The Animators(104)

“Shit. I’m. You know.” I make a smoothing gesture with my hand.

We watch TV. She says finally, “I’m sorry, Sharon.”

“So tell me how this works. Is Donnie the dude? What’s it like when you fight? Who gets to scissor on top?”

“We don’t fight much,” she says.

“That’s great. Everyone needs leeway from somebody. Milk of human kindness and all that.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Then she says, “She’s usually on top.”

“Well, that’s nonnegotiable, isn’t it.”

“I’m sorry, Sharon.”

“I heard you.”

“I need to say it again.”

“Okay.”

She shifts. The bed creaks. “Look. I’ve never dealt well with envy, okay? Professional envy in particular. It’s held me back from a lot of things in my life. It’s a character defect. I know it. I’ve been working on it.” She clears her throat. “It’s made things very lonely for me at times. As I’m sure you can imagine. And that part of me made things really bad with you, but especially with Mel. I really regret the way I treated her.”

I shrug. “All right.”

“No. I— I did some things I’m not proud of.” She takes a deep breath. “I think I might have knocked you all out of the running for a Hollingsworth. A few years ago. The first time you applied, maybe?”

“What?”

She shakes her head. “You didn’t deserve it. I had some drinks with the board members one night and, I don’t know, I said some things I shouldn’t have. Like how I thought Mel would go off the rails and fuck up the grant if they gave it to you. There was something about Mel that triggered something—self-protective in me, I guess. She made me feel inadequate. But instead of dealing with it, I hurt someone else.”

Brecky’s face is tight, gray in the TV glow. She really is nervous. She made herself do this. Or Donnie harangued her into growing a pair and owning up. It’s dark outside. I shake my head; my vision shakes with it. “Hey,” I say. “It’s cool.” My mouth feels like it’s filled with oatmeal. I am incredibly stoned.

“I lost a chance I’ll never get back,” she says. “I want to rectify this. I want you to know, if there is anything you need, anything I can do, you got it. I want us to be friends. And that counts for whether or not you want to work together. That’s not an ultimatum by any means.”

I take a deep breath and, for the first time in days, say what I mean. “If it makes you feel any better,” I say, “you were kind of right.”

It’s the wrong thing to tell her, but I’m too stoned to correct the damage. Brecky tries to speak, sniffs, dips her head down. I freeze, not sure I’m actually seeing what I’m seeing. This is horrifying. Brecky Tolliver doesn’t cry.

I lean over and take her hand. We both pretend to watch TV. I think, Mel’s gonna shit when I tell her about this.

—

It’s the morning of the memorial. I don’t know what to do with this information other than curl up and throw the blankets over my head.

Donnie pats my back, softly pinching, trying to rustle me out. “I know, honey,” she keeps saying, “but you have to get up. You just do.”

“I can’t. Tell them I’m sick or something.”

“I won’t do that.”

“You don’t get it. I can’t.”

Brecky stands behind her, kneading her hands. They’re both in pantsuits again. Donnie has slicked her hair back, put on makeup. The TV honks. She huffs in frustration, snaps it off. “Up. Come on.”

My voice comes out piss-poor tiny. “Uh uh.”

Brecky speaks up. “Sharon, you’re going to hate yourself if you don’t go. It may not seem like it now, but this is what you really want to do.”

“Fuck that and fuck you.”

Donnie throws the remote down. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

I stick my head back under the covers.

Donnie rips the sheets from my body. “You will not do this to me godfuckingdammit get up, Sharon. Get up right the fuck now.” She’s red, crying. Leans over and picks me up like a little kid. Her arms are tiny, hot through the fabric of her jacket. My legs dangle down. I don’t fight her.

I haven’t climbed out of bed in three days. My limp nearly wings me into a wall. Brecky guides me to the shower, hands me a towel, a washcloth. “Don hasn’t slept in two days,” she whispers. “Her phone keeps going off.”

“Don’t care.”

“Sharon, if you do this, I promise you I will get you out of there whenever you want. Okay? Just say the word.”

I shrug.

She stands back, pats her pockets. “Do you have a cigarette?”

I look down. I’m wearing a T-shirt and underpants. Look back up at her.

“Right. Sorry.”

“You gonna leave, Brecky?”

“Are you really gonna shower?”

“Well, I’m gonna start stripping. Stay or go.”

Brecky leaves. I turn the shower on. Reach into my bra and fetch out the one-hitter and lighter. I smoke a bowl, watching the water hit the tile.

—