by Jeff Somers
He handed me a glass and nodded. “Yes. My head’s spinning.”
We were three steps when Kelly appeared in front of me. I blinked and pushed my eyebrows up as high as they would go.
“Oh, Lord, are you kidding? It’s been five fucking minutes.”
Kelly smiled and shook her head. “Afraid not. Henry, sorry but I have to steal her again.”
He sighed, releasing me. “As long as you’re not just huddling to talk about me and my faults.”
Kelly grinned wickedly and pulled me away before I could set his poor mind at ease. I turned and waved as I was dragged off.
“Now what?”
“Mare took your advice as far as leaving the bathroom. Unfortunately, we forgot to tell her to stop drinking. She’s physically attacked Bick.”
“Excuse me?”
“No harm done, because the Doofus just grabbed her wrists and laughed a little, handed her off to Flo and me, and then stumbled off. He seems to find it all quite amusing. The motherfuckery is just stunning.”
A red coal of pissed-off anger settled into my stomach. “Jesus, is she twenty-eight or just eight?”
“Less,” Kelly snapped. “We should never have let her drink.”
I quoted Flo. “What were we supposed to do? Sit on her?”
Kelly broke into guffaws, the loud, sloppy laughs she was well known for. “Oh, shit, what an image. Thanks. I needed that.”
“We’re not heading back to the bathroom, are we?”
Kelly nodded. “You’re damn right we are! ’Cause that’s where I would want to spend the balance of my wedding day. In the bathroom.”
We pushed the door in, and Flo just rolled her eyes at us, smoking a cigarette in a tense pose. “The honeymoon stall,” she said tiredly. “You’re on your own now. I need a drink badly.”
I stomped to the end of the bathroom and pushed the stall door in roughly. I paused in surprise. Mary was sitting calmly, looking pensive.
I tried to recover my anger. “What now?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. I was being silly. I see that now. I’m just embarrassed.”
“Oh.” I glanced over my shoulder at Kelly, who shook her head and walked away, hands in the air in exasperation. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“You all think I’m a drama queen or something.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But we’re all in here thinking that. There’s nothing to be lost by going back out there. Besides, you have to dance with your husband.”
She looked at me with glassy calm. I didn’t like it and wanted to be out of there, wanted to be with Henry, who for all his goofiness is real and warm and sincere. Not crazy and weird like Mary.
“I do?”
“Yes, honey, you do. Everyone out there paid for the ticket. You have to give them the show.”
“Okay.”
She stood up and pushed past me, slumped and seemingly exhausted.
I stood staring at the toilet for a moment. The ammonia smell was strong, and I sucked air in through my mouth, carefully. When the door to the bathroom opened and closed, I slumped against the stall and sighed. Kelly appeared.
“Come on, Hard Luck Woman,” she said. “Let’s get the hell out of here before she comes back.”
I needed new friends. I’d known Mary for years—though I’d never ascend to Kelly-dom, would I, no matter how long—and my reward for all those nights in the dorm hugging out her crying jags, all those nervous breakdowns, all those creepy double-dates with low-quality suitors—my reward was this hideous dress, half the fucking reception in the bathroom, and having to dance with fucking Mikey. My reward was spending more time with all of the assholes Mary’d inherited via David, these boys who thought I was stupid, who thought I was plain. Fuck them.
It was fascinating. Weddings were fascinating—the things you saw, and quite often—but then they were always the same things, because people are all the same. I knew, somehow, that there was another me, or several mes, wandering the earth. Having the same thoughts, working the same jobs. All of us, seeing the same things at weddings. It was depressing, and a little boring.
Take Henry, there. Looked philosophical enough, wandering out from the hubbub with his drink, smoking a cigarette, might be contemplating his mortality and the small part in the universe he plays. Struck a vaguely interesting pose. Then Little Sister Barbie found him, swaying over and scaring him half to death, and he just looked like a little boy, terrified but fascinated by a girl and not sure why. Or maybe quite sure, but it doesn’t matter: Scared men are just not attractive.
Henry giving Miriam a cigarette and managing to make some desperate conversation with her. She had her tits in his face; she’s enjoying it. Toying with him. Mary and I had a roommate like her in college. Used to walk around in her underwear, but, strangely enough, only when we had boyfriends around. Little Sister Barbie was like that: She didn’t want to actually fuck anyone, just enjoyed being ogled.
Now here was an interesting twist: where Denise appears, all smiles, and then stops with a look like she’d just stepped on a bug in bare feet. Denise had about as much tolerance of Little Sister Barbie as she had cleavage in that horror show of a dress, which is to say none.
It’s strange but compelling, watching the whole scene without dialogue, but I could make up the words:
HENRY: Gosh, you’re so cute I can’t remember my own name.
MIRIAM: Here, let me put my hand on your arm affectionately. Now I’ll tell you that you’re sweet. That ought to have you wanking off in the bathroom to me for months!
HENRY: Boy-howdy. I’m so oversteamed with lust I can’t even see my stern girlfriend over there trying to set us on fire with the power of her mind.
DENISE: You’re gonna have to wank off, buster, because even though you haven’t done anything I can point to definitely, you won’t be having sex with me any time soon.
Denise marching off without saying anything was a surprise; I thought she’d attack them. Violence was in the air, thanks to Mary. I was waiting for a big scene, a brouhaha, something exciting. She just turned and marched off, and Henry and Miriam didn’t even see her.
I’m not sure what it is about weddings that brings out the ridiculous in people, though I’d guess it was the booze.
Henry watched Miriam strut off with his tongue lolling out, then collected himself and returned to the party.
Now the groom appeared, sans blushing bride, who should never be allowed to consume alcoholic beverages unless a sloppy witch is what you were hoping for. My best friend, Mary the Sloppy Witch. The groom, however, is one of those dry fellows who never appears drunk. It just fills up his hollow leg and he gets redder in the face, until you could read by the dying-sun light of his cheeks.
And behind him, miraculously, is Little Sister Barbie—Little Sister-In-Law Barbie—resurrected and undaunted, laughing and chasing after the groom as if she hadn’t just been out here teasing Henry. He turned and she jumped onto him, laughing, and then hung on for dear life.
And Christ, get me some popcorn because here comes the bride, and the bride does not look happy. Round Three.
And pow!, the bride leaped into action with a loud slap across the groom’s face. Little Sister Barbie got a sharp word out of the corner of her eye and slinked away, shaking her head but not looking too upset—strumpets never are because there’s always another sucker willing to protect them.
And suddenly I was loving this wedding.
This is how I saw it: Buried under drama queens, I decided someone ought to be keeping the Sub-Doofus out of trouble. So I hunted for Henry because he obviously needed supervision.
I liked Henry. Pervading opinion was, actually, that he was a decent sort, if none too bright, and the only black mark against him was his toadying of the Loathsome Tom. This could be overlooked because we all knew that men stopped developing in their teenaged years, and relationships like that hardened into emotional concrete. Henry was a good enough guy
. Neesie was needlessly hard on him. It was as if she were constantly probing him for the fatal flaw, and all because she thought she had caught him canoodling with Miriam once.
Upon reflection, I now believed that she hadn’t, but there was no telling her that.
So, I hiked up my skirts and went searching for him, leaving his girlfriend pissed off in the bathroom. Eventually, I figured Mary would return there, and they would have a grand time bitching to each other. Or maybe they’d get drunk and have one of those college-era lesbian flirtations or something. I didn’t care. I was sick of drama. I needed to have a drink with a man because all women were, by nature, drama queens. I even had my moments. Henry was the least-dramatic fellow I knew.
Unfortunately, he had no defenses against the little slut Miriam, and I was one of the few of us sober enough to have seen her strut drunkenly over to him and plant her ass on his lap as if it wasn’t the most inappropriate thing she could have done. It was at that moment that I formed my child abuse theory of the Harrows girls and began looking at Mr. and Mrs. Harrows in a different, creepier light—it really was the only explanation for the Harrows girls’ complete insanity. They were lucky to be so pretty.
Miriam draped herself on Henry and was practically making out with him, and my heart leaped, but for a moment I was frozen. I knew Denise was in the bathroom, and I was curious as to whether the Sub-Doofus, who I’d come to like quite a bit, would do something stupid or something gallant.
The joke was on me. The Sub-Doofus, displaying zero sentience or consciousness, didn’t do anything. He sat there staring at Miriam as if she were a large and colorful bug that had chosen his lap as a landing spot. Which at least ruled out motherfuckery, I figured. If he was going to whoop in delight at this lucky event—hot drunk chick throws herself at you—he would have been halfway to the elevators by now, rummaging around in her bosoms. It was suddenly obvious that poor Henry was stunned and terrified. I felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for the Sub-Doofus and was startled into motion, intending to save him from her. But when I was just halfway there, Loathsome Tom popped from the crowd, plucked Miriam from Henry’s lap in a surprising display of grace and coordination, and after what must have been a prize-winning conversation, bore her kicking and giggling into the dancing throng. Henry remained seated, looking like he’d just been kicked in the head.
I collected myself, took a deep breath, and smoothed my dress down. I walked over to the Sub-Doofus and waited for him to notice me and my amused smile. Maybe how good I looked in the dress too, but only a very little. I’d started out the day feeling fat and waterlogged, but a few glasses of wine had done me good. But he just sat there looking stunned.
“You’re popular tonight,” was the best I could do. He looked up, and I sat down.
“I was going to save you, but Tom beat me to it.” He looked doubtful. “We’re watching out for you, is all.” He had no idea how much he needed allies by then. Well, some idea, surely, but not enough of an idea.
“Really?”
He could be adorable, that was for sure. I decided he needed to be reminded of his status as Sub-Doofus. “Denise is upset enough, you bad man.”
That soured him, and I regretted it. He didn’t seem like he was taking Denise lightly, and after watching Miriam at work, I thought it was pretty obvious he wasn’t really doing anything with Miriam except not running away fast enough. I touched his shoulder lightly. “Listen, I sympathize. You didn’t ask for this drunk coed to throw herself at you in front of your girl.”
I thought that was pretty good, but he just leaned back and raised what I would describe as a pissed-off eyebrow. “The implication being that I wouldn’t mind if Neesie weren’t here.”
Fucking Sub-Doofus. “You didn’t exactly run away from her.”
He snorted cigarette smoke from his nose. “Fuck you, Kelly.”
I laughed at his cute little drama shtick—after the Big Sisters of Drama Queendom, he was just an amusing opening act. “Jesus, Henry, pay attention! We like you. The women are looking out for you. You can’t get a better deal, baby.”
He gave me an adorable wink and leaned forward with a casual, intimate sigh. “Where’s Denise?”
“Nothing unusual. Bitching about you to Flo, probably.”
He seemed pained by that, so I told him he was being an idiot again. He still refused to be comforted, so I stood up, holding out my hand. “Poor baby! Come on, dance with me.”
He offered me a distrustful glance, but with a sly grin. I felt skinny and smart. I was not Mary, psychotic on my wedding day. I was not Denise, endlessly disappointed. I was not Flo, with Flo’s unfortunate hair.
“Don’t worry. I’m approved company. It’s safe.”
He looked at me as if he doubted me, and that made me feel good about the Sub-Doofus. I held out my hand, and he took it, shaking his head and smirking, but in a nice way.
… dreamy dreamy dreamy he smells like cigarettes but in a good way the room is spinning or I am spinning so soft so nice think I’ll just
… hot breath oh that feels good. It’s just his mouth and his hands, busy hands, and the spinning room and the sound of my stockings rubbing together Christ I’m so wet and the room is spinning or is it just me …
… swimming up and he’s gone and I’m cold …
… I’m dreaming of an explosion, everyone is flying through the air and Tommy is carrying me again. Tommy is in the room. B is hiding behind the door, now he’s yelling something over the wind and the rushing air. Then everything is quiet for a moment.
Jesus
… but the spinning isn’t …
fucking
… so much fun …
Christ
… anymore … where’s the dark come back …
are you two
… shut up SHUT UP …
fucking crazy?
… all they ever want I can’t fight that kind of sustained effort and why bother when I don’t mind they’re so cute when they’re stupid and anyway …
He’s. I’m jupid.
Bill the goddamned door, you know.
… I used to lie in bed waiting for Mary to come home, climbing in through the window and I’d pretend to be asleep …
We’re Mare’s honor!
… and sometimes she was a real bitch but I liked the other times and she’d tell me how much fun she’d had … dancing … drinking … it always sounded so exciting. I loved hearing about it …
Hank? In for a moment?
… Henry, stolen from me … what he saw in the Ice Princess … he liked me … sweet … sweetie … Hankie …
Tom? Few minutes?
… Tommy … Loathsome Tommy Kelly calls him all the time … Loathsome Tommy, Loathsome Tommy, Loathsome Tommy …
Ugh. Sick. Sickarette.
s’cigarette
… she would climb in, red-faced and full of chatter, and she’d tell me about her boyfriends. Drinking beer in basements. Blowjobs in backseats. Hair-pulling the bitch who was chatting him up. Laughing about it all. I was so jealous of her …
Hoblem.
Jesus, Bick, you’re a goddamn sister-in-law
Wah wah wah wah wah
… the whole room to myself now … away at school though, roommate silly girl cries all the time won’t come out boys boys everywhere but I’m up on the third floor so no climbing in through the windows wouldn’t be prudent …
Wokay, firoff shateen, shenunnerade
Okrist wrake ake
… ugh …
• • •
Swinging, not good. Motion, not good. Opened my eyes, and there’s Henry, horribly upside down and all red in the face and I am swinging. Henry’s good, calloused hands were under my shoulders, touching me. He glanced down at me.
“Hey, that’s great. Please go back to sleep. Please.”
So nice. I looked down at my dress, so wrinkled, and there’s Loathsome Tommy, sweating, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Good eve
ning, Ms. Harrows! This is all a dream, and Hank and I are angels.”
Tommy laughed. When Tommy laughs it is as if his head has split open and a whole second set of teeth juts forward. It’s all teeth.
“Hang on, Thomas, we’re almost there.”
“I’m buff, asshole, don’t let the huffing and puffing fool you. Ms. Harrows, what in hell have you been eating? Lead pellets?”
“Weakling.”
Tongue made of something bizarre and bloated. I opened my mouth but all that comes out are gummy sounds.
“I think she’s trying to tell us something,” Tommy said dramatically. “What is it, girl? Mike’s trapped in a coal mine?”
“Let me down. I can walk,” I managed. It sounded more like lemme owne I calk, but it would serve. Somehow my tongue had been broken.
There was a hotel smell in the air.
“No way, Mir,” Henry said with a kind smile. “You’d fall and go boom. We’re going to stretch you out on your bed and let you sleep this one off.”
“We’re noble motherfuckers, we are,” Tommy said.
“Will you stay with me?” I mushed out. I wanted to have Henry near me in the dark, telling me his life story.
“She’s a goer, I tell you.”
“Shut up, Tom.” Henry looked down at me. “Sweetie, you should just lie down for a while.”
“You’ll feel much worse when you wake up, trust me.”
Swinging … swinging … I felt like a prize deer being carried back to camp.
“What the hell are you laughing at?” Tommy demanded.
“Are you going to gut me?”
He looked up at Henry. “What in hell did she say? It sounds like she’s got marbles in her mouth.”
“I hesitate to tell you what I think she said. It’s kind of disturbing.”
“Sexual overtures, eh? Miriam’s a horn-o-plenty when it comes to entertainment. Here’s her room, right?”
“Lord, I hope so.” Henry was being very gentle and kind, taking time to bring me to my room like this. I wondered how I got here. I didn’t seem to know.
“Christ, you’re heavy, Harrows. Filled with liquor, I guess.”
