by Lydia Millet
When souls are twinned they should not be divided. They should cleave unto each other. We are trapped in our earthly Bodies, these mundane Forms, we have to bring them together & dance a holy Dance, the dance of Life itself while He looks on smiling above us. Love is God’s gift. At the end of all things it will be you & I. In Kingdom Come we will stand together beneath the invisible door with Garlands on our heads
—Is that you Bucella? I’d know those wedge heels anywhere. I’m out of TP, could you pass me a couple of squares?
garlands of flowers. We will stand on the helm of the great Ship of the everlasting Life. We will be together in Love, Glory &
—You’re still in here? I happen to know through no fault of my own that Phil Kreuz is hoarding Ex Lax in his desk drawer, want me to get some for you?
Glory & eternal Union.
She folded it carefully, flushed in case Alice was still in proximity, slid it into her pocket and emerged from the stall to the vacant bay of sinks. She would put it on his desk, unsigned, after hours. At Statistical Diagnostics everything was electronic. He did not know her handwriting. So he would only know the letter was written by her if he already understood her and loved her too. Green valleys misty clouds!
She returned to her cubicle with trembling hands and dialed her home number.
—Pick up if you’re there Dean. I need to talk to you. I’m having a coworker and his wife over for dinner at seven and you better not be there. You hear me Dean? You can come home after midnight. I meant to discuss it this morning but I got distracted by that little accident. Don’t embarrass me Dean or I’ll kick you out for good.
11:19
—You bitch Bucella, said Decetes to the answering machine.
—You did it on purpose.
He had wrapped an old shirt around the wounded fingers. It was not his fault he had fainted: the noise had proved overwhelming. He would exact his revenge.
But first he would visit the magazine office for a brief talk with the indentured editorial servants. HQ was located, conveniently, beside a bar. Sadly the Pinto was parked on a high-income avenue in Santa Monica, or possibly corralled in a police impound lot under lock and key. The transportation infrastructure was failing, and the blame for this lamentable circumstance lay, like so many tragedies of state, on his sister. Fortunately he held her Visa Debit card in the palm of his unmaimed hand, sweaty but secure.
He left the front door unlocked, as per usual, and walked to the automatic teller machine on the corner, where he swiftly and efficiently removed $100. While the taxi driver played Tex-Mex music on his crappy radio Decetes stealthily appropriated a racing form from under the passenger seat, though he was uncertain it would prove germane to his day’s undertakings.
Passing the receptionist in the lobby, he broke wind with quiet grace. She had slighted him once, and he was not a man to forgive and forget. In the employee lunchroom, which housed a microwave encrusted with ossified Lean Cuisine remnants, he lingered to browse through the refrigerator. He was just getting a grip on someone’s ham sandwich when a square-faced German woman from Personnel tapped his shoulder.
—Stealink again? she asked sternly.
—I do not steal, said Decetes firmly. —I merely take what is mine.
She stared at him malevolently.
—And everything is mine.
He would deal with her later.
—Yesterday, said Alan H. calmly when Decetes entered his office. A trollop stood next to his desk, her thin bootheels wobbling as she adjusted the strap on her purse.
—Hey ho, up she rises, said Decetes with jovial mien, but Alan H. shook his head. He was having none of it.
—Yesterday was your deadline Decetes, said Alan H. —You missed it again.
—What is time, said Decetes, bowing in the strumpet’s direction. She was pulling at the zipper on her fake alligator boots, leaning down so that the orbs of flesh, easily 46 D Decetes would claim if it came to a wager, hung like sallow fruit. —Madam, is time a commodity? Is time a square with equal sides, a block of base metal to be welded to a grid of little lives and weigh there till the lives come to an end? Or is time the river Yangtze, the Ganges or the Nile, with her headwaters in Shangri La and her mouth in Babylon?
—Shut up Decetes, said Alan H. He was a Philistine, lacking the poet’s ear for epic phraseology. —Time is your ass Decetes. You don’t have those reviews for me in two hours, I’ll write ’em myself and you’re out of here. I have plenty of slimy freelancers Decetes. I have guys who will write those things for nothing but the free tapes. And I’m tired of your crap. It’s not like it takes talent.
—The point is made, rest assured, said Decetes smoothly. Alan H. was of the old school when it came to human resource management: he would have felt quite at home lashing apple-cheeked toddlers in a coal mine. —I am almost finished with my work.
—Work, yeah, said Alan H. —Your work. Go do it Decetes.
—Alan, I’ll see you at the photoshoot okay? said the porn slut. —I gotta go to the bathroom.
—I am going that way myself, said Decetes. —Let me escort you out. I will keep the wolves from your door.
CHAPTER THE THIRD
Strife rears its head; Lust makes an appearance; and a Prince among men is repeatedly battered
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
12:12
—She is not at home, said Phil Kreuz. He was pacing agitatedly, chafing his hairy white wrists. Alice crumpled the Saran Wrap from her sprout sandwich and lobbed it into the waste-basket, narrowly missing his polycotton pantleg. —She assured me she would have a Meditation Day.
—Maybe she’s asleep Phil. Or, uh, meditating at the Reading Room or shopping. You worry too much.
—I am taking half a sick day, said Phil Kreuz. —I will advise Personnel.
—Get some rest Phil. You seem tenser than usual.
—Replace it regularly. Bacteria accumulates between the abrasion and the absorbent pad.
—What?
—The Bandaid.
—Thanks Phil. But listen, can I ask you a personal question?
—It, I think—
—It’s about the doctrine, you know the whole, like the idea of your faith, isn’t there something in there about mind over matter or something? Physical things not being real, or something? Where you’re not allowed to go to the Emergency Room if you’re sick?
—Of course Alice, that is—
—So all this, the issue of hygiene—
—Hygiene is not medicine.
—But uh. . . .
—It is commonly known that public transportation is utilized by vagrants and perpetrators of violent crime during the evening hours. Females are at high risk.
—Okay Phil. I appreciate your concern.
He strode out nodding. Alice slipped her shoes off again, put her feet up on the desk and started to clip her fingernails.
—Alice darling, how brazen, said Ernie, coming up behind her. —We fags can’t get away with that. Nail clipping in broad daylight! So earthy. Only a Barbie doll like you could pull it off. Do you have an emery board?
—Top drawer on the left, said Alice.
He pulled the drawer open and extracted her nail file.
—There’s a show tonight if you want to come, he said. —I would love to see you. I could introduce you to Jerome.
—I have to go to a stupid bachelorette party.
—I’m wearing that vintage crinoline, he said, filing. —I’d like to know what you think.
—I’ll try to get away early.
—Excuse me, um Ernest?
He stopped filing. —Yes Bucella, may I help you?
—I was wondering, she said, clasping her hands together, —I’m having Phil and Babs Kreuz over for dinner tonight and I wanted to see if you could, uh—invite you too. Oh and you too Alice. It’s just lasagna.
—How thoughtful! said Ernie. —It’s just Alice and I were just saying, we have a prior engagement tonight. May I take a rai
ncheck?
—Oh, said Bucella. —Oh yes. Maybe next week?
—Babs? said Alice. —That’s his wife? Where’ve I heard that lately?
—Barbara, said Bucella. —Babs for short.
—Oh my! Better get back to work, said Ernie, and was through his office door before Bucella could cash in her check.
Bucella lingered there, standing awkwardly, and readjusted her reading glasses on the bridge of her nose.
—Does he, does Ernest have a girlfriend?
The closet door stood wide open, but Bucella only banged her head against the jamb.
—A girlfriend, no Bucella. He does not.
12:21
Bucella turned away, relieved. There was nothing between them. He only talked to Alice out of Charity. Jesus healed the Lepers.
12:50
She was taking forever in the bathroom. Decetes had trotted out a quotation from Coleridge, though the trollop didn’t know Coleridge from a hole in the wall. A good thing too since Decetes had probably misquoted. —In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree, where Alph the sacred river ran through caverns measureless to man down to a sunless sea, he had said at the door to the ladies’ room.
She shut it in his face, as though to warn him coyly from the feminine domain. It was a saucy maneuver. And yes, he had subsequently made a rapid break for the men’s, but had returned in short order. It was widely known that women’s urinary tracts were sluggish; surely she could not have beat him to the punch?
But she was not emerging.
The Kraut with the shelf bosom passed him frowning as he made his way to the kitchen. He still had a score to settle with her. At the timeclock he paused to locate her timecard, on the corner of which, with fastidious care, he placed a tiny gift from his nose. Let the punishment fit the crime.
It was dirty work, but it had to be done.
He pushed the ladies’ room door open a crack, checking one last time. —You in there? he called, but was pushed out, of the way by a pinch-faced slattern from Production.
In the lobby downstairs he waited fifteen minutes, but the trollop made no appearance. Possibly she had decamped by way of the parking garage. Well, even female dogs were reluctant to mate; for this reason male dogs were fitted out with a penis head which, when erect and inserted, blossomed out into a barbed mushroom and thereby locked itself into the feminine orifice, preventing escape. Belly to back the dogs cavorted in a yard or basement, the female yelping with pain and annoyance.
Now for a drink. He was $90 in the black. Later he might seek his fortune at Santa Anita.
The alcohol emporium was deserted; sun not quite over the yardarm, perhaps. He took his place at the counter and ordered a whiskey from the sagging barmaid. She wore a ring in her nose and a rose tattoo on her upper arm. Disenfranchised youth had a penchant for scarification: too confused to target their oppressors, they chose themselves as victims. They perpetrated impotent violence against their own sorry meat. Decetes raised his glass.
—What’s your name? he asked.
—Dani, she said, swabbing the bar with a greasy white rag.
—I drink to your tattoo Dani. Dani does the rose symbolize purity, or have you been deflowered?
—Watch your mouth or you won’t get served, buddy.
—No Dani, no. You are wrong. There are millions who serve me. My name is Alpha and Omega. My name is Krishna, Jehovah and Zeus.
—That so.
—I am as small as the quark, Dani, and as large as the universe, ever-expanding. I am steady-state and Big Bang.
—You won’t be banging in here.
—Dani I have been known to pollinate little flowers, the common along with the rare. I dip my pistil in the stamen and new life sprouts forth. My seeds are germinating everywhere Dani. Roses are among my favorites. Dani, you can be in my herbaceous border.
—Forget it. One more drink and you’re out.
—Then make it a triple.
—Jim, Ryan! Meet Alfie Nomega. He says he’s a Hare Krishna.
—Where’s your orange dress man?
—Begone Jim, begone Ryan, said Decetes, lifting his glass. —We would be alone. Have you considered nude modeling, Dani?
1:19
—Barbara? Barbara! called Phillip, entering the living room. He flicked the front door locked behind him. Then, quite suddenly, he apprehended the presence of a large mechanical bull.
—Not at work? she asked, emerging from the kitchen. She was garbed in a floral brassiere and panties, and her white skin shone with lubricant. It was a disturbing sight; surely something was wrong in the world. Yes: this was wrong. By no means was it right.
Phillip dropped his briefcase, closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten, inhaling and exhaling carefully.
—I require answers to the following two questions, he said when he had regained his composure. —One: why is that distasteful object in our home. Two: why are you walking around in undergarments with oil on your person. You will answer these questions slowly and succinctly.
—For exercise. Mail-order merchandise.
He cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, waiting. His great aunt Gloria had said at church once that he was “patrician.” He recalled clearly: he had been 12 years old at the time, and had worn a blue suit. She was dead of emphysema but he had not forgotten. In times of crisis, the word patrician perched on his shoulders like two great eagles.
—This is tanning gel. Self-tanning. It doesn’t work right away though. It takes—
—One, said Phillip with deliberation. —A mechanical bull has been purchased. I see on the box, Bronco Bill is the name of the item. Two, you have covered your seminude body in a cosmetics product. Barbara, one plus two makes covetousness and vanity. One plus two makes Barbara a sinner and a worshipper of lust.
—But I just want to get rid of some flab!
—Barbara needs to work harder. Repeat after me. The material world is a human creation. God works in the Spirit. Vanity is a concession to the brute matter of a spiritually debased world.
—But I just want to get rid of some flab!
—I am satisfied with your corporeal shell, and I am your husband. Remember: the flesh is a rotten vessel. Now repeat what I said.
—Bronco Bill is good for abs, she said, trotting back into the kitchen to rip a paper towel off the roll. He stood his ground, arms akimbo. —Better than Stairmaster, plus lots of excitement in your own home.
—We will be returning it to the manufacturers first thing tomorrow morning, said Phillip, and sat down on the couch.
—I don’t want to return it! said Barbara, patting oil off her chest. —I’m keeping it! I’ll put it in my Personal Room. I paid with my own money. From Daddy.
—Changes of environment must be consentual. No elements disagreeable to either party are permitted to enter the apartment. It is in our prenuptial contract.
—You never consent, and but I always do. I get to keep Bronco Bill. I get to keep him keep him keep him. Science and Health doesn’t say you can’t buy Bronco Bill.
—No Barbara. But when Mary Baker Eddy wrote Science and Health there were no Bronco Bills.
—I want to be the best possible me.
—The subject is closed Barbara. Before our dinner engagement you will accompany me to the Reading Room and study the mind of Christ.
1:22
—Restrain yourselves, said Decetes, retreating. —I meant no disrespect, my good men. Amateur pornography would be the ideal venue for Dani. Showcase her attributes.
—You don’t know when to shut up, said Ryan the Bouncer, and Decetes fell back onto a table, crunching a wet glass beneath his kidney. Inferior workmanship was so often the norm. The glassblowers of Venice would weep.
Ryan had knobby forearms, and his knuckles were red.
—Don’t hurt me, begged Decetes. He could be flexible. —I’m Neil Bush. I’m the President’s brother. Savings and loan, ring any bells? The Secret Service has their d
ay off but repercussions may be stringent. Look at my hands! Injured by investors, foaming at the mouth. I was defending our free nation!
—I’m gonna beat your face in. You were talking to my wife back there, said Ryan. —You got balls Hare Krishna? Let’s see.
2:23
Ginny was getting ready to pass a note to Mike Lamota when the lights went on all of a sudden and everyone had to wake up. At the back Liza B. and Ricky were making out under the counter with the Bunsen burner on it like they always did in Biology videos and Ginny saw Ricky bang his head as he got up.
—Who turned the lights on? said Mr. Damofrio, mad.
Then Ginny’s stomach flopped. Her mother was actually standing at the classroom door in her orange dressing gown with egg down the front and the rabbit slippers! Ginny scrambled off her stool and knelt beneath the counter out of sight. Gross. It smelled like sulfur. The rotten-egg gas.
—Are you the one? shrilled her mother.
Oh no, oh no no no. Cube root 63, 3.97905, cube root 192, 5.76899, cube root 1226, 10.70278.
She was yelling at Mr. Damofrio. —Are you the one? Filling my daughter’s head with those filthy ideas? I found this in her room this morning! It’s a diaphragm! I found the box it came in!
Ginny heard them all whispering and laughing. She looked out from beneath the counter and saw her mother throw it on the floor. No way. No way no way no way.
—Gross! said Liza B., and Mike Lamota was laughing his head off with Ricky and Michael D. —Wack!
—Mrs.—, uh we should talk about this outside, said Mr. Damofrio in a hurry. Cube root 775, 9.18545.
—No! I want these young people to know! Ginny? Are you in here? yelled her mother. Ginny stayed where she was, looking sideways at Michael D. who rolled his eyes. —This school is run by perverts! Sex perverts! I want my daughter back! Because of you people and your perverted sex education she is having relations! She is thirteen years old! She is a mathematics gifted with her whole life ahead of her, and she is having relations! Teenage pregnancies! Abortions!
—Mrs.—? No one has counseled your daughter to have an abortion, I promise you. If—
—Ginny? Come talk to your mother! Where is she?