Mercury Boys

by Chandra Prasad

  After a minute Sara Beth came to, pretending to be groggy. Her eyelids fluttered open. His face was directly over hers, inches away. It would have been an intimate moment if not for the people who had amassed around them, loitering with concern and curiosity. She wished they would go away. It would be easier to get this done without an audience. She looked into his face and for a split second saw the youthful man he had been once, before old age had settled over him like a tattered quilt. His eyes still keen and adroit. His hair, though white, still thick. If she squinted, she could erase the deep lines and liver spots on his face.

  In that same second, she realized she would be the same way, eventually. Old. Weakened by time. Robbed of her looks.

  And then she realized with a wallop, that Mack—though long gone in one realm—was immortal in this one. Like a prehistoric insect preserved in amber. Always the impishly charming scamp in the daguerreotype. This realization doubled her resolve to win whatever game they were playing.

  Sara Beth knew what she had to do. She and Paige had played this role before, many times and for many reasons. The key was making the right impression: vulnerable, but not needy; grateful, but not indebted; alluring, but not provocative. She had to make an unspoken promise—the promise of her body, even if she had no intention of making good on it.

  She clasped the old man’s hand and pressed it to her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes wide and appreciative. “Sir, would you mind helping me up?”

  “Careful, my dear. You’ve had quite a fall,” he replied, giving her his hand. She pulled herself up slowly, careful not to tug very hard on the man, who was too frail to rely on. Pretending to feel dizzy, she clung to him just for a moment, enough time for him to feel the shape of her body.

  “Can you stand on your own?” he asked, attempting to brace her with his feeble arms.

  “I . . . I don’t know. I think so,” she murmured, her hands gliding over the corded edges of his silk waistcoat.

  He held her in place until she found her footing, her eyes on his the whole time. When she assured him that she could stand on her own, a look of accomplishment, of something like pride, shone on his face.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’re such a gentleman.”

  “Are you sure you’re well?”

  “I’ll be fine. I just felt so faint, and this place is so warm.”

  “It’s the windows,” the old man said, motioning to the glass walls. “Too many windows. An architectural vanity.” He shook his head. “I feel a little faint myself.”

  “But you’re so strong,” she insisted.

  “You must rest, young lady. Do you have someone who can help you home?”

  She shook her head. “I’m by myself, but I’ll be fine. I feel much better already.”

  He looked at her doubtfully.

  “Really,” she assured him. The people who had gathered were losing interest in this bit of drama. They scattered one by one, to Sara Beth’s relief. Soon she and the man were alone.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. But thank you. I won’t forget your kindness.”

  “I think I should help you home.”

  She shook her head and gave him a last smile before inserting herself into the crowd once again. When she returned to Mack, who had watched the whole thing from a distance, she smiled triumphantly. She pulled at the bottom of her shirt, wishing it would stretch enough to hide the bulge in her pocket.

  Mack caught a glimpse of a wallet. “Did he give that to you?” he asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Impressive.”

  “I told you.”

  Before she knew it, he had grabbed her hand. He yanked her through the huge main room, swiftly guiding her around clusters of people. Mack seemed to know the building by heart, and they made their way to the nearest exit in record time.

  “Hurry,” she heard him say, “before he finds out.” Her flip-flops, completely inadequate for running, kept slipping. She allowed herself to be pulled along, laughing, delirious, her face flushed, the beat of adrenaline in her veins.

  Soon they were outside, the sun hanging lower than when she’d entered. She couldn’t stop laughing even when he kept pulling her across Forty-Second Street, zigzagging around a horse-drawn carriage. The horse neighed in annoyance and reared up its front legs, spraying dust into the air.

  He led her to the same building she’d noticed earlier—the one that was shaped like a needle. Unbelievably, the crowds were even thicker here, bodies packed so tight that she could smell sweat, barber’s soap, and hair oil. Those odors, combined with the earthy tang of dung and dirt, contrasted deeply with the smells of modern New York: roasting peanuts, diesel exhaust, a hundred ethnic foods wafting through bad ventilation systems, the occasional rancid blast of urine.

  Inside the narrow building, Mack drew her in front of him, shielding her from view with his taller, broader body. “This is the tallest building in New York,” he told her as they waited in line. For what? She wasn’t sure. “I’ve been told that when you’re in trouble, you should always seek higher ground.”

  “What’s this place called?”

  “Latting Observatory.”

  It turned out that they were waiting in line for stairs. Steadily, they followed a slow flow of people up a series of winding staircases. Though she was in good shape, Sara Beth found herself exhausted, less from exertion than from being in such cramped quarters. Still, she was grateful for the congestion. In this airless, jam-packed space, not many people noticed—or cared about—her clothing. When at last she and Mack arrived on a landing, she thought they were done.

  But Mack pulled on her hand again. “Let’s go higher,” he said.

  “How much higher?”

  “All the way to the top.”

  She stared at him doubtfully.

  “Higher ground is safer, remember?” he said.

  She wasn’t so sure, but she complied reluctantly.

  For the rest of their ascent, Mack was right behind her, so close they were like nestled spoons. Higher and higher they climbed, the staircases seeming to her never-ending, until at last they reached the final landing. It could accommodate only a dozen people or so. She and Mack jockeyed for a coveted position in front of a window. From there, Sara Beth peered through an affixed telescope. She could see for miles. New York in the nineteenth century was a serene expanse of green and brown and blue.

  “Queens, New Jersey, Staten Island—you can see it all from here,” Mack said knowledgeably, as though he’d been here a hundred times. And perhaps he had. Perhaps his work required frequent retreats to higher ground.

  “Do you think we’re safe?” she asked.

  “I think so.”

  “How long do we need to stay?”

  “Long enough.”

  For the first time, she counted the bills in the wallet. Almost four hundred dollars. The second small fortune of the day. Mack whistled. “You picked the right gull,” he quipped.

  They stared out the window awhile longer. The sky was turning an arresting collage of oranges and pinks and purples. Sara Beth was mesmerized, glued to the view. She almost didn’t notice a man in uniform appear, announcing that the building would be closing soon.

  “May I walk you home?” Mack asked her as they headed for the stairs.

  She again pulled at the hem of her shirt. “It’s late,” she hedged. The truth was, she didn’t want him following her.

  “Can I see you again, at least?”

  “Maybe we can arrange that.”

  “When?”

  “I’ll find you.”

  In the empty stairwell, Mack tried to put his arms around her, but she took a step back. “I never thought I’d meet you,” he said admiringly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My female equivalent.”


  She couldn’t help but think of his photo. A daguerreotype is a mirror with a memory, Saskia had said. Sara Beth wished she could tell him this somehow. But she knew he’d never believe it. She could hardly believe it herself.

  She could tell he wanted to kiss her, but that would have to wait. They had plenty of time. And besides, she liked seeing him like this, hesitant and nervous, so different from the cocky rascal in the portrait.

  They descended the last flight quickly, and then she left him abruptly. Left him to wonder. Walking down Forty-Second Street, she savored the balance of weight in her pockets: the old man’s wallet in one, her Mercury Boy’s fat roll of bills in the other.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  After a couple more weeks, Saskia’s tattoo had almost healed. The letters were now clear and crisp on raised skin. She shared the finished product with the other girls. Adrienne went a step further and posted hers on social media, a direct violation of rule number seven.

  Stupid girl, Saskia thought. But a part of her could relate. She could understand why Adrienne would want to show off. Saskia, too, was proud of the club and its unique secrets. It was better than any club at school, better than the college sororities she’d heard about. Better, even, than most of her favorite old movies.

  There was no question the club was dangerous, too, but wasn’t that part of its allure? The danger was what filled Saskia with a rush of euphoria, like balancing on a precarious high wire between two cliffs, one for the living, the other for the dead, and who knew what was in the chasm in between if she lost her balance and fell?

  On a hot July day, Saskia told Lila she didn’t need a ride to the sisters’ house for that night’s meeting; Paige was picking her up. She didn’t mention that she needed to talk to Paige in private.

  In the shiny-slick Mercedes, she admitted to Paige how she’d swallowed a drop of mercury, how it had made her scared, so scared she couldn’t even fall asleep. She tried to laugh off the experience, but Paige quickly saw through her façade.

  “Look, I started taking a drop every night, and I’m fine. Sara Beth, too. You have to loosen up, girlfriend!” said Paige. “You know what? Lots of famous people took mercury for years, back when it was used in medicine.”

  “Yeah, Lila told me Lincoln took it.”

  “See?”

  “But it may have contributed to his depression.”

  “There’s no way to prove that. Besides, you’re not depressed, right?”

  Saskia had to admit she wasn’t.

  “So don’t worry. I wouldn’t steer you wrong. You know I think of you like a second sister, right?” Paige asked.

  Saskia felt touched. “Me, too,” she said shyly.

  “I wanted to say,” Paige continued, “if you don’t already know, that I would never intentionally hurt you.”

  “Of course not,” Saskia replied, a little confused.

  “And I always have your best interests at heart.”

  “This is beginning to scare me . . . Is something wrong?”

  “No! It’s just that tonight’s meeting might be a little different, and I don’t want you to get freaked out.”

  “Different how?”

  “Different, like, we all need to put our cards on the table.”

  “What does that mean?” Saskia asked.

  “We need to be honest with each other, but also with ourselves. No matter what the consequences.”

  “I don’t get it . . .”

  “You will,” Paige assured her. Affectionately, she took a lock of Saskia’s crazy-curly hair, pulled it straight, and let it snap back into a coil.

  Saskia’s mind danced with questions, but before she could decide which one to ask, Paige floored the gas pedal, and suddenly they were flying. Saskia wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn’t; she could only clench her hands into tight fists and squeal in freaked-out delight as the car whizzed past eighty, then ninety; roaring down the quiet residential streets of Coventon; ignoring stop signs, yield signs, and honking cars; zooming so fast it felt like a rocket ship, until suddenly Saskia realized they were on the sisters’ street, the houses larger than houses had any right to be.

  The Mercedes finally slowed, gradually, gradually, until it crawled, and Paige effortlessly turned into her driveway, flipping her perfect hair and saying, “See? Everything’s in control.”

  The girls sat in their usual circle on the warm, damp ground under the giant tree. Saskia noticed FOREVER BOYFRIENDS FOREVER! carved into the bark of the trunk. She wondered which of the sisters had done it.

  Though her friends talked amiably, Saskia could see Paige’s mood had changed since their daring car ride. She had the same expression as when she’d written the pledge and rules—contemplative eyes, flattened lips. The air around her felt electrically charged, as if filled with positive ions, which Saskia had learned in chemistry were often corrosive, abrasive, and toxic, contrary to their name.

  When Paige said the meeting was about to start, even her body language seemed different—amplified and a bit contrived, like she was performing for a hidden camera. Saskia looked around uneasily, but of course she saw nothing unusual, just the cascading canopy of branches and leaves.

  “Adrienne,” Paige said sharply. Adrienne looked as if she were expecting to be rebuked. “From now on, you’ll be taking the minutes of each of our meetings for posterity.”

  “Posterity?” Adrienne asked weakly.

  “Posterity—yes, future generations. We need notes—a factual record—of each meeting, so that those who come after us know everything that happened.”

  “She means the Mercury Boys Club might last longer than we do,” said Sara Beth somberly.

  Goose bumps rose on Saskia’s skin.

  Paige handed Adrienne an expensive-looking leather notebook with gold-leaf pages and the Sampras name embossed on the front. Saskia thought again of the engraved shaker and wondered just how many of the family’s belongings sported their name. Were the Samprases driven by arrogance and egotism, or did they simply believe, like Paige did, that certain things might outlive them?

  Adrienne took the notebook gingerly. “I’m not sure what to write . . .” she said.

  “Our story,” said Paige tartly. “Starting from today on.”

  But maybe Adrienne shared Saskia’s sense of foreboding, for she shot up suddenly, brushing an invisible insect or spiderweb from her arm. “I’m so sick of these creepy-crawlies! Can’t we go inside?”

  “No,” replied Paige. “The ’rents might come home early. I don’t want them to hear us.”

  “Where are they tonight?” Lila asked.

  “The movies.”

  “A double feature, we hope,” said Sara Beth.

  Paige nodded. “A few months ago, they saw four movies in a row. We didn’t see them all night.”

  “Everything in excess,” Sara Beth added, smiling ruefully. “But they could also cut out after five minutes. You never know with them.”

  Paige sighed. “Let’s get going, just in case. Since all members of the Mercury Boys Club are in attendance, I hereby call this meeting to order. First item on the agenda: our new clothes. Everybody happy with them? Any comments, questions?”

  Saskia shook her head, unwilling to admit to the group that all the clothes were too small; she had found nothing that would fit. Nor would she admit that she was still wearing her old chorus uniform to bed. The outfit was at least three years old and wouldn’t have been considered fashionable in any era. But at least she wasn’t wearing shorts anymore. She’d privately asked Adrienne to help her find something more suitable. Maybe the drama club had something in its costume closet.

  Paige continued, “Nothing? Okay, then, next order of business: membership. I think we need to talk about whether the club is accepting new members.”

  Adrienne raised her pen. “I like the cl
ub the way it is,” she said.

  “But new members would bring new ideas,” replied Sara Beth. “Otherwise, it’s the same old, same old. Not that I don’t love you guys, but come on—this’ll get boring.”

  “But new members could also leak secrets,” said Lila. “And they’ll need daguerreotypes. I can’t take any more from work. Marlene’s been on my case.”

  “Do you think Rich told her?” asked Sara Beth.

  “No, but still, I think she suspects.”

  “How do you know?”

  Lila shrugged. “It’s just a feeling.”

  “So no more daguerreotypes from the college?” asked Paige.

  “No,” Lila said firmly.

  “Well, if we don’t have more daguerreotypes, I guess that answers our question, but we might as well take a vote. All in favor of new members, raise your hands.”

  The only hand that went up was Sara Beth’s.

  “Add that to the minutes, please,” Paige instructed Adrienne.

  As Adrienne scrawled, Saskia glanced at her writing. She was struck by the number of spelling mistakes. She was also struck by the hearts Adrienne used to dot her i’s. She thought girls stopped doing that in the third grade.

  “Next on the docket,” said Paige briskly, “is a rumor we need to clear up.”

  “What rumor?” asked Saskia

  “Is it bad?” asked Adrienne.

  “It’s not good,” Paige replied.

  “What’s it about?”

  “You.”

  Startled, Adrienne put down the pen.

  “I hear that you’ve been talking to Benjamin again,” Paige said.

  Adrienne took an audible breath but maintained her composure.

  “Is it true?” Paige prodded.

  Saskia shifted uncomfortably. The wolfish look in Paige’s eye was exactly the reason she hadn’t told her about Benjamin’s phone call. It was becoming quite clear that there were many sides of Paige, some more kind and generous than others.

  “Kind of,” Adrienne murmured.