Cobble Hill

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  A blond head loomed just beyond their little gathering.

  “Elizabeth.” Wendy coughed hoarsely. “Come join us!”

  Elizabeth had left Tupper and Roy to set up the fireworks. “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello. Hello,” Wendy trilled. “I’m glad you’re out of prison.”

  “Totally.” Peaches handed Elizabeth the pipe. “This neighborhood would be so fucking boring without you.”

  Elizabeth took the pipe and held it between her lips. Wendy Clarke caressed her orange jumpsuited elbow. A carefully dressed man with perfect skin and teeth was watching her closely.

  “Careful, it’s pretty strong,” he warned.

  She inhaled deeply, holding her breath as she passed the pipe to Wendy. Wendy took a hit and handed it to Pretty Man. He took a hit and handed it to Snow White in Denim. She waved it away.

  “I need to get inside,” Mandy said. It was more of a demand than a request. “Now, please.”

  “We can go inside.” Wendy released her hold on Elizabeth and linked arms with Mandy. “I think there might still be some leftover lasagna in the kitchen.”

  “No. Not inside your house. Inside my house,” Mandy insisted.

  * * *

  Roy stabbed the pointed stick-end of one of the larger firecrackers into the grass. “Shine the torch over here a moment, would you?” he told Tupper.

  Tupper and Roy were unwrapping the fireworks from their colorful Chinese paper wrappers and setting them up in the dark, grassy area at the foot of the garden near the brick wall. The empty lot behind Roy and Wendy’s house belonged to a church and was used for parking. It was almost possible they might get away with their Bonfire Night extravaganza without disturbing the neighborhood at all.

  A torch, Tupper thought, feeling suddenly inspired. A real torch. He could start with a blowtorch and alter it. Dragons breathed fire, but that was too obvious. It might be more fun if it were something innocuous breathing the fire, like a ladybug or a panda or even a non-animal thing, like a fork or a shoe. A sock? He couldn’t wait to get back to his studio to try it out.

  “What are we lighting these with?” Elizabeth demanded, crashing out of a rhododendron bush. She wished she had the wooden oar from her Adam and Eve series. A burning oar would be perfect.

  In her stoned artist’s mind she’d already set off a volcanic eruption and interrupted the Icelandic weather patterns. They could track it via satellite. She’d have to get NASA or some government weather command center involved, which would have been easier if she’d been awarded a MacArthur, but that was where Tupper could be of use.

  “I’ll make something we can work with,” Tupper offered. “A real torch.” He began to whittle a large stick with his Swiss Army knife and, using his belt and an old nail, fashioned it into a barbecue lighter that would stay permanently lit.

  Tupper was so capable, Elizabeth thought. He just needed to stretch himself. Iceland called. It was calling them both.

  Roy Clarke caught her eye and handed her an enormous firecracker. “You’re the resident criminal,” he joked. “If anyone comes to arrest us, we’ll just say it was you.”

  “Don’t anyone get too close to the fire, because it’s very big and very hot,” Roy heard Wendy caution from the other side of the garden. Her voice sounded slow and hoarse, like a record put on at the wrong speed.

  Roy ripped open another firework wrapper and stabbed the end into the dirt. She must have thought the new book was terrible. That was why she was avoiding him.

  Elizabeth broke his train of thought. “Look.” She pointed up at Shy’s bedroom window. “Shadow puppets.”

  * * *

  Wendy couldn’t leave her own party, especially not before the fireworks had even been lit, and Dr. Conway “had business to attend to,” so Peaches had offered to walk Mandy home. Wendy took methodical, stoned sips of her white wine and stumbled deliberately around the fire toward Roy. She didn’t know if she could talk to him or anyone else right now, but she needed to be near him.

  Roy looked so strong and ebullient, stabbing at the ground with fireworks as he chatted with his artist friends. He needed tasks to perform at parties; otherwise, he hid. Roy was a good man, really. He liked clean clothes and was generally neat. He might not appear to notice things, but from reading snippets and reviews of his books, it was quite clear he noticed everything. He could sit on a cold, empty beach and watch the waves. He liked to leave the window open and listen to the rain. He pretended not to mind that their older daughters, Chloe and Anna, didn’t seem to like their parents very much and only appeared for Christmas, but there were versions of Chloe and Anna in every book he’d written. He would rather eat at home than in a restaurant. He did not enjoy parties.

  Wendy loved parties and crowded places where she could people-watch. Abandoned beaches bored her. Sitting bored her. Reading lengthy novels bored her. She loved to read restaurant reviews and became extremely irritated when Roy wouldn’t try them. It occurred to her that perhaps she was the difficult one.

  An animal noise in the dark startled her. It was the Latin teacher, Streko, curled up in the farthest, darkest corner of the garden, half obscured by an evergreen bush. Empty beer bottles lolled in the grass near his tattooed form. An overturned plate leaned against his sneakered foot.

  “Wendy? Is that you lurking? Are you all right?” Roy called out to her.

  Wendy leaned casually against the garden wall. “Just taking a break,” she said, like it was a very normal thing to be standing alone in the dark at your own party. She wondered if she should call his attention to the Latin teacher. She didn’t mind it really. Maybe he was tired. Teaching teenagers must be exhausting.

  “I’m not sure you’re going to like this,” Roy said. “But I think something’s happening upstairs.”

  Wendy walked unsteadily toward him, her eyes fixed on Shy’s third-floor window. The venetian blinds were closed, but the light was on, casting shadows on the blinds. The shadowy hulk of the bed with two bodies on it was fully visible.

  “Oh,” Wendy gasped. “Oh.”

  Roy put his arm around her. “Remember how nice you said it was? Right here in our house. Not at some party with a boy she’d never laid eyes on. He’s the school nurse’s son and therefore probably very clean?”

  Wendy shuddered involuntarily and leaned into her husband. “I did say that.”

  “It’s all right, just don’t look up.” Roy sounded a bit too delighted. Even in her foggy state, Wendy recognized that note in his voice—when something he’d written actually happened in real life.

  “At least they’re here, safe with us, and not on Mars,” Wendy said, playing along.

  Roy squeezed her shoulders. “So, what did you think, anyway. About the book?”

  Wendy wished she had more wine or more pot to smoke. It was unavoidable now. She’d have to say something.

  “I only skimmed it sort of partially. I noticed there were lots of factual things about space. Words I didn’t recognize.” Was she slurring? “I thought you hated research.”

  “I do,” Roy harrumphed. She’d only skimmed it? “But Google makes it so easy. Scientists are quite serious about us colonizing Mars. I didn’t want to offend them. Did you know the atmosphere there is full of water? NASA’s got this system called MOXIE to extract it and in the process they can produce oxygen for the people to breathe and to oxygenate the rocket fuel. And if we have water and oxygen, we can probably grow things. There’d be no meat, maybe just grasshoppers and root vegetables and that sort of thing.”

  Wendy felt guilty that she hadn’t tried to read the draft more carefully. Roy was so excited.

  “I gave it to Jefferson. He thinks it’s genius.”

  “Yes, he’s rather Sheffield United. And I’m quite chuffed. But you only skimmed it.”

  “I like the idea of turning pee into water,” Wendy said, her eyelids drooping.

  Roy blanched and stepped away from her so that she staggered backward. Was she making
fun of him?

  “It’s rubbish, isn’t it? I should toss it and give up. Maybe I can get a job as a barkeep or something.”

  Wendy pressed her spine against the bricks of the garden wall in an attempt to maintain her dignity. “I don’t know, Roy. I’ve drunk too much wine and I smoked pot out of a pipe and I have to confess I’ve never fully been able to read any of your books.”

  Roy stared at her. “Not even Orange?”

  Wendy’s gaze shifted to the upstairs window. There was no movement on the bed now, just a big lump. Then the lump reared up and she averted her eyes.

  “Also, I got fired from Fleurt. I work for another magazine now. It’s called Enjoy!. It’s a huge demotion and not even permanent. I’m covering for someone on maternity leave. Oh, and the pay is shit. It’s a magazine for people who don’t mind spending an entire day at Macy’s. But I like it.”

  “Hey, excuse me.”

  It was Stuart Little, prowling around in the grass near the Latin teacher. “Sorry to interrupt, but have either of you seen a skateboard? I’m pretty sure I left it right here.”

  * * *

  “Our place is just down Kane, left on Cheever,” Mandy told Peaches.

  “I know.” Lately Peaches felt like she knew everything. It was not a good way to feel. It irritated her that she had all the answers and everyone else seemed so lost. She was also quite drunk and very high, which skewed things slightly. “I walked my dog by your house that time. Our dog died. He was a hundred years old.”

  “I need to cross the street,” Mandy commanded. “There’s a tunnel attached to the slide in the school playground. I’m going to get inside it.”

  “Seriously?” Peaches said, but Mandy was already crossing the street.

  It was dark now. They peered through the schoolyard fence. The red metal tunnel had survived the fire and remained intact. Trees rustled their dry leaves. The clear, cool November air smelled of smoke from the neighborhood fireplaces.

  Mandy led them into the schoolyard, ducked under the police tape, and dove headfirst into the tunnel. It was half the length of her body. She lay on her back with her knees sticking out, her feet on the ground, and sighed contentedly. “It’s cozy in here.”

  * * *

  “I could use some of these,” Elizabeth said, holding a blue firework in place while Tupper lit it.

  Tupper felt like he was on vacation. He’d spent so much time alone with Elizabeth, it was a relief to be out with her amongst his neighbors and friends. He’d thought she might scare people, especially after birthing herself out of a smelly sac of goo and then going to prison, but Elizabeth was as much a part of Cobble Hill as Roy and Wendy. If anything, the neighborhood was proud to claim her.

  They backed away and the firework shot into the air, exploding into a series of smaller Roman candle–like bursts that went off in rapid succession, hung like blue stars in midair, and then swayed slowly earthward.

  “We could do a fireworks show together,” Tupper suggested excitedly as he lit the next one. “Maybe up at Bard. Over the Hudson. With lemmings.”

  This is what separates my work from his, Elizabeth thought. He always reverts to cute rodents or exotic birds.

  “Maybe,” she responded with effort.

  She’d thought she would stay or take him with her, but she couldn’t. He was happy here. This was where he’d done his best work. He’d earned a MacArthur. And her best work was done separately, elsewhere.

  “Who wants to light the red one?” Roy called out. He’d lost track of Wendy while he was helping Stuart Little hunt for his skateboard. They weren’t done talking. It was all right that she hadn’t read his books. Join the club. And it was all right that she’d been fired from her job if she hated it anyway. Tonight was supposed to be romantic. He and Wendy had gotten engaged on Bonfire Night, a million years ago. She should light the red one.

  The fire was enormous. The whole garden was alight. There was Streko, the bum, asleep in the grass. And there was Wendy, talking to a dapper silver-haired gentleman in expensive leather shoes. Wendy looked a bit undone, her eyes drooping at half-mast, her hair wild. She’d been partying like a teenager, but she deserved it.

  Elizabeth lit the red one. It shot up into the night sky as she strode toward the house.

  “Loo’s just through the kitchen,” Roy called after her. He looked up at the sky as Tupper set off another one. Shy was missing the fireworks. Maybe Isabel, Ceran, and Bettina could see them from Mars. And maybe he’d throw out this draft—or most of it anyway—and start again.

  * * *

  Fireworks exploded in the sky. Mandy slid down the tunnel so that her head stuck out the bottom. There were red ones that burst into spinning red stars, blue ones that made trippy, slow-falling streaks, white ones that rocketed straight up and burst into perfect circles that sparkled slowly down.

  “Whoa,” she breathed. “Hope Stu got Ted outside to see this.”

  She’d asked Wendy to tell Stu to bring Ted home when he was ready. She was operating under the assumption that Ted was in a room somewhere, watching TV.

  “Fireworks were invented in medieval China,” she said. “To scare away the evil spirits.” She’d learned that from Ted.

  “Where’d they get these anyway?” Peaches marveled. Greg would be covering his ears right about now. He hated fireworks. “They must have cost a fortune. And I thought they were illegal to buy in New York State.”

  * * *

  What the fuck was with the fucking fireworks? Bruce wondered as he peddled furiously up Degraw Street. No one was going to hear him now.

  “Fire!”

  He felt like fucking Paul Revere.

  “Fire!”

  * * *

  “Roy,” Wendy called out hoarsely. “Come meet Dr. Conway.” It was such a relief to have told Roy what an immense disappointment she was. But Roy and Tupper were busy lighting more fireworks. The fireworks Wendy had retrieved from that Staten Island madman were magnificent, surely stolen from some special display for the Olympics or the coronation of a queen. It was all very professional. Manfred and Gabby would have been impressed. The Windsors would be jealous.

  “That’s our friend Tupper Paulsen,” she explained to the doctor. “He and his wife are very creative. He just won a MacArthur. And she went to prison,” she added in a whisper.

  “Nothing beats fireworks,” Dr. Conway observed, gazing up at the sky. His skin was almost opalescent. He reminded Wendy of the flawless male vampires in the movie Twilight, which she and Gabby had just watched in their office one recent afternoon, lying on yoga mats while sampling gelato.

  “Roy and I got engaged on Bonfire Night,” Wendy told him. “On top of Primrose Hill.” It seemed like a hundred years ago, or it could have been yesterday. She sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I’ve been in quite a state all day.”

  “Here.”

  Dr. Conway handed her a gummy lozenge. Wendy put it in her mouth. She’d decided to succumb to everything tonight.

  * * *

  “I just bought a new banjo,” Greg said. Damn these fireworks. Was he talking too loudly? Could Stuart Little hear him at all? With his noise-canceling headphones on it was impossible to tell. “There’s a store in Nashville I like to order from. They’ll let you try any instrument for a week, free.”

  “Cool.”

  Greg had invited Stuart to check out the instruments and recording equipment in his Gowanus basement. They walked up Kane Street toward Court, away from the schoolyard, while fireworks continued to burst overhead.

  I bet Ted is loving this, Stuart thought. He assumed Mandy had taken Ted home. He’d texted her to let her know what he was doing and wasn’t surprised when she didn’t text back. They were both still pretty mad at each other.

  Greg was walking quickly. The fireworks seemed to cause him pain.

  “Wait up,” Stuart called. He wished he’d found his skateboard.

  * * *

  Shy and Liam had spent a lot of time beneath h
er sheet, reading the hilarious step-by-step instructions inside Liam’s battered box of Costco condoms without actually using any of them. They still had on their underwear and most of their clothes. Shy was sure that at any minute her parents were going to bang on the door and ask her to do something completely unnecessary like put the kettle on or rake the leaves. The fireworks were over. Laughter and pot smoke wafted up from the garden.

  “I’m starving,” Liam said from beneath the sheet.

  “Me too,” Shy agreed.

  “Do you think your parents would mind if we ordered pizza?”

  Shy threw off the sheet and reached for her phone.

  * * *

  “I smell something,” Mandy said when the fireworks had finally ceased.

  “I bet you do,” Peaches said. “A bunch of stupid private school teenage assholes including my own son burned this place up last month. It still smells like burning rubber.”

  How much longer would she have to stand here, waiting for Mandy to get out of the tunnel and go home? There were stars now. The air was cold and clear. She sniffed, then sniffed again, her nose raised like a dog catching a scent.

  “Actually, I smell meatloaf. And caramel popcorn. And chocolate cake.”

  “You just described my entire Grandma’s House order,” Mandy said from inside the tunnel. “Minus the mashed potatoes and spinach salad. Hey, does anyone have any Fritos?”

  * * *

  Wendy lay on her back in the grass. The fireworks were over. Tupper and Roy and Dr. Conway and the other remaining guests conversed in low, soothing voices. The stars glimmered. The air smelled of fireplaces. The bonfire crackled. Wendy made a mental note to ask Roy if it wouldn’t be interesting to have the teenagers in his Mars book smoke Mars-grown marijuana. It seemed plausible. And once their inhibitions were loosened they could do something really crazy, like steal a rover or a rocket or whatever they drove up there and discover new, unknown life-forms.