Estelle. “Oh, we can’t wait to see your apartment,” she says in a pretend-guest voice.
Rainey holds her hand out for both sets of keys; she senses Estelle and the boyfriend trying not to touch her palm. It makes her powers grow, holding their keys and key chains: such intimate objects. She opens the shiny black door, feels for a switch, and turns on the light.
“You’re not
kidding
we want to see it,” she says.
The apartment, a large studio with two tall windows, is painted a deep violet, as if an intense twilight has settled. In contrast, the trim and furnishings—a bureau, a table with chairs, and a curvaceous bed frame—are painted bridal white. Rainey can’t believe it. She walks down a violet hall into which a Pullman kitchen is notched, flicking on lights as she goes. At the end, she opens the door to a violet bath. She wants to steal all the walls.
Behind her, she hears Tina telling the boyfriend and Estelle to sit on the bed, and how far apart.
“What color is this?” she calls from the bathroom, where the white shower curtain manages to look like a wedding gown against the violet walls.
“I mixed it.” Estelle is hyperventilating; she can hear it. “I’m a set designer.”
Rainey walks back down the hall and props herself against a white dining chair. Tina moves cautiously around the room, always watching Estelle and the boyfriend, lifting small objectsoff the bureau and nightstands and amassing a little pile of goods on the hearth. Rolls of coins. Bracelets. The gun never wavers. Rainey asks Estelle, “Yeah, but what do you
call
it, this color?”
“Amethyst,” says Estelle. “It’s a glaze.”
“It’s incredible,” says Rainey. “It’s the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen.”
Estelle hugs herself and shivers. “Please point that somewhere else,” she asks Tina. “I swear I won’t do anything.”
“God, I love this place,” says Rainey. “Would you light me a cigarette? And may I have your cape, please?”
R AINEY WATCHES T INA COLLECT sixty-three dollars from the two wallets tossed on the table and a fistful of silver earrings from a bureau drawer. It takes only a minute. Tina never stops watching Estelle and the boyfriend. She jams her prizes into the pocket of the boyfriend’s leather jacket, which she is now wearing. Then she positions herself by the white marble hearth. Estelle and the boyfriend are not playing at being robbed. They sit on the edge of the bed about as far apart as they can while still holding hands—the holding hands was Tina’s concession.
Glancing at Tina, Rainey catches sight of herself in the mirror over the hearth, luxuriant hair spilling out the back of the tie-dye scarf. “Look at us.” She gives Tina a light nudge. “Even with all this shit on, we’re still cute. We should take a Polaroid. You got a Polaroid, Estelle?”
Tina keeps the gun aimed straight at Estelle as she turns quickly to look at herself in the mirror, then at Rainey. Hershoulders slump a little. She looks back at Estelle but says, “How can you tell it’s still us?”
Rainey laughs. “You’re tripping, right?” Tina shrugs. They both know she hasn’t tried acid yet. “ ’Cause it looks like us,” says Rainey. “Right?”
“I’m not sure,” says Tina.
“You’re on blotter,” says Rainey, and waits for her to stop being spooky. Rainey once licked blotter off Gordy’s palm and spent hours watching the walls quilt themselves exquisitely, kaleidoscopically. “Who else would you think I am.” says Rainey. “Jimi Hendrix?”
“I know what Jimi Hendrix looks like. Don’t move,” Tina snaps at the boyfriend, who is edging closer to Estelle. “I
am
tripping,” she says. “I don’t recognize myself.”
Rainey isn’t sure she recognizes this Tina either, the one who sees a stranger in her own face. “Ever?”
“That would be retarded. I mean, with the scarf on.”
It’s Rainey’s turn to
nosy around
, as her father would say. She
Rainey holds her hand out for both sets of keys; she senses Estelle and the boyfriend trying not to touch her palm. It makes her powers grow, holding their keys and key chains: such intimate objects. She opens the shiny black door, feels for a switch, and turns on the light.
“You’re not
kidding
we want to see it,” she says.
The apartment, a large studio with two tall windows, is painted a deep violet, as if an intense twilight has settled. In contrast, the trim and furnishings—a bureau, a table with chairs, and a curvaceous bed frame—are painted bridal white. Rainey can’t believe it. She walks down a violet hall into which a Pullman kitchen is notched, flicking on lights as she goes. At the end, she opens the door to a violet bath. She wants to steal all the walls.
Behind her, she hears Tina telling the boyfriend and Estelle to sit on the bed, and how far apart.
“What color is this?” she calls from the bathroom, where the white shower curtain manages to look like a wedding gown against the violet walls.
“I mixed it.” Estelle is hyperventilating; she can hear it. “I’m a set designer.”
Rainey walks back down the hall and props herself against a white dining chair. Tina moves cautiously around the room, always watching Estelle and the boyfriend, lifting small objectsoff the bureau and nightstands and amassing a little pile of goods on the hearth. Rolls of coins. Bracelets. The gun never wavers. Rainey asks Estelle, “Yeah, but what do you
call
it, this color?”
“Amethyst,” says Estelle. “It’s a glaze.”
“It’s incredible,” says Rainey. “It’s the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen.”
Estelle hugs herself and shivers. “Please point that somewhere else,” she asks Tina. “I swear I won’t do anything.”
“God, I love this place,” says Rainey. “Would you light me a cigarette? And may I have your cape, please?”
R AINEY WATCHES T INA COLLECT sixty-three dollars from the two wallets tossed on the table and a fistful of silver earrings from a bureau drawer. It takes only a minute. Tina never stops watching Estelle and the boyfriend. She jams her prizes into the pocket of the boyfriend’s leather jacket, which she is now wearing. Then she positions herself by the white marble hearth. Estelle and the boyfriend are not playing at being robbed. They sit on the edge of the bed about as far apart as they can while still holding hands—the holding hands was Tina’s concession.
Glancing at Tina, Rainey catches sight of herself in the mirror over the hearth, luxuriant hair spilling out the back of the tie-dye scarf. “Look at us.” She gives Tina a light nudge. “Even with all this shit on, we’re still cute. We should take a Polaroid. You got a Polaroid, Estelle?”
Tina keeps the gun aimed straight at Estelle as she turns quickly to look at herself in the mirror, then at Rainey. Hershoulders slump a little. She looks back at Estelle but says, “How can you tell it’s still us?”
Rainey laughs. “You’re tripping, right?” Tina shrugs. They both know she hasn’t tried acid yet. “ ’Cause it looks like us,” says Rainey. “Right?”
“I’m not sure,” says Tina.
“You’re on blotter,” says Rainey, and waits for her to stop being spooky. Rainey once licked blotter off Gordy’s palm and spent hours watching the walls quilt themselves exquisitely, kaleidoscopically. “Who else would you think I am.” says Rainey. “Jimi Hendrix?”
“I know what Jimi Hendrix looks like. Don’t move,” Tina snaps at the boyfriend, who is edging closer to Estelle. “I
am
tripping,” she says. “I don’t recognize myself.”
Rainey isn’t sure she recognizes this Tina either, the one who sees a stranger in her own face. “Ever?”
“That would be retarded. I mean, with the scarf on.”
It’s Rainey’s turn to
nosy around
, as her father would say. She
Similar Books
