It takes a few minutes for the audience to completely give up, as gradually one by one they rise, walk down the narrow aisle, and leave. The house lights buzz above them and Corvus feels like she’s in another world, eyes still adjusting to the lights.
Everyone is gone except for Corvus and Michelle and the actor on stage, the beautiful girl with a bloody face.
Corvus walks to center stage; her footsteps tap and faintly echo on the polished wood. Michelle watches her in a daze. Corvus walks tenderly as though approaching an old friend and she suddenly has the shakes. She can’t stop shivering. But she keeps walking forward; the draft is so much colder on stage.
The actor gets up, wipes her hands on her dress, and waves at Corvus.
Corvus says, You were so good tonight. She holds her hands together as though praying for a response.
The actor smiles and winks at Corvus.
What I need is a wound and a cold drink, the actor says.
Corvus touches her chest and says, I have a wound.
The actor touches her chest and says, I have a wound too.
Then let’s get a drink, says Michelle, jumping onto the stage. She has the biggest smile on her face, already a hundred miles someplace else, wrapping her arms around the necks of Corvus and the actor and leading them down the stairs offstage.
The actor asks, Where is the after-party?
Perry, at the end of the hallway near the front doors, hands a bottle of wine to each woman and kisses Corvus on the side of her eye. He smiles but looks sad, too.
He says, Where is a good question.
CHAPTER 5
BUBBLES RISE TO THE TOP OF THE SPRITZER, AND THE MUSIC gets louder: more bass. Corvus watches the pretty actor walk off with one of the gauze-masked dancers from the play, and she doesn’t see her again for the rest of the evening even though, unconsciously, Corvus is still looking for her in the crowd. I never asked for her name, she thinks. More in love with strangers than friends, Corvus looks down at the dance floor: an empty Olympic-size swimming pool, filled with mostly half-naked bodies, awash in fog, perspiration, and more neon flashes. There are DJs spinning where diving boards used to be.
There are more people grinding at the after-party than there were in attendance for Perry’s last run of the show. Corvus can see her name, the title of the play, on white vinyl banners along the wall. Directed by Perry.
It means “raven,” right?
A man taps Corvus on the back of her shoulder. She turns around and smiles at him, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly. Corvus tilts her head and finds the man handsome.
The man, dressed in an all-black suit, smiles too, and points to the banner.
Corvus? he asks. It means “raven,” doesn’t it?
It’s also a constellation, she says. A fuckload of stars.
And is that a moon? The man smiles again and points at the birthmark on her chest below her collarbone. It has always reminded her of a crescent moon.
He gives her his hand. Corvus takes it and nods.
My name is Tim, he says, and I’m a big fan of your fiancé’s. I’m the president of his fan club.
Excuse me? Corvus asks.
My name is Tim, he says.
I’m Corvus, she says.
I know, he says. The lights flicker while they’re talking. May I buy you a drink? he asks.
Feeling fresh as death, Corvus loosens and lets go of Tim’s hand and waits for him to walk ahead a few paces. Enjoying her distance from him, her dress suddenly feels really good and soft against her skin. It’s as though she forgot she was wearing a dress. She can feel the air change around her. She can see a tattoo on the back of his neck as he ascends the stairs. In plain black capital letters, it says MOM.
Corvus leads Tim to Perry, who is waiting in his own private nook behind a red velvet curtain. Light flashes against the walls and carpet in looping neon patterns. His hand is pressed to the bridge of his wrinkled nose, and he looks stressed out, appearing as though he’s having a hard time breathing and sitting still. Something is going on, Corvus notices, something is wrong here. Perry breathes in through the nose, out through the mouth: deep breaths. Corvus thinks, He doesn’t look happy at all, and she walks more slowly.
She pats herself for cigarettes, then scans the room for Michelle, rubbing her fingers. The need is a little unbearable, but she finds Michelle in the crowd right away, dancing in the mob. They have this connection, like an invisible string growing taut in the air.
Michelle from the other side of the room has one already in her mouth and is starting to walk outside.
Corvus says, I need a cigarette.
Tim’s face lights up and there is a noticeable trace of joy coating his voice when he walks up to Perry and finally manages to say something.
I’m so sorry, he says. My name is Tim. My name is Tim, he says, and I think you’re a genius. Absolute genius.
Perry reaches his hand out but doesn’t look up.
Thank you, Perry says, eyes still glued to the ground, not even there. I really appreciate that.
They shake hands with varying degrees of strength and effort. Perry really hates shaking hands.
He looks up at Tim and gently says, I hate shaking hands. His eyes are bloodshot, but present and knowing.
Tim says, You’ve met two of my friends before. Twins. Big men.
I have, yes. Perry looks more meaningfully into Tim’s eyes and something new begins, something glows warm. He says, Actually, they’ve been, like, really nice to me. Like personal bodyguards or something.
Perry pats himself and finds a joint and a lighter.
Are they brothers?
No, Tim answers. They look a lot alike, though.
Where are they now? The tall men.
I think they’re dancing in the swimming pool, Tim says. Pretty sure.
Are you the president? Of the fan club?
Yes.
Thank you for supporting my work.
Tim asks, May I please have an autograph?
Perry lights the joint and inhales. His eyes remain closed for what seems to be too long a time and his skin tingles. After blowing out a cloud of thick smoke, he says, I’m sorry, I usually carry a pen, but I don’t have one now. Perry doesn’t even bother to search his person.
Tim looks up and down and says, I don’t think I have one either. It sucks.
Still smoking, Perry says, You can have this, though. He hands Tim a tape recorder.
Tim holds the tape recorder in the palm of his hand like it’s made of sharp, precious glass and asks, Don’t you use this for everything?
Yes, Perry says, looking down at the floor again. Please go away now.
The club’s ceiling is basically a movie screen, and images of big ocean waves in the nighttime play like a film above all the sweaty bodies. Corvus thinks, Lots of water imagery and no water. Everyone is drunk, dazed, and I’m thirsty as fuck. She notices that someone has brought a dog to the party, a big furry baby. She watches the dog from the other side of the bar and pretends to be trapped inside him before going over to hang out with him. She loves this puppy. He’s a quiet brown pit bull sitting patiently in the constantly recurring booms of music and other sporadic loud noises. She loves this puppy. She sees some asshole has left him tied to a closed indoor bleacher, but he seems like a good boy.
Hi, baby, Corvus says. She pets him on his stomach as he lies on his back. Collar, but no name tag. She loves the feeling of getting an animal’s blessing: a perfect honor.
She leaves the dog to go find Perry, and she can tell by how light her limbs feel that she’s a little dehydrated. Every step is a cloud.
She moves a little hair from her eye and says, I see you, Boo.
At the top of the stairs, sitting on the steps hunched over as though entirely sapped of energy, Perry says, Sometimes I feel as though I’ve forgotten how to have fun.
She touches his face and says, I know. I know you. I love you.
I love you, too, he says. He shivers in this way
, something he really only does around her; he feels safe around his Corvus.
Perry has not been feeling safe lately. His talent feels as empty as his stomach. He can only think about the next project, although he has no idea what his next project is yet, which is the problem. His mind spirals.
Corvus tucks her head against Perry’s chin and she holds him. He smells like fresh air and nothing. She asks, Did you see that dog down there? Such a beautiful baby!
He’s a beautiful boy, Perry says. Yeah.
There is a sadness to the language lovers have. Sleights, tugs, and pulls. There is always something Perry is hiding, something he’s not divulging, something he’s not saying, but she can read his face. Corvus knows and senses that something is eating him up and his mind is elsewhere but he’s looking right at her.
Perry says, I have to stay late tonight. Save face.
She touches his arm and says, Okay. Do you want me to stay with you?
You can go home if you like. I just need to stay here.
She notices that his face seems to droop and darken. She loves his cheekbones. Corvus touches his face and says, I’ll see you later, my sweet man. She taps his cheek and he leans his face into her palm and closes his eyes. Perry takes a moment, face in her hand.
Walking downstairs, Corvus looks for the puppy but he’s no longer there. The crowd dancing in the swimming pool appears even bigger. Lips a little chapped, she still wants water and heads over to the glowing green exit sign and double doors. Michelle is somewhere in the dark dancing, blowing smoke into the flashing neon lights. Heaven is this place you don’t have to be, you’re not required, it’s really somewhere you’re free to do nothing at all, and Michelle swings her head back and takes another pill.
In the cold Corvus makes cloud breaths. As though waiting for her to walk out of the club, Tim is leaning against the wall of the brick building, holding a leash to the happy brown pit bull.
Corvus’s face lights up and she goes to pet the dog.
Tim asks, Do you smoke? He shakes a pack of cigarettes.
After waiting for a minute or so, noticing that Perry has not followed right behind her, Tim asks Corvus, Hey. Do you need a ride home? I’m just around the way.
He clears his throat as an ambulance passes by and a few others leave the club, talking, hooting, and laughing loudly. Corvus can barely hear herself as she says, Let’s go.
No one knows this secret half-covering my face, Corvus thinks, how anxious I am, how confident I am becoming. There is a degree of mystery she likes to keep in the world, a little unpredictability, and she cannot quite tell what to make of Tim’s new, nervous energy. Her natural instinct is to find out more, but she’s fucking tired. Being around people fills and drains her but she likes the song and dance.
I like your dog, she says. Her tone is empty, and she just wants to get home.
Corvus chooses a radio station with her boot pressed on the dashboard while Tim speeds toward a freeway entrance. He drives a fast luxury car and she feels like she’s inside a spaceship. She blindly pets the brown pit bull licking the palm of her hand from the backseat. She rolls the window down and the air is freezing but Tim doesn’t budge nor lose focus. He casually looks to the horizon, water shimmering under weak moonlight farther out from the shore, and says, Hey, I have an idea.
Corvus raises her head.
Let’s go down to the water and play with the puppy.
The dog barks.
He takes his eyes off the road for a moment, accelerates on a dime, makes eye contact with the pit bull, then back to Corvus.
What do you do? Corvus asks.
He says, I haven’t played with him all day.
I’m pretty exhausted, Tim. I think home sounds good.
But before Corvus knows it, her body senses the endless water and the cold air, and Tim is slowing down and taking the downhill beach entrance. The road-length rusty gate is open. It’s a public beach but it’s after hours: no one else seems to be around. All the bonfire pits in the near distance are dead and sandy and the parking lot is empty aside from rocks, sticks, and detritus. It’s cold as fuck outside.
Corvus says, Maybe five, ten minutes, looking at the soft moonlight on the water.
Come on, boy! Tim screams.
They park half on the grass, and Tim leaves the headlights turned on, illuminating a small path for them along the seaweed, more rocks and white shells. Corvus looks around and can’t believe there is no one else on the beach: the sight is exhilarating, the water looks full of rage.
Are you doing all right? he asks. You look as though you’re about to faint.
Like I said, I’m just tired, she says. It would take a lot to make me faint.
Tim hands her a cigarette and they walk side by side, with the puppy leading the way.
Without tact and blowing smoke, Tim asks, So how do you feel about him using your life like that?
Perry’s not using me, Corvus says. She shakes her head and smiles.
They’re finally down at the water where the sand is dark, but they don’t get close enough to get wet. The pit bull waits for no one and quickly splashes into the black waves.
Corvus says, I love his plays. I support Perry.
He portrays you as so sad.
Corvus kind of smiles but stops herself and takes another drag. I am sad, she says. So is Perry.
They stop where the moonlight is the brightest and watch the puppy play in the water, each smoking their cigarette, each far gone and exhausted. The clear view of the long, uninhabited shore is a thrilling private celebration that soothes her inside out. The thought of drowning brings goose bumps up and down her arms.
I love the water, she says. She looks at Tim and says, I think Perry makes work for people like me and him. We’re just sad people, happy but sad. The wind blows in her hair and she says, Probably our childhood or something.
Before leaving, they walk the dog up a stone path to the cliffs, and take in a more inviting view, the whole stupid Pacific Ocean. As she walks to the edge of the cliff, holding the dog’s leash, Tim takes a picture of her without asking first, without her knowing: a girl standing on a cliff, looking out at the water.
He says, My mother is dead. Tossing his cigarette into the grass, he says, We all have fucked-up childhoods. There is this slow gleam in Tim’s eyes and he says, That’s why I’m a big fan of Perry’s. His work is fucked-up good.
He hands Corvus a white business card with just a number on it. XXX-XXX-XXXX.
I would love to work with him in any capacity, Tim says. Or with you, he says.
Tim drives Corvus home and reaches over to open her door.
In any capacity, he says. The beginning of daylight stings her eyes as she walks the last few yards to her red front door, and she can hear insects buzzing secretly all around her and the cold air feels good.
CHAPTER 6
HER WEDDING DRESS IS LACE ON LACE, LIGHT AND SIMPLE with a small bow tied on the back, elegant in its simplicity. Perry is wearing a blue striped suit and a skinny red tie, and he’s holding a modest bouquet of daisies. He waits nervously, taking in happy, delighted breaths as though about to fall from the sky. The first look is Corvus coming from around the corner of an old brick building drenched in sunlight after a light rain, and Perry is so surprised, his body temperature changes, and he becomes this perfect steady warmth. His shakes are gone, and they cry softly when they finally embrace. They hold so tightly. There is a new layer to breathing.
They walk into a small room full of photos in square and oval frames: every picture is of strangers, almost all of them smiling. The chapel collects photos of everyone who has ever wed there, displayed as a timeline. There is a smiling officiant named Betty dressed in a white tie waiting for them. There is a jazz piano in the corner, and a couple of rows of wooden benches, and Michelle is sitting in the front, their only invited guest. She looks as though she could explode with everything in her, her smile is the largest in the room. Michelle, excited with
her teeth showing, holds her hands clenched in the air as though she’s holding invisible ropes.
Even in this perfect moment, Perry feels a tinge of despair just at the tip of his fingers, but he doesn’t show it. He looks back and smiles at Michelle, looks at the empty rows of seats behind her, and thinks, The world never wanted us. He thinks, I never believed in family.
Corvus cries reciting her vows and Perry cries while he listens.
Perry cries reciting his vows and Corvus starts to laugh and looks at him, wiping her tears. He smiles looking at her.
They face each other and touch hands. The rings appear. Corvus hops in place after the officiant says, smiling, You may now kiss the bride.
They kiss for a long time, taking a moment for a breath even, as though they won’t ever have a chance to touch again.
Corvus holds her veil in her hands, taking a moment to hide her face in Perry’s shoulder as Michelle goes to get the car. She softly head-butts Perry’s shoulder and says, Hey. Hey, you.
Perry smiles and says, Hey.
Hey, you’re mine, she says. You’re all mine.
CHAPTER 7
CORVUS WALKS OUT OF THE MOVIE THEATER LOOKING A BIT of a mess; her uniform is wrinkled and spotted with butter stains, but her hair looks really good, and Michelle slow-claps Corvus as she approaches. Her claps grow louder and louder. The parking lot is filled to capacity, four hundred hot cars glowing in the sunshine. The day is insane with lush clouds and stiff winds. They make sweet eye contact, leading to smiles. What the fuck are you doing here? Corvus asks.
Leaning against the Volvo, Michelle pulls out a tightly rolled joint from her pocket with one hand, while snapping chopsticks with the other.
Pure evil genius, Corvus says.
How was work? asks Michelle.
It’s the morning shift. It’s all dead there.
It’s been one week, Michelle says.
Corvus sings, Since you looked at me!
Michelle snorts and says, No! I wanted to surprise you. You’ve been married for a whole week, asshole!
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