Читать книгу Saint John of the Five Boroughs - Ed Falco - Страница 10

WHAT did people see when they saw her? Cute girl, jeans and a T—a mom in a few years driving her kids to soccer. But that was not Avery. Whomever she was, that was not it. Sometimes she thought that was what the tattoos and the piercings were about, all her girlfriends: a way to say, This is really more like who I am. Nipple ring: I like that I know I don’t look like it, but I do. Nose ring: I’m different than what you would otherwise have thought. There’s something strange and savage inside me. Indian tribal armband, Cecilia Brown. Snake coiled around the base of her spine, Leslie Weinstein. Sorority girls. Tiger clawing up her arm, scorpion on the back of her neck. Alice Wen, Ashley Caputo, intramural soccer team. Avery said, “Oh my God!” loudly when she saw Gabrielle’s tattoo. Gabrielle: quiet demure shy girl with an angry edge. Avery knew her from art history, a few other art courses; they were sort of friends. In the shower, after gym, Gabrielle pulled away her towel and there, below her hip bone, low, toward the inner thigh, a trompe l’oeil rip in her skin out of which black spiders poured. “Don’t ask,” she said, and rubbed at the spiders with her fingertips as if she might erase them that easily. “I was not in a healthy place,” she added and turned on the water and stepped under the shower with her head turned up to the cascading stream. That was all that was said. Avery didn’t ask. She knew “healthy place” meant healthy emotional place, and she had wondered ever since what might have happened, what might have been going on in Gabrielle’s life to make her choose that tattoo.

As she thought about Gabrielle, Avery buried her head under pillows to block out noise. Melanie was up, doing something in the kitchen. It sounded like Dee might be in there with her, and someone else. People kept knocking at the front door. She pushed her head into the mattress, struggled to hold on to the dullness of sleep, where her thoughts could bounce off the one thing she didn’t want to think about yet. Instead she thought about Gabrielle’s tattoo. She wondered what might have happened to Gabrielle. Avery had gone through her own terrible years from middle school, roughly, through sophomore year, when things had changed a little for the better. She remembered those two years, junior and senior year in high school, as a respite, a little halcyon period between the fury of her early teens—when she had talked to almost no one and lived with Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson blaring through earbuds—and the blow of her father’s death. She saw her childhood as ending somewhere around age ten, when she could still remember her father putting her to bed at night, tucking her in, reading her a book until she was sleepy and then she would give him a hug, and tell him she would always love him, always, and he’d tell her the same, a little ritual between them. Sometime after that the anger came on and she wouldn’t let either of her parents into her room. They let her put a bolt on the door and she lived alone in that room behind that bolted door.

Something about Grant brought her back to those years, to thinking about those years, as if somehow he stirred up the same intense feelings, or as if those feelings had never gone away, really, she had only mostly successfully tamped them down, and then Grant had dug them up again.

She didn’t really understand what had happened. She hadn’t been able yet to think it through. She was furious with him but not done with him yet, the feelings, whatever it was about him, still there. Whatever it was. As if whatever he was, she might fall into it, and something about that pulled at her like gravity. It seemed to Avery sometimes—she knew this, she had thought about this—that there wasn’t one thing about her life that was hers. Sometimes she thought she hated her friends and was only with them because, what else? Sometimes she thought she would give anything if she didn’t feel she had to be what Kate needed her to be, for Kate, not for her, not for Avery. She didn’t want any of it sometimes, and lately it was most of the time, and something about Grant was like all that dark music when she was a teenager. She felt pulled to him, even after what he’d done, even after that.

She liked it. She came. Was that who she was? That moment, that hinge, when she might have tried to stop him, when she might have fought, what was that about, the way she threw herself into him instead? She might as well have screamed like an animal, she might as well have clawed and bitten. And Grant—He wanted to rip her open. She could still feel him in her belly, the way he pulled her apart. Was that who she was? Even now in the warmth of her bed, her head buried under a pillow, the thought of it made her heartbeat quicken. She had clung to him on the back of his bike while the night softened to day, and by the time he let her off it was light and she walked away from him, his face hidden behind a black shield.

At the sound of someone knocking on her door, Avery yanked another pillow over her head and burrowed into the sheets, pulling her knees up to her belly as if she might knot up into a tiny ball and disappear. “Hey,” Melanie said, her voice inside the room. “Bitch,” she said, and she sat on the bed. “Are you getting up today or what? It’s like eleven o’clock.”

Avery turned over and peered out from between the pillows. Melanie had on baggy gym shorts and a blue T-shirt with Nittany Lions scrolled in white letters over her heart. The girl smelled like perfumed soap and shampoo, her hair damp, her skin pink and shower-fresh.

Melanie said, “Zach’s called twice already this morning. What did you do, throw him out?”

“Sort of,” Avery said. “Not really.” She pulled herself upright, her back against the headboard, and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

“Sort of?” Melanie said. “You sort of threw Zach Snow out of your bed?” She pulled up the shuttered blinds and let a flood of sunlight into the room.

Avery covered her face with her arms.

Melanie sat on the edge of the bed. “Did you throw him out like he was a pig or something? What happened?”

Avery gave up and took her hands away from her face. “I didn’t throw him out. You said that. I didn’t say I threw him out.”

“So! What? What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” Avery slid down under the covers again and settled her head on the pillow. “I just didn’t feel like waking up with him in the morning.”

“I get up first,” Melanie said. “I’m like, no way I’m letting a guy see me first thing in the morning. Plus,” she added, “morning breath.”

Avery said, “You get up and brush your teeth and wash your face before the guy’s even awake?”

“I fix my makeup too,” she said, and added, “Oh, like you’ve never done that!”

Avery said, “Jesus, Melanie, I’m—” She was starting to say that she was still half asleep and hadn’t even gotten out of bed and wasn’t ready for this conversation. She thought she might ask Melanie sweetly if she could manage to go away—but she stopped when she realized she was glad Melanie was there chattering at her.

Melanie said, “Yes?” and then added, apparently startled by a sudden thought, “He didn’t want you to do something that was, like—”

Avery said, “Oh, just stop, please.” There was a loud knock at the door and Melanie bounced up and ran to answer it, as if she were expecting someone special. Avery slid down in the bed and pulled the covers over her head, giving herself a moment in the warmth and darkness before Melanie came back into the room with Dee.

Dee yelled, “You’re so bad!” and jumped on Avery, smothering her with a hug before rolling over and sitting up beside her. She straightened herself out and said, as if she’d just remembered she was mad, “You bitches ditched me! I’m like, Where are my girls?” She looked back and forth from Avery to Melanie. “Where’d you go?”

“We got sidetracked,” Melanie said.

Avery said, “Wound up at a different party.”

“Bitches,” Dee said to both of them, and then, as if done with the anger, she said to Avery, “Is that where you met Zach? It’s like, already I must have had like five phone calls and they’re all, Avery and Zach, Avery and Zach. He told Leslie he’s in love with you.”

Avery said, “Who’s Leslie?”

Dee said, “Friend. So? Did you sleep with him? Because he’s telling people you did.”

“He’s telling people I slept with him?”

“You didn’t?”

Melanie laughed and said, “Right, she didn’t sleep with him.”

“Of course I slept with him, it’s just—”

“Avery!” Dee said. “Zach Snow!”

Avery said, “Why? Is he like—”

“He’s gorgeous!” Dee said. “Not to mention he’ll get drafted and be megarich like a week after he graduates.”

Melanie said, “Avery doesn’t think that way.”

Dee said, “I think that way.”

Melanie said to Avery, “I think they’re both gorgeous, don’t you? Zach and Grant?”

Dee said, “Who?”

Melanie said to Avery, “Wasn’t he unbelievably intense? Oh my God!”

“Who’s Grant?” Dee shouted.

Avery said, “Melanie’s date last night.”

Dee said, “You both—What was this, like orgy night?”

Melanie said, “Please.” To Avery she said, “He’s thirty-three! Can you believe it?”

“He told you his age?” Avery sat up and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Why wouldn’t he tell me his age? I’m into older men—”

“Oh, puh-lease,” Dee said, “like you’re all about older men. Who was this guy?” she asked Avery.

Avery said, “I thought he was a little creepy, actually.”

Dee said, “Is he good-looking?”

“I think he’s gorgeous,” Melanie said. To Avery she said, “He’s got like a perfect body, don’t you think?”

Avery said, “When did he tell you his age?”

“Son of a bitch,” Dee said.

Avery said to Melanie, “You asked him in bed how old he was?”

“I don’t think it was in bed. We got busy in bed.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Dee said with a wiggle of her shoulders, meaning Melanie was all proud of herself. “So was he good?”

“At first—” Melanie started. Then she stopped and smiled, as if luxuriating in the memory. “At first he was all, I don’t know, like in some other place or something.” She seemed to think a moment, looking for the right way to explain him. She had Dee and Avery’s attention. “I think he’s like really deep,” she said, “because I’m—There was nothing happening at first, you know? I’m like in bed with him, Hello? I’m over here?”

Dee said, “What was he doing? Gazing at the ceiling?”

“Really,” Melanie said.

“So what happened?” Avery asked.

“So I got busy,” Melanie said, doing a tough-girl parody, making Dee laugh. “I did some of the nasty things get a boy’s attention.”

Dee said, “That’s so fucked up.”

Melanie kept going, on a roll. “Used my feminine wiles! Did some nasty stuff.”

Avery said, “Oh, shut up, please.”

Dee said to Avery, “Bitch is full of herself. I think she’s love-struck.”

“Well, where is he, then?” Avery said to Melanie. “Where’d the boy go?”

“He leave in the morning?” Dee asked. “’D’ you go out for breakfast?”

“Uh-uh,” Avery said. “He was out in the living room watching television when Zach left, and I’m pretty sure I heard him leave a little after.”

“Watching television?” Dee said, looking accusingly at Melanie.

Melanie said, unfazed, “He couldn’t sleep.”

Avery said, “Really.”

Melanie took a neatly folded slip of paper out of the pocket of her shorts and read it aloud, “Can’t sleep. See you tomorrow. You were wonderful.” She lingered long over each syllable of wonderful, drawing an “Oooh,” from Dee.

There was another knock at the door, followed by a shout. Avery said, “I’ll get it,” and jumped out of bed.

When she opened the door, she found Chack and Billy. Chack, as always, in khaki slacks and a madras shirt, Billy in loose-fitting greenish polyester pants and an orange T-shirt that read “Kill Me” in clashing red letters. Billy’s face looked like he might be serious about the message on the T.

Avery said, “Chack, you know, I got to tell you, nobody in this whole fucking country wears madras except Indian guys. What the fuck is that about? Where do you even find that shit?” When Chack’s expression went from cheerful to dumbfounded, she said, “Forget it. I’m having my period. Party’s in my room,” and she left them standing in the doorway as she headed for the bathroom, her head fuzzy and her back and shoulders a little stiff and tingly.

In the relative quiet of the bathroom, behind the locked door, she pulled down her pajama bottoms and panties, sat down heavily on the john, and then ripped a clump of toilet paper off the spool and slammed it between her legs. While she peed with the toilet paper clutched angrily in her fist, she stared at the opposite wall with enough intensity to burn a hole through it, but there wasn’t a thought in her head. She sat slightly crouched, her back hunched over a little, her hand between her legs, her eyes on the wall, hovering above the familiar watery melody as if suspended in time. She ached a good bit down there. She felt raw. When she was done, she washed her hands and then hesitated in front of the medicine-cabinet mirror. She straightened out her hair, massaged her eyes hard and deep, and then stood there with her hands over her face in the shifting patterns of dark. She wanted to slap Melanie, and not for the sappy you were wonnnnderfulllll but for the gleam in her eyes when she said it, like she was all in love with Grant after one night.

You were wonderful. What was that about? With Melanie, he’s you were wonderful. With Avery, he’s an animal. What was that? Really? Avery looked at herself in the mirror and saw that she was glaring and that her face was red. She grabbed a clean washcloth off the shelf above the john and gave herself a cat bath. She had slept in an old short-sleeved blouse over an equally old pair of pajama bottoms, and she straightened the blouse as she stepped out into the hallway. She heard a loud outburst of laughter, and when she got to her room, she found Billy standing on her dresser, barefoot. She said, “What’s this?” and Chack said, “He’s illustrating his diving technique.”

Melanie said, “Crazy bastard dove into the apartment pool.” She was stretched out on the bed next to Dee.

Billy jumped down from the dresser. “I was slightly drunk,” he said to Avery. “Were you at the party?”

Billy was cute—a little dopey but basically sweet. Avery sat beside Melanie. She said, “What are you going to do when you run out of stunts, Billy?”

Billy touched his heart, as if he were about to pledge allegiance. “Who? Me? What?”

“To call attention to yourself,” Avery said.

Billy said, “What do you mean?” He lifted himself onto her dresser.

Avery said, “Please don’t sit on my dresser.”

Billy slid off the dresser and then leaned back against it.

Dee said, as if suddenly developing interest in the conversation, “She means when you run out of crazy stunts, what are you going to do so that people notice you?”

The room got quiet for a moment while Billy shifted from foot to foot, looking a little confused. Chack, who was sitting on the floor by the window, looked up at Billy with what appeared to be interest, as if he were genuinely curious about how his friend would respond.

When the silence got awkward, Melanie said to Avery, “What are you, like on bitch pills this morning?”

Avery said, “I’m just asking.”

Dee said to Melanie, “Who wears a T-shirt that says ‘Kill Me’?”

Chack jumped up and shouted, “My man does!” He picked up Billy and tossed him onto the bed, on top of Melanie and Dee, causing shouting and laughter as Billy scrambled to the floor.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Avery said. “Everybody out. Really. Let me get dressed.” She went to the door and held it open. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Dee said, “I have to go anyway,” and kissed Avery on the cheek as she left the room. “I’ll call you later,” she said. “I want more details.”

Billy and Chack filed out after Dee. Melanie waited a second. On her way out of the room, when the others were out of hearing range, she whispered to Avery, “Dee’s so jealous I swear she’s turning fucking green.”

Avery closed and locked her door, fell into the bed, and curled up under the covers, where she lay in silence for several minutes. From the living room, she heard Chack and Billy chatting with Melanie for a while before they left together, laughing back and forth out in the hall, talking loudly about something that had happened at the party. When the apartment was blessedly quiet for a few minutes, she felt herself getting sleepy again. She burrowed down under the covers, pulled her knees to her chin, and drifted toward sleep nestled in an inarticulate funk.