Sweetbitter(43)

“This is kinda sad, no?” But Ariel wasn’t paying attention to me either. She threw a cocktail cherry at Vivian, who was midconversation with a knight and princess. She caught it and popped it in her mouth and winked at Ariel.

“Cunt!” Ariel yelled and laughed.

Vivian laid out tequila shots and a bowl of candy corn on the bar. As soon as I took my shot my stomach gurgled. It had been hours since I had eaten. I was doomed.

“Total amateur night,” I said, chewing a slimy handful of candy corn. “Is someone getting a bag or what?”

“I think Spidey has plenty.”

Will was talking to Scott and the kitchen guys in the corner, wringing his hands. We all had our tics when we were high: Will wrung his hands, Ariel blinked rapidly, and I said, “No, wait,” over and over again. They mimicked me all the time. “No, wait, guys,” and I always sounded like the slow child when they did it.

“Nice costume,” said Scott. “Are you a teenage boy?”

“In your dreams, Scott.” I tapped Will on the shoulder. “Willy babe, do you have treats for me?”

“Trick or treat!” he yelled and slid his arm over my shoulder. He followed me, babbling, into the bathroom line.

“What are you saying?” I flipped on the lights and locked the door. It smelled like shit. “God, someone destroyed this place.”

Will was sweating, his face greenish against his red suit. His eyes chased light around the bathroom. He looked frightening.

“Sit down, babe,” I said, putting him on the toilet.

“You never watched that movie.”

“I’m getting to it.” I held my hand out and he started wringing his hands.

“You’re too busy now.”

“I’m not, Will, I’m getting to it. Are you going to share or what?”

“I’m a sharer,” he said. “I have five brothers and sisters.” He reached into his sock and his head fell into the sink.

“Ouch.” I grabbed his forehead and straightened him up. “I know. You have five brothers and sisters and you are right in the middle. You hold it all together.” I kissed him on the forehead and took the bag.

“Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

I looked at the bag—it was nearly empty. “Okay, okay, Thoreau. You’re out.”

“You should watch that movie.”

“Did you do this all yourself?”

“Nah, I’m a generous guy.”

“That’s true, darling. No one would argue with that. I’m going to finish this.” I took out my compact—there was just enough for a serious line. I looked at myself in the mirror as I came up. The truth was that sometimes I felt nothing. I did the coke and told myself that I was high but I was just numb. That’s why I looked in the mirror. When I was really flying I couldn’t stop searching for my eyes in any reflection. I thought I was beautiful, I thought my eyes had secrets. That night I looked plain. I picked my eyelashes in the mirror and I saw Will staring at me, his eyes bulging out.

“Are you okay? Do you need air?”

“I’m in love with you.” The words smashed together when he said it, but it was one of those unmistakable phrases. It was built that way so you could never take it back.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m in love—”

“God, no, never mind, don’t say it again.”

He put his hand over his mouth and fell backward, hitting the toilet handle. It flushed profoundly.

“Don’t be stupid, Will.” My voice sounded angry. I looked in the mirror and my eyes were vibrating. “You’re a fucking nightmare talking like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. His head wilted on his neck.

“Don’t be sorry,” I said. Of course tomorrow I would pretend like nothing had happened. Jake had taught me about that. I would be kind. But as I hit him on the back, I realized I was actually angry. “Don’t be sorry, just don’t be stupid, okay?”

I guided him out and dropped him on a bench near the door. He sat calmly, swiveling his head around as if he had just woken up. I sat on a bar stool next to Ariel and concentrated on my fingernails kneading into the wood on the bar.

“Did you ever read Djuna, I forget,” she said, totally coherent, chewing on a cherry stem.

“Yes.”

“I gave Nightwood to Vivi. I’m trying to get her to read more.”

“That’s good.” There was a tequila shot in front of me and I took it. “That should fuck her up for a minute.”

Ariel smiled. “You finished the bag, huh?”

A stethoscope on the bar. A cape hanging on a stool. Costumes wearing away then finally discarded as we approached another harsh morning. I listened to everyone, peeling back the black paint from the bar in strips. I could do it, if I wanted to. That’s what I was thinking. I could talk about Billy Wilder and Djuna Barnes and the new bone-marrow dish at the gastropub in the West Village and whether you knew so-and-so from that university, oh it’s just a little school called fucking Harvard, and isn’t it sad how the city is changing, every day for the worse, and of course radicalism is the only vehicle for change, and oh yes, revolution is intrinsically violent, but what is violence anyway, it all boils down to pheromones, we are just chemical mixtures, but when you meet that person you just know, you know?