All Our Pretty Songs aops-1

by Sarah Mccarry

  “It’s fine. She thinks I’m at Aurora’s.” Raoul feeds me more fried potatoes until I can sit up, cradling my pounding head in my hands.

  “Do you want to call Aurora?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Not that late. Around one.”

  I nod without thinking and the pulsating effects of the movement make me groan aloud. Raoul does his best not to laugh at me as he brings me the phone. “Shut up,” I say, and dial Aurora’s number. To my utter surprise, she answers on the first ring.

  “Babycakes! What the hell happened to you last night?”

  “I got—” I got what? The raging heebie-jeebies? An invisible burn from Aurora’s new buddy? I saw some chick in a steak dress and freaked the fuck out? “I got sort of drunk. Are you okay?”

  “Why would I not be okay? I’m great. God, that party was so much fun. I can’t believe you left. Jack played for so long, and it was so good and everybody loved him, and Minos loved him, and Minos’s boss loved him, and it was seriously like the best thing ever. I almost threw myself off the roof at the end it was so good. You know when something is so good and you think, ‘Shit goddamn, girl, that’s it, the pinnacle of your life has been achieved and it’s all downhill from here’?”

  “Are you on meth?”

  “What? No. Haven’t you ever felt like that? Anyway, come over. I need help decorating and Jack has big news.”

  There is so much to unpack in that statement that I settle for dealing with the information most relevant to my immediate interests. “Jack’s at your house?”

  “Where else would he be? Do you need me to pick you up?”

  Where else would he be. Right. I make a steering-wheel motion at Raoul. He rolls his eyes and nods. “Raoul can give me a ride.”

  “Wicked. Come over whenever.”

  “I guess she’s fine,” I say to Raoul when I hand the phone back to him. But I can’t shake the feeling that something has been set in motion that can no longer be undone. I wish I knew what really happened last night. What I saw and what was because of Minos’s sketchball homebrew. I remember the euphoric feeling the drink gave me, that perfect moment of joy. If that’s how Aurora feels around him, no wonder she won’t shake him loose. I do know what she meant. I’d wanted to jump off the roof, too.

  “Are you ambulatory?” Raoul asks, interrupting my reverie. “I have to go to work in a bit, so if you want a ride I should take you now.”

  “You are a saint,” I say. “A saint among mortals.”

  “The company you’ve been keeping lately,” he says, “I don’t know if you want to be joking about saints and mortals. Come on.”

  When I let myself in to Aurora’s house I hear piano music. I follow the source, expecting to see Jack. But it’s Maia at the dust-covered grand piano. Her back is to me and she doesn’t hear me come in. Silent, I watch her play.

  Her hands move over the keys like liquid, drawing out a tide of swirling notes. I can feel myself sinking into water, some blue country where the light splinters blue-green overhead, and though I can reach for the fragmented rays I can never touch them, lost as I am in the deep. Maia’s body sways as though she’s possessed, caught in the same heady current that washes us both where it will. The melody sings against a flurry of chords, the strange rhythm carrying us both far out to sea. I have no idea how long she’s been playing when she leans back, hands raised. I open my eyes, blinking at the suddenly unfamiliar world of Aurora’s house, thinking she is done; but she brings her hands down in a last furious surge, music spilling out in a massive wave, her hands sweeping across the keys and coming to rest at last on a single perfect chord.

  I let out my breath in a huge sigh, and Maia jumps, turns to face me. She’s out of breath, her cheeks flushed.

  “Oh, hi,” she says, her expression guilty. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  “That was beautiful,” I tell her. “It was like being underwater.”

  She smiles. “‘Chaque flot est un ondin qui nage dans le courant.’”

  “What?”

  “Ravel’s Ondine. It’s about a mermaid who falls in love with a mortal and tries to tempt him to come live with her in her ocean palace. She promises him he’ll be a king. When he tells her he’s in love with a human woman, she laughs at him and vanishes in a shower of rain.”

  “That’s depressing.”

  “Not really. She’s not human. She doesn’t feel things the way human beings do. She likes the idea of the mortal world, but what she’s feeling isn’t love the way we know it. And if she brings her lover underwater she’ll kill him. You can think of it as a happy ending.” Maia is the most animated I’ve ever seen her, emphasizing her points with her hands. “Ondine is the first movement. Ravel based the entire piece on a book called Gaspard de la Nuit, by the poet Aloysius Bertrand. The whole book deals with night creatures and darkness, the twilight world. Ravel was trying to make a play on Romanticism, but he said later that he thought the piece had gotten the better of him. He became completely obsessed with Bertrand while he was working on the piece. He told a friend that the devil was inspiring him to write the music the same way the devil had inspired Bertrand to write his poetry. ‘Boudeuse et dépitée’ is what Bertrand says of the mermaid: peevish and sulky, not heartbroken. None of the creatures from that world understand the way human emotions work. They’re all mimicking what they see in us. They can’t create things. They can only steal from us. They’re forever crossing over to wreak havoc because they’re jealous.”

  Maia’s eyes have a feverish gleam, but for once I’m sure she’s sober. The lecture is jarring, and I don’t like where this conversation is going. Given what’s been happening in my life lately, I’m none too thrilled to hear Maia citing the devil as an everyday source of other people’s artistic inspiration. “I never knew you played,” I say, changing the subject. “You’re really good.”

  Her face goes blank. All the life seems to run out of her as I watch. I don’t know what I’ve said wrong. “I used to be,” she says. “Jack and Aurora are upstairs.” I take the hint and leave her staring at the piano.

  Jack and Aurora are in Aurora’s bed watching Aliens. They aren’t touching, I notice, and then hate myself for noticing. Hicks is showing Ripley how to use the grenade launcher. This scene never fails to send Aurora and me into a frenzy of lust. “Is it normal, do you think,” I say, squeezing between them, “to experience actual feelings of loss and anguish over the fact that Hicks is not a real person?” Jack nods solemnly, puts his hand at the small of my back. “I didn’t know Maia played the piano,” I add.

  “She’s weird about it,” Aurora says, gnawing on a piece of beef jerky. “She won’t do it if she knows I’m in the house. Oh my god, look at him. Go, Ripley, go.”

  “Does she play a lot?”

  “She was going to be a concert pianist or something.”

  “She’s incredible.”

  Aurora shrugs. “Fat lot of good it does her. Shut up, this is the good part.”

  “It’s all the good part.”

  “Shut up.”

  “How are you feeling?” Jack asks me.

  “Not my best. How are you feeling? That was some show.”

  “Shhhh,” Aurora says, riveted to the screen.

  “Aurora, we have both seen this movie at least forty times.”

  “I’m a little tired,” Jack says.

  “Did you see anything—” I pause, not even sure of what I’m asking. “Weird? Did you see anything weird?”

  “What do you mean, weird?”

  “Shhhhhhhh.” Aurora smacks me. “For fucking real.”

  I roll my eyes, lower my voice. “Like, you know, weird.”

  “I don’t notice much when I play.”

  “You were really drunk,” Aurora says to me, not looking away from the screen.

  “Not that drunk. Who was that guy you introduced me to?”

  “You should ask Jack who that guy was.”

  I look at Jack
. He turns his face away. “What,” I say.

  “Come outside with me,” he says. We leave Aurora, rapt in her bed, and I follow him downstairs and into the jungle of her garden. He finds a less-tangled patch in the shaggy lawn, sheltered from the house by a thicket of blackberries. He lies down in the grass. I stretch out next to him and put my head on his chest.

  “You’re going to tell me something shitty,” I say into his shirt.

  “I’m not going to be around for much longer,” he says. “They want me to go to Los Angeles. Cut a record. Minos has a club there. I can headline some shows. It’s a big deal.”

  “That’s what you were auditioning for.”

  “More or less.”

  “What do you mean, more or less? Who was that guy? Minos’s boss?”

  He puts his arms around me and doesn’t answer.

  “You saw what I saw,” I say.

  “I told you, I don’t notice much when I play.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “I don’t know. Soon. It’s not up to me.”

  “Will you come back?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Can I come?”

  “Oh, you.” I wait for him to say something else. Of course you can come with me. I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without you.

  “What did you promise them?”

  His arms tighten around me. “Nothing I’m not willing to give.” His voice is steady. The ordinary sun beams overhead in an ordinary sky. Birds chirp, butterflies flutter. I will not fucking cry. If it kills me, I will not cry.

  “Does Aurora know?”

  “She knows.”

  “And now I pretend like everything is okay until you leave?”

  “You don’t have to pretend anything. But I’d like to enjoy the time I have left with you.”

  “So I pretend.” I sit up, furious. “To make it easier for everyone. Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Jack.”

  He reaches for my hand but I pull it away. “You knew what I was when you met me,” he says.

  “Is this about Aurora?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Now he’s angry, too. “No, this is not about Aurora.”

  “Why was it ever me, and not her,” I say. He sits up, puts his hands on my knees. This time I don’t back away. He looks at me until I have to meet his eyes.

  “You’re so strong,” he says. “The first time I saw you, in that garden, you seemed so sure of yourself. You have this relentlessness, this fury. You say what you think. You’re not afraid of anything. You’re not like anyone else I know. Do you want me to keep going?”

  “Nobody loves the girl who is strong. They love the girl who is beautiful.”

  “I love you,” he says. So low I almost miss it. I will not cry in front of him. I will not. I will not. I will not.

  “Not enough.” My voice does not waver.

  “What if you had to choose? Between art and me? What if you had to go someplace I couldn’t follow?”

  “I would choose you. I would stay here.”

  “No,” he says gently. “You wouldn’t. You’re seventeen. Your entire life is in front of you. You’re good. But more than that, you’re stubborn. You don’t take anything for granted. You’re so young, and already you understand what it’s like to work. You’ll love other people. But you would never be able to survive letting go of your art. I can’t, either.”

  “I’m sure Aurora understands.” My voice is low and mean and I hate myself even as the words leave my mouth.

  “I can tell you the same thing over and over. But it won’t do any good if you don’t listen to me.”

  “You want what happened to Aurora’s dad? Is that what you fucking want? You want to be so famous it kills you?”

  “I’m a lot stronger than Aurora’s dad.”

  “You never knew Aurora’s dad.”

  “I don’t have to know Aurora’s dad to know I have something he didn’t. I’m not going to make the same stupid mistakes he made.”

  “You’re an asshole,” I snap, balling my hands into fists. I could hit him now without thinking twice. But he doesn’t take his hands from my knees, doesn’t back down.

  “Always ready for a fight,” he says, touching my cheek. I flinch and he takes his hand away. “What if someone offered you a trade? Everything you’ve ever wanted. The whole world. For it to be easy for the first time in your life. No more sleeping on the street. No more playing shitty clubs for six people who are so drunk they have no idea how good you are. No more getting followed home at three in the morning from your shit job washing dishes, getting your ass kicked by bored white boys who don’t have the balls to fight you alone. Just music. Just you and the thing you need the most, the only thing that matters.”

  “Trade for what.” The only thing that matters. The only thing that matters isn’t me. “A trade for what.”

  He shakes his head. “Let me go. Please. Spend the next few days with me, and then let me go.”

  I try to swallow past the lump in my throat. “I can’t.”

  “You have to.” There is nothing I can say to that, so I don’t say anything at all. He kisses my throat, behind my ear, the curve of my shoulder. Skims his palms up the line of my back, fingertips ticking off each vertebra. I let him take off my shirt, unzip my jeans, make a nest of our clothes in the long grass and bring me to him. The air is heavy with the scent of roses, the warm honeyed buzz of a bee. His hands on my skin are cool, his mouth hot. I can hear the earth thrumming beneath us like a pulse.

  “I’ll take you home,” he says later, lazily flicking away an ant making its way up my wrist. Sweat’s cooled on my skin. I smell like him. If we don’t put our clothes back on, if we lie here in the grass forever, if I don’t think about anything, I can make this moment last for the rest of time. But he’s already sitting up and buttoning his shirt, his back turned to me. Now that we’re not touching he’s worse than a stranger. How can someone be so close to you and then so far away in the span of a single movement? Is this a thing that makes sense when you turn into an adult?

  “I’ll go say goodbye to Aurora.” We never did decorate. I go back into the house, still barefoot. Aurora is fast asleep in her bed, clutching the bag of beef jerky. On the screen, Ripley’s tucking Newt into her pod. Aliens defeated and everyone safely on their way home through the vastness of space. I turn off the television. Aurora murmurs in her sleep. I stand watching her for a while. All around me the enormous house is still. Everything is on its way toward an end I can’t see. Aurora’s white hair spills around her, moving with the rise and fall of her breath like a living thing. One strap of her tank top has slipped off her shoulder. “I love you,” I say into the silent room. “But I wish you would tell me what the hell is going on.” She does not stir.

  In the driveway, Jack’s straddled his motorcycle. He gives me his helmet and I put it on. I wrap my arms around his waist, remembering the first time we went to the beach together, the first time I touched him, the first time he kissed me. I wonder if he’s remembering it, too, or if he’s already thinking about what happens next. The part that I’m not invited to. The sun’s setting, the sky gone glorious. Let’s go for a drive. Let’s keep going, out of the city, out west until we run out of land. Let’s swim naked in the ocean, phosphorescence streaking behind us like comets’ tails, let’s shuck oysters on the beach and eat them raw next to a bonfire. Let’s build a shack in the woods when winter comes, weather out the long rains with a pile of blankets and Jack’s guitar. Let’s make a world of our own so strong that no other worlds can intrude on it, no skeleton men, no ambition, no horizon, no fear. No mermaids singing us down to a world we can’t survive. I don’t say any of it. When Jack stops in front of my house I tug the helmet off, hand it back to him. “You can come in.”

  “I need to practice.” He’s looking at the helmet as if it might tell him something important.

  “I’ll see you later?”

  “Later,” he agrees, and puts on the hel
met without so much as a kiss. Well then. I watch him drive away into the lowering night, knowing that’s as close as we’ll come to goodbye.

  Aurora’s birthday is the same night as the full moon. She offers to pick me up, but I bike to her house that afternoon instead, tucking her banner into my backpack after I’ve rolled it up carefully in butcher paper. I love the long ride to Aurora’s, the miles dropping away, the feel of my muscles bunching and releasing on the inclines, the freedom of the downhills. I feel strong and careless and invincible. My shirt is soaked through by the time I reach the elaborate gate that marks Aurora’s driveway. This late in the summer, the blackberry vines are weighted with fruit. I hop off my bike and help myself to a handful, wheeling the bike with my other hand as I lap berries out of my palm.

  She comes running out to greet me, white hair flying. “You’re all sweaty,” she says, flinging herself into my arms, wrapping her bare legs around my waist. I laugh and hoist her up, stagger with her across the lawn. “You look terrible.” She kisses me. “You’re not wearing that to my party, are you?”

  “You’re in your underwear,” I point out.

  “I am not in my underwear. I’m wearing a shirt over my underwear.” She untangles herself from me.

  “Were you going to put clothes on?”

  “Oh, eventually. Come help me finish decorating.”

  Maia’s nowhere to be seen. I help Aurora string up paper lanterns in the garden. The caterers show up shortly after I do, shouting orders at each other and carrying folding tables across the lawn. Aurora and I drink gin and tonics on her back porch, watching them mow a swath the size of a dance floor into the tangle of lawn and garland the vine-shrouded portico with lights. “Come on,” she says. “We have to get ready.”

  We fill her enormous bathtub with hot water and lavender-scented oil. I drop my clothes on the marble floor and sink to my ears in steamy, sweet-smelling water. Aurora undresses with her back to me and slinks into the bath, but not before I see the bruises spanning her ribcage. She sees me looking and ducks her head under the water before I can open my mouth.