugged. “At least I have endearing features.”
“Ouch.” I stretched experimentally. “Tom and Bick still here?”
She nodded. “Terribly drunk. They keep trying to come up here to bother you, but we won’t let them.”
“We being—”
“The Ladies Auxiliary.”
We existed in companionable silence then. I closed my eyes and felt a small portion of myself for damage. There appeared to be nothing permanent. The idea of sitting up worried me, so I tabled it for later discussion and just lay there, swallowing the urge to tell her everything, to go back to the days when she was the first person I told anything to. I’d resented it and hated her for it, the gentle probing, the constant attention and interest. I’d hated it. I’d hated her. Finally, I’d had a secret too big for Denise and had to let her go. I swallowed it back.
“You don’t have to sit there,” I said, kindly, I thought. “Go back downstairs, have fun. Find out what jokes they’re making about me.”
“I don’t mind.”
She said this simple thing so nobly, so goddamn-awfully full of wonderfulness, that I couldn’t wait to kick her in the ass when she left the room. Wonderfulness just irritated me. Through superhuman effort I swallowed back something horrible and just lay there experimenting with my nerves. I hated wonderfulness, I realized with a start, because I have none of it. It’s just horribleness in me, a seething ocean of horribleness. I just ride the waves.
I didn’t want to, but I had to keep talking to her. “Denise?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let Tom or Bick up here. Okay?”
“Too late, asshole.”
Bick was at the door, and a hand snaked around from behind him and pushed the door open completely. Like bright, pale, softly glowing ghosts, it was Bickerman and Tom, Tom and Bickerman. They both weaved with a drunkard’s lucky uprightness.
“Denise,” Tom said carefully, working hard, I could tell, to not slur his words. “May we please have a moment with Henry alone?”
“No,” she snapped. “Why don’t you two leave him alone? Get your nasty little kicks elsewhere.”
The two men started giggling, hanging onto each other. Tom turned to Bick and said in a stage whisper: “I think she’s angry with us.”
Bick made a shushing gesture, as if it were a big secret, and Tom composed himself with great effort.
“Ma’am, you have mistaken us,” he said carefully. “We merely—”
“I know what you two idiots merely want to do. Now just leave him the fuck alone, okay?”
They both giggled uncontrollably.
“Out!” she shouted, shocking them both. She stood up and pushed Tom, hard, making him stumble back. “Out!”
Bick fell back under her glare, and she shut the door with an authoritative click of the latch. “goddamn assholes.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Tell me what’s going on with you three.” It was more a demand than anything else. Then she laughed. “I feel like I’m always asking that about you and goddamn Tommy. I always want to know what you’re up to.”
I closed my eyes, and I was sitting in a dark wooded area. It was just before a serious storm. It was dark, dark dark because the moon had been hidden by the unseen clouds, and I was sitting in a clearing with the acidic smell of oncoming rain in the air and constant, invisible motion around me. I was sitting in the clearing because my legs had been previously removed, cleanly, surgically. When lightning flashed in the sky, the treetops were outlined against it, jagged. When the thunder had passed, the only sound was the restless shuffling of the leaves. It was like a constant tide, never receding, always cove
ring half the distance and thus never wetting you.
When I opened my eyes again, Denise was staring at me with an intense wrinkle above her nose. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Oh, Christ, no.”
Then I had Disapproving Denise, which had been my constant companion when we’d dated. So familiar. I had a fleeting stab of affection for Disapproving Denise.
I closed my eyes again. The feeling was enormous, an enormity somewhere just beyond the trees, stirring them with its gentle weight, unnoticed. The wind trickled over me, a faint touch, and the tall grass stirred in sympathy with my hair, and the leaves. I could sense, somewhere beyond the trees, a massive wave, a wall of water, heading toward me. The wind was just the air being pushed ahead of it. It was peaceful, waiting in the dark, listening closely for the first signs that it had finally arrived. The sudden vacuum. The roar so loud it was silence.
I opened my eyes. Denise had left.
V.
MARY’S WEDDING
I was trying unsuccessfully to identify the vegetable on my plate when there was a tickle and a whisper in my ear.
“Mare wants a divorce. Know any lawyers here tonight?”
I glanced up at Flo, who was smiling just slightly, a sad smile, a totally appropriate smile. Sadness at the situation but humored resignation because we all knew the marriage was doomed, and none of us would be much beyond slightly surprised if it really did end the same night as it began. I stood up, glad to leave the dinner behind. Henry looked up at me with those annoyingly puppyish eyes, terrified of being left alone. Sometimes Henry was a little annoying.
“Be back,” I said, stroking his hair. “Girl business.”
I fell into step with Flo, her holding up the skirts of her ridiculous dress to help her avoid falling on her face in front of everyone she knew.
“She’s in the bathroom again,” Flo said heavily.
I shook my head. “We shouldn’t have let her drink. We all know it’s a disaster when Mary drinks. She’s a problem drinker.”
“What were we supposed to do, sit on her?”
“For fuck’s sake, she’s been married for five minutes!”
“Are you yelling at me?”
“No.” I took a deep breath as we left the room and turned toward the restrooms. “I’m just mad. I can’t believe she’s being so childish.”
The women’s room was bright white and smelled like ammonia. This was never an encouraging sign because the power of the chemical smell in a bathroom was, I thought, a good gauge of the mess it was masking. I hated mess. I hated things that smelled bad, too. The bathroom was blindingly white, but put me in mind of both.
Kelly was teasing her hair in the mirror. She glanced at us in reverse. “Third stall from the end,” she said. She sounded tired.
Flo and I approached the only stall in use and knocked lightly. Mary’s weeping was theatrical, and I felt better. Mary didn’t ham it up when she was really upset. This was just another drama moment. I felt a strong urge to ignore it, let her soak in her own bullshit, but we had a wedding reception to get through. I decided I would sweet-talk her back out there and then tomorrow I could write her off.
I knocked again, louder. Snuffling noises, and then “Denise?”
“You okay, sweetie?”
A click and the stall door opened a little. I stepped inside and closed it behind me. Mary was sitting on the toilet, her dress rumpled, her makeup running. A big glass of Scotch in one hand and a cigarette in another. I had never seen someone unravel as quickly or as thoroughly as Mary did when bombed. It was breathtaking to watch.
“He’s a cheating cocksucker. Already. Already, Neesie!”
Mary began to sob again. Everyone called me Neesie. I didn’t know why. I hated it. “What happened?”
“He’s a fucking prick, is what happened. I married a man and he turned into a fucking prick.”
This brought up more tears, and I cooed and stroked her hair, trying to calm her down. I was uncomfortable leaning over her, but there was no way in hell I was going to make contact with the floor of this bathroom. The smell of ammonia was dizzying.
“But what happened?” I asked. I’d heard enough of Mary’s drunken ramblings to know you had to guide the conversation firmly. It was either a firm hand and the patience of a nun, or slapping her across the face. Since it was her wedding day, I knew the latter wouldn’t be acceptable.
“All day, at our wedding, he’s eyeing every piece of ass that crosses his path. My own sister!”
At mention of Miriam, the whole bathroom seemed to fill with jelly. We all hated Ms. Hot Pants. Even Kelly, who loved everyone, eventually.
“My own sister!” Mary wailed. “It’s like his eyes are glued to her ass!”
I took a deep, calming breath. “But what happened?”
“Nothing, yet. I haven’t let the bastard out of my sight.” I ignored this obvious bullshit and stood up.
“Jesus, Mare, nothing’s happened?” Mr. Bickerman certainly was an ass, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was banging half the women attending the reception within a year, if he hadn’t already, but I was damned if I was going to spend the party trapped in this skanky bathroom because of Mary’s DTs or whatever. “Get out there and dance with your husband. He hasn’t done anything. Tomorrow give him the cold shoulder about his roving eyes, make him suffer. But don’t fuck up your own wedding over it.”
Mary stared up at me with teary awe. “You really think so?”
I was beyond caring. I opened the door to the stall and nodded cheerfully. I took Flo’s cigarette, took a puff, didn’t inhale, and felt energized. I was going to get this bitch out of the bathroom by sheer force of will. “Come on, Mare, he’s probably out there wondering where in hell you are. Let Flo fix your makeup, and then get out there before people start to talk.”
She stood up. “You’re right! I guess I am being silly.”
There was more as she emerged, but I was already walking to the exit with lots of hip, feeling cocky. Kelly held out a hand as I approached, and I slapped it playfully. Denise the Great, kicking ass and taking names. And saving weddings. I made a mental note to stop hanging out with the Bickermans. They both sucked.
Smiling, I scanned the reception hall for Henry, who was dopey and who hung out with Tom too much, but was basically a nice guy. I found him, as usual, with Tommy. There was also Miriam, Ms. Hot Pants herself, giggling at something Henry said. Henry with what could only be described as a look of stunned disbelief on his face. Disbelief at what was a mystery, although “at being spoken to by Ms. Hot Pants” ranked high on my suspicions.
My Henry: lovable in many ways. Surprisingly thoughtful in many ways. An incredible ass, of course, but all men were. Henry was plagued with having been a quiet, ignored kid in high school and college. He never got laid, that much I can tell you. Now that he’d joined a more mature relationship with the rest of us through simple age, he was doing all right. But the ghosts of his lame past still haunted him, I thought; a girl like Ms. Hot Pants would never have paid him any attention in school. Now here she was, and merely by virtue of being ten years older, Henry looked good to her. Part of me didn’t blame Henry for being flattered. Part of me wanted to knee Henry in the balls.
With Mary’s smeared makeup fresh in my mind, however, I decided to be happy. I could knee Henry in the balls any time. They were my balls to knee. Tonight was for dancing and drinking and showing Ms. Hot Pants that she was a skank. I smiled and walked over to them with even more hips. Tom ran his reptilian eyes over me, as usual, and I had a brief flash of New Year’s and his hands on my breasts in the den. I shrugged that off, too, because I was badass.
Miriam threw out her tits and laughed, holding onto Henry’s arm. “Agreed!” she said in her stupid little-girly voice that all the pedophiles I found myself with on a daily basis loved.
“What are we agreeing on?” I said.
Henry and Ms. Hot Pants looked like guilty children, but Henry recovered nicely
by pulling me toward him. Tommy looked as oily as always. The pert brunette at the bar shook her head and smiled slightly, as if it were all a big joke.
“Tom is causing trouble, and I’m supervising,” Henry said.
I smiled at Tom, who shook his head. Tom could be a dark sort of charming sometimes. “Don’t listen to him, Neesie; we’re forming a drinking club here at the reception, invitation only. Care to join?”
He leered at me. Prior to New Year’s, I’d been able to shoot him down when he leered at me, for Tom was one of those guys who didn’t think it was a bad thing if he ogled your chest in front of everyone, and who didn’t think you ought to be put out by it. I looked into his eyes and knew he had secret knowledge of me, though. It soured my mood a little. Thirty seconds—just half a minute. No time at all. But it meant everything, between Tommy and me.
I covered by laughing at him, which felt good even if it was forced. “Lord, I can’t drink like that. I’d be in a hospital.”
He winked at me, the bastard, and I could feel shadows of his hands on my breasts again, ten months ago now.
Ms. Hot Pants coughed lightly. “I’ll see you guys back here later. I’ve got maid of honor duties, you know.”
Yeah, I thought, like doing the groom and half the room. Whore.
“So,” Henry asked stupidly. My Henry; it cheered me up, seeing him so stupid. “How was the girl business?”
“Buy me a drink, sailor. You don’t want to hear about all that stuff.”
“Sure we do!” Tommy said, leaning against the bar. “Hot chicks in formal wear, lacy underthings, all that jazz.” He winked at me again, and an unbidden blush came upon me. “We want to hear it!”
Bastard. I hated Tommy.
Henry turned and ordered a white wine for me, and I stared at Tommy, who grinned back and winked again.
“Let’s go sit down, want to?” I asked Henry.