He sprints back through the marsh, out toward the road, to retch into the gutter. His stomach convulses painfully, as though it is wringing itself out. He can only think about catching his breath, about wiping the tears from his cheeks, the vomit from his lips. Once he is sure he can breathe, he starts to run back into town on wobbling legs.
He can’t stop thinking of their fingers. Like they were reaching for one another, trying to hold hands. Trying to hold on.
LILY
OUR SHIFT FROM SAFETY, LIGHTNESS, toward darkness was so quick, so subtle.
The man who approached us looked like he might have been a high school football coach. It took a good deal of maneuvering for him to sit on the barstool and shift so his stomach wasn’t pressing up against the bar. But the redness in his face implied anger coiled in him, waiting to strike. Underneath his smile, he was the kind of man who smashed bottles at bars.
“What do you want, Long Island iced teas? Ladies seem to love those Long Island iced teas.”
“You must buy a lot of girls drinks, huh?” Clara said. “And here I thought we were special.”
“Well, then I’ll buy you two, darling.” He was already licking his lips. “If it’ll make you feel special. If it’ll make you feel good.”
“I’m sure that will make me feel good,” she said, laying her hand on his wrist. I felt a little jilted that she had seemed to care about my story and now her attention had been so easily redirected to someone else. The man murmured something near her ear, and she giggled in a way I hadn’t heard before, giddy and girlish. I didn’t think I could stand it, watching her hand fall again and again on this man’s arm. His hand creeping from her knee up her thigh. I reached for my bag, waited for the bartender to turn around so I could close out my tab.
The man raised his eyes from Clara’s mouth to look at me. “Hey, missy, you look a little lonely over there. I have a friend who I’m sure will want to keep you company.”
“I’m about to go,” I said.
“Oh, Lily, don’t,” Clara said. She inched closer to me, put her hand on mine. “Just for a little while?”
“Another round on me, until he gets here,” the man said.
I didn’t want to leave her with this guy. He was probably no worse than anyone else she’d met up with, but I still felt responsible. Like I could steer the situation, control it. Maybe eventually talk her into just going home. I would have to take a cab home anyway, and it could drop her off on my way back. My mood was turning sour; tomorrow would already be marred by a hangover. I was stuck, regret on either side: past and future. The only thing to do was wade through the oblivious, gin-soaked now. I stirred my drink and thought of Clara’s prophecy again: If I were really going to fall before I would rise, it might be better to get the fall over with. Better to face it, collide into it head-on. Some other humiliation, some other way the world was going to use me. I already had a sense that these men would make us into something smaller, less human. They would want to make us into a story for when they retreated back to their lives—these two young sluts we met down in AC, throwing back Long Island iced teas like you wouldn’t believe—the way Matthew had made me his story. If I had learned anything it was that if you were someone’s story, they owned a part of you, took a piece of you away.
“Fine,” I said. “What the hell.”
“Yay!” Clara leaned over, kissed me on the cheek, close to the corner of my lips, lingering a second longer than she needed to. Her eyelashes brushed my cheek.
“Well, now, ain’t nothing better than two sexy women showing each other a little affection. Or a lot of affection, if you know what I mean.”
“We certainly do.” Clara gave me a theatrical wink.
“Well, I like the sound of that. Girls who know how to have a little fun.”
“You have no idea how much fun,” she said. I tried to ignore how sad it made me to hear her like this. She was so good at being what he wanted, at hiding herself behind clichés. And he was so easily pleased, so willing to believe that this was all she was.
My jaw clenched tighter. Was it this easy? Did people really talk like this? In middle school, one of my friends and I would watch porn on Starz after her parents went to bed. We were curious about sex, how it worked, how two seemingly sane, rational people ended up clawing at one another like animals, moaning and grunting. We were interested in the act, sure, but we also wanted to know about what led to it: Were there code words? Did the innuendo just pile up until you knew when to touch each other? Clara and this man reminded me of the scripts of those movies. The woman approaching the auto mechanic in his shop, letting him know she wanted him to do more than service her car. A raised eyebrow, a turned foot, a bitten lip, and in minutes they were all over one another, the woman’s body smeared with black grease.
“Here’s my friend Rob now. Wait till he gets a look at you two; he’ll wish he cashed in his chips half an hour ago.”
The two men could have been brothers: Rob was a little taller than the first man, but with the same large stomach taut against his T-shirt. He wore a black visor and his frequent player’s card was attached to his belt with a neon lanyard. He nodded at us, not asking our names.
He surveyed the empty glasses and water-ringed napkins spread in front of us. “Looks like I’ve got some catching up to do.” I wondered if we weren’t worth a handshake, if he only wanted to touch us the way men felt permitted to touch girls in bars: at the smalls of their backs when pushing through a crowd, a squeeze on the arm for emphasis.
“Why don’t you sit on the other side of Lily? She’s bored by herself,” Clara said. I kicked the leg of her stool.
“Don’t mind if I do.” I wasn’t so sure he was right about catching up. Up close he smelled like rum.
“What’s a girl like you drinking? Let me guess, vodka soda? That’s what women drink to keep their weight down and still have a good time. My guess from the looks of you is that you like to do both.” He ordered one for me, and a mai tai for himself. I was already too far gone: The lights of the slot machines beyond the bar started to blur.
I thought about standing up, walking away, jostling him with my shoulder as I did so he would go toppling to the floor. Making my way out the front door, hailing a cab. Going home, where my mother would be asleep in front of the TV. But then I thought, in my drunken, imprecise way, about Matthew. Telling that story to Clara had dredged up the old desire to impress him, the man to whom stories were the highest form of currency—mostly because he already had everything else. What would it feel like to lean into this moment? To let these men use us. To see what Clara was talking about. Maybe there was only one way to really know.
“Thanks for this,” I said when the fresh drinks came. This time, I angled my chest toward him, like Clara did, and let my fingers brush the top of his arm. Why not? I thought. Maybe recklessness wasn’t reserved only for men.
“Aren’t you friendly,” he said, looking at my lips, then at my chest. I was still fighting the urge to wriggle away. His shirt needed washing and I could smell acrid smoke, the tang of body odor. I could also feel Clara’s eyes on me, even as she giggled. I wanted her to watch.
“So where are you from?” I asked. It was a misstep, I realized as soon as I said it. These men came here to feel big: They didn’t want to think about whatever was waiting for them back home. The sagging gutters, the faded paint, the bills, the soul-deadening jobs.
“Avondale, Pennsylvania.”
“I hope you’re having a fun trip.” I tried to make my voice breathy. “Did you do well at the tables? What’s your favorite game to play?”
“I like poker mostly. Blackjack here and there.”
“I’m no good at any of those. Maybe you could teach me a thing or two.”
“Probably could. It’s harder than it looks.”
I touched his leg. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes, indeed.” He swallowed, looked at me as though trying to measure something.
“Hey, so
uh, we’ve got a room upstairs.” Rob leaned over me to Clara. “Isn’t that right, Luke?” I stared down at Luke’s forearm, braced on the bar for balance. Even his arm was flushed. “Plenty more to drink. Not quite so crowded. Keep the good times going.” His pores were giant and there was sweat gathering at his temples, glistening under the bristle of his hair.
“You like coke?” Rob whispered to me, his breath hot on my ear. “We’ve got enough to share.” I nodded, even though it was a lie. I had never liked it very much, the way it made my heart buzz, the too-sweet drip of it down my throat. “I’m assuming you’ll also share some of your winnings, Mr. Big Shot.” I could do it: be this stupid, this bold. That’s what they wanted, all of them. Matthew ranting on about how stories matter more than money, more than success. Ramona nodding in agreement, that you become the story you tell.
“I see.” He didn’t sound surprised. I suppose I had wanted him to.
“What are you waiting for?” Clara was watching me again. I wanted her to feel the force of what she had provoked. I was young. I had a body that was firm and soft in the right proportions. I had good skin and long hair. Why couldn’t I use these fleeting gifts to a particular end? Besides, Matthew had and without my permission. Now, at least, I was the one making the choice, offering myself up. I would get all of the benefits of whatever exchange we worked out.
Fuck off, I texted Matthew, as I climbed down from my barstool. But I was still thinking about what words I would use to tell him about this experience. The look of awe and disgust and finally respect coming into his face. And it would answer Clara’s prophecy: I would hit rock bottom. I would fall again before I could rise. The bad fate would buy the good. I pictured all of my misery reversing suddenly and absolutely, like the tipping of a seesaw.
The men lay bills on the bar and led us back through the floor, toward the eastern tower.
Clara edged closer. “Are you sure about this?” she whispered.
“What? You do it. It’s like you said, no big deal. Under control.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“So what did you mean?”
In front of us the men were talking, too—probably about money. Who could pay for us. How much we would cost them. Whether they should drop us and head to a strip joint instead. What was my value, to the dollar? I had wondered this, too, after Matthew’s show, when I read that it had sold out. A piece of me had been in the offing then, too. I suddenly had so many questions for Clara. Would the money always feel paltry, the amount too low? What did she do if someone didn’t want to pay? Did she ever sleep with anyone simply because she wanted to? Or was she ruined for anything like genuine lust?
“It’s harder than that. It takes a piece of you away. And you don’t need to do anything with these guys. You should go. Before we get into the elevator with them.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
“It’s fine, Lily. I’ll be okay.”
I nodded at her fingers. “Let’s both leave.”
“I need the money, remember? If I’m going to stop doing this one day, I have to get out of here. It’s a means to an end.”
“Funny, I feel the same way.”
“Stop trying to prove a point you don’t need to prove!” Her voice was loud. The men heard and turned around.
“Everything okay, girls?” Luke asked. He was swaying.
“Yeah, or do you need to kiss and make up?” Rob stepped closer to me. “Bad girls get spanked, you know. Have you been a bad girl?” I tried to imagine what it would be like, a man I hated putting his hands on me. How much different would it feel from being touched by someone I cared about?
“We’re fine, aren’t we, Clara?”
“I thought you said your name was Amanda …” Rob slurred.
“You know what? We have to go. You two have a good time,” Clara said.
“But I thought we were all having fun?” Luke put his hand on my arm. “Come on. It will be even more fun upstairs. We can keep the party going.”
“Come on, Amanda,” I said, imitating Clara when she flirted. “You’re hurting my feelings.” She bit the inside of her cheek, shook her head. I wished I could say I felt dread as we approached the bank of elevators, the gold doors throwing back our reflections, but I was empty, cold. I could watch as Luke extended a hand toward me, grabbed my ass, as though it were happening to another person. I tried to think of the title Matthew would give this version of me. Lily Groped. Then I thought of my painter—how the artist would have captured the queasy turn to my mouth, the pallor of my face—but I pushed the image away.
We got into the elevator and Luke pressed the button for the twelfth floor. We were quiet as it rose. The cables squeaked. The car groaned.
Inside the room, two duffel bags were open on the floor, and I saw the sleeve of a Hawaiian shirt peeking out of one of them: attire for tomorrow’s trip to the Swim Club—these guys were walking clichés. I tried to get Clara to meet my eyes, but she wouldn’t look at me anymore. Rob made his way to the bathroom. I hadn’t really believed him about the coke until I heard him cutting it, the scrape of a credit card on the marble vanity and the wet sound of his greedy snorting.
Luke came toward me, stroked my back. Clara was standing with her arms crossed, out of his reach.
“Come on, sweetheart. Show your girlfriend here that you’re friends again after your little fight. Kiss and make up.”
Clara raised her eyes. She was glowering at me and I could feel the heat rising from her body. Luke stepped away from me and pulled her by her belt loop. I still had the feeling that none of it was actually happening, that there wouldn’t really be consequences for what we had set into motion. This summer had long since canted into the surreal. With the liquor, it was easier to tell myself that it was all part of a dream, and when I woke everything would slowly be neutralized by the coming of the day, that I would try to remember the details—the meaty, warm hands on me, the rum breath, the almost melancholy look of the Hawaiian shirt peeking out of the suitcase—and they would already have faded away.
Rob returned from the bathroom, grabbed my wrist, and pulled. The effects of that last drink were coming on and I stumbled a little as he pulled me.
I thought about what it would be like to sleep with this man for money—surely I had been underneath enough bodies in college to know what it was like to be an absence, really, during sex. A man sweating and thrusting but also oblivious to me. Oblivious to anything but his own pleasure. But I hadn’t thought that he would want to kiss me. That his tongue would jab at mine, and how the force and the taste of it would make me feel sick. Strangely cool. Rum-soaked. The only thoughts I had now were stop, wait. I pulled away from him and looked behind me, to Clara. Luke had already pulled her shorts off, and she was in his lap in the chair against the wall. She looked so small against his big body.
“You don’t like that? Fine,” Rob said. There was anger in his voice. Was there anyone angrier than a man rejected? Than a man who had seen repulsion on your face when he had expected to find admiration, lust? Was there any limit to what that kind of man could do to you, the ways he felt entitled to retaliate?
Rob moved his hand to my shoulder and pressed me toward the ground while his other hand reached for his fly. Then his fingers were in my hair. He wound them close to the scalp and pulled. And for a moment, I tried to imagine it, to hover above the scene and wonder, what would Matthew title this one? Lily Punished. Lily on Her Knees. Lily, Hair Pulled.
He was drunk enough that he was having trouble with the zipper on his jeans, grunting and swearing in one indistinguishable string of obscenities. I rubbed my scalp.
“What’s a matter, didn’t like that? Can talk the talk but can’t walk the walk, huh?”
“I don’t want to do this,” I said. But he was already lifting my dress. I tried to scream but it came out in a strange trickle of sound.
“Hey, stop that!” Clara stood up from Luke’s lap.
“You bitches
tricked us.” I tried to break free, but his hand tightened on my arm.
“I said let her go.” Luke rose from his chair, a ridiculous erection tenting his shorts.
“What the hell?” Rob said. “What kind of customer service is this, huh? We pay for what we want, you give it.”
“Just go easy, man,” Luke said. “This is supposed to be fun.”
Clara reached for her shorts, stepped into them. I thought for a second she was going to put them on and leave. It would probably be what I deserved, I thought, after instigating this. Insisting, thinking of it all as an adventure, a kind of game, that I could make into something else—a wild story that I would tell at a bar in a few years. But then she fingered something in her pocket. I saw a flash and thought, ridiculously, that it was a piece of jewelry, that she was going to attempt a bribe. It wasn’t until she had stepped closer to Rob with the blade extended that I understood that she had a knife.
“What do you think you’re doing with that, little girl?” He reached for Clara.
“Get away from her. We’re leaving.”
Rob laughed like a man who had nothing to lose. “No, princess. I’d rather see you try something with that. I can play rougher than you think.” Clara cut her eyes in my direction and a second later she was lunging.
“FUCK!” Rob screamed, and let go of me, moving his hands to his leg. “You stupid little bitch. Are you insane? You fucking crazy bitch!”
“Lily! Let’s go!” The knife was still in her hand, shimmering with blood. I turned behind me to see Rob holding his calf, blood dripping into his socks. I grabbed my purse. Rob stood before us, his eyes glazed, his mouth hanging open. We ran out into the hallway, toward the elevator. I punched the down arrow over and over with my fist.
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