Sub Rosa, page 8
I saw Arsen on one side of the guardrail and Eli on the other side. And there was me spinning through the air with newfangled fuchsia pink toenails. Only the safety chain fastened me to my surroundings.
When the swings lowered back down I stayed in my seat, vaguely engaged with my reflection in the ride’s mirrored tiles. I pretended I was trying to score a second ride, but really I was waiting.
“I guess you survived,” Eli said. Kids filed off around us, their feet clacking against the steel flooring.
“It’s only a ride.” I fidgeted with the rusted clip of the safety chain.
“Not the swings,” said Eli. “The world … life. The last thing I heard about you was you were sleeping in Rat Park and spare-changing subway stations. I guess that was a bunch of bull; look at you.” I unclipped myself from the seat, knowing what was coming next. “I mean, you look really good.”
I didn’t return the compliment. I could have. His once round, perpetually blush-stained cheeks had given way to strong lines and five o’clock shadow. His lazy eye was much less lazy, which made me think either he was crying less or drinking less cheap wine.
“You getting home-cooked meals and proper bed times or something?”
The question confused me. “What time is proper?” Eli shrugged his shoulders. He stepped back to let me off, then forward again like he was unsure about what he was about to say.
“We should hang out sometime. Swap fond memories about that house.”
“I was never part of that house,” I told him. A new batch of children ran for the empty swings. A blonde girl wearing glittery alien antennae on her head took my place.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” said Eli, as I slid past him. Maybe he called out, “Have a nice life,” and “Nice knowing ya,” but it was muffled by the sounds of rattling chains and squealing children.
“Who’s that boy yellin’ after you?” First asked as I walked back to them. She used her rebuking voice, the same tone she spoke to Second in.
“Just someone I used to know.”
“Someone you don’t know anymore,” said Arsen, taking up my hand, a stuffed tiger and two white lambs balanced precariously in his other arm. I hoped Eli wasn’t watching us. Suddenly, I was embarrassed of First’s blown-up body, the gold rings on Arsen’s fingers, my short dress. It was obvious what we were. I was eager to get back to Arsen’s car.
“That’s what I’m saying,” I said. “Someone I used to know. No one I know anymore.”
After the fair, Arsen dropped First and Second off behind the Smoke Shoppe. Second wordlessly climbed out of the car, her arms so crowded with stuffed animals that her face was buried. She hogged all the prizes. I was annoyed at first, but actually she’d been using them to hide behind. All night she was hidden behind something: line-ups, puffs of cotton candy, her own hair blown across her face. I saw her nuzzle into one of the new lambs, and I might have almost liked her then if she wasn’t so mean to me. First remained planted in the car, recapping the night as if we hadn’t been there ourselves. “It was so humid out tonight the caramel on my candy apple melted right off,” and “Little loves her rides. Didn’t even scream on that roller coaster.” She was stalling Arsen, I could tell. I pushed at First with my mind; her foot dangled outside the car door for a good while before she followed Second to their home.
By the time Arsen and I were alone together my body was limp and tired and needed peace. The jazz station had slipped out of tune and filled his apartment with static and detached guitar riffs. His phone was ringing. Toro was barking at the balcony window. We didn’t go to the bedroom. We didn’t fully make it inside at all. He held me up against the wall in the front hallway, hastily kicking the row of his shoes out from beneath us. I reached for his silver belt buckle. He kissed me, same way he kissed First, as I pried at his heavy leather belt. I wrestled his pants down with my feet. The hall closet doors rattled furiously as we fucked. Everything fell away, like loose change being shaken from my pockets.
VII
For once there was evidence: an egg-white shimmer beside my breast marked where his mouth had breathed against me all night. His mark felt alive, I can’t explain it any better. As if everywhere else on my body was simply dumb skin, but where he had marked me was electric. I stayed in bed for as long as possible, cocooned myself up in his silk sheets.
When I finally got up Arsen said I would be going to my new home. His first words of the day: “You ready to go to your new home?” Why even bother posing the question? It was clear I was going, ready or not. He promised it was much better than his own apartment. In the shower, I worked the soap roughly over my skin. Why should my body have to bear any part of him? He certainly wasn’t clinging to me.
I heard his car keys jingling as he paced from room to room. I spent extra time on everything: drank my juice with baby sips, got dressed in slow motion. I brushed my hair for so long it animated, twitching at the ends with static. I petted Toro until wisps of his fur came off in my hands. Arsen’s patience faded. “Hey, pretty girl, we need to get going,” he said, half sugar, half sharp.
“I’d rather stay here with you.” I felt pathetic and turned my back to him as if I hadn’t said it.
“I’ll bring you here all the time.” He tied his shoes, eyes on his laces, not on me. I figured he’d be a better liar. Maybe I should have been flattered that he was bad at lying to me. He had straightened his shoes back into a perfect row of six pairs. My duffle bag sat beside them, packed to go.
It was an August city day that Arsen moved me out of his apartment and into Sub Rosa. His car, baked in the sun all morning, was a sauna. Sweat pooled on the leather upholstery under my thighs; I worried about the squeaking sound I made each time I moved. When we pulled into the alley on the right side of No’s Smoke Shoppe, a breeze rushed in the window to relieve us of the heat. Even in the daytime, the alley looked, at a glance, like a dead-end. “Advent Alley, this is called,” said Arsen. “We’ve passed through it before. It’s the only way into Sub Rosa.” He took it slow so I could see the bouquets of flowers resting against the brick, as if marking the site of a death, or a saint. I noticed new graffiti: Blessed Is She, in streaky white paint. A payphone receiver swung in the breeze from a phone booth near the back of the building; Arsen stuck his hand out the window to put the receiver back in its cradle. “Check this out.” He pointed to a tiny red rose someone had stuck in the phone’s coin slot, still as red and fresh as it would be on the bush. “Check that.” His pointing finger swung to the windshield. Little blushing lights floated in the air outside. One flew in and landed on my lap. I swear there was a tiny spark as it touched down upon my bare thigh and I saw what it was. A cherry blossom.
There aren’t any trees on Sub Rosa. If there were, they wouldn’t have been in bloom that late in the summer. I raised a dumbfounded finger to point at them too.
“Just enjoy it,” he said, shrugging off my disbelief. But these petals were more than springtime beauties. They acted organized; their sparse airborne trail seemed to be leading us to the Pawn Shop, where First was waiting in her customary spot, noontime light haloing her hair and shoulders. Beside her stood the source of the petals. A woman, stunning just like First, with an impossibly slender waist, held a bouquet of cut cherry blossom branches, waving them like a victory flag.
“Little, this is Ling,” First introduced her as Arsen and I stepped out of the car.
“Welcome to Sub Rosa.” When Ling smiled half her face gave way to gleaming teeth. She handed me the bouquet. More petals loosened from the branches and leapt for her. I hardly blamed them.
“How…?” I asked. Several more petals fluttered from the branch toward her. I watched them fall down her bare legs to the sidewalk.
“I think she likes you,” First laughed to Ling. I was open-mouth dim, my words full-halt on my tongue.
“If you can make it out of the Dark in two days, Little one,” said Ling, “then I think I can find you cherry blossoms in August.”
Arsen had to nudge me before I said, “Thank you.”
“How’d she do that?” I asked as Ling left us. Stray cherry blossoms pursued her as she crossed the street.
“This,” said First, picking off a petal that stuck her lip. “It’s just her thing that she do.”
Every Glory has a thing that they do, First explained. When Ling wasn’t hypnotizing flowers, she had foil-wrapped bonbons rolling across the candy counter toward her; decanters of wine loosened their lids when Ling walked into a room. Ling was the first wife in the House of Klime. Unlike Arsen, Klime was a scarcely seen Daddy, making cameos at Sub Rosa functions or slipping in for midnight rendezvous with his girls. “Ling’s no crybaby. You never catch her saying boo about her man,” First said. “She just goes about her house business, happy-like.” It is said that in Klime’s absence Ling has had a lot of time to perfect her charms.
From house to house, the talents of First Wives are grander than Seconds or Thirds. Fauxnique, the first from the House of Man, our next-door-neighbour, can twist and shape her body into impossible configurations. When a live one pulls up in his car, she bends backwards through his window to say hello. One-Tonne Beauty, Miss Alps, and Goddesszilla are but a few of the pet names the live ones have for First. Her size has made House of Arsen renowned.
“Other Glories’ gifts aren’t so clear,” Arsen mumbled and looked up at the apartment window where Second stood with her hand against the glass. He grabbed my duffle bag out of his car.
“Whatcha’ doin’ with that?” First rushed toward him. Arsen swept back her thick red spread of hair to whisper in her ear. First tapped her foot as she listened. I shuffled mine awkwardly, unable to hear a single word. “Arsen gonna put your things away,” she said finally, wrapping her arm around me as if she was delivering bad news. Arsen and duffle bag quickly disappeared through an apartment door marked with a 9.
First stopped me as I followed behind. “Let him go up without us, Little, honey,” she said. “He’ll put your stuff away. And the truth is, Second’s in a bit of a fuss about you movin’ in, but Arsen will put her right.
“Besides, we got trainin’ to do. Listen now, it starts right here. Here at your front door.” First pointed at the door with the polished bronze number just beside the Pawnshop window. “There are three rules for caring for our home and our livelihood. You want to live comfortable, don’t ya? So number one—we bless where we dwell. Keep charms. Pray before bed. You can pray other times too, if you wanna. And most important, is makin’ offerings at our track patch. Now, we’re standin’ on our track patch right now, here in front of the Pawnshop. We meet all our live ones here. And we want lots of live ones, so whenever we out here we make an offerin’ to the offerin’ tar.” She tapped her toe in a metre-long spot on the sidewalk where the cobblestones had been pulled up. The tar was soft and squishy under the pointed toe of her shoe. I spotted a pair of dangly silver earrings stuck in the gunk. From her pocket First drew a tube of lipstick for me to offer. I felt silly pushing it into the tar, but I carefully worked the lipstick deliberately into the ground with both hands anyway. “It’s all about givin’ back to the place that be providin’ for us.”
The second rule was to buy Sub Rosa whenever possible. “Everythin’ you want is here.” First pointed out the six businesses that accommodated all of Sub Rosa’s needs: No’s Smoke Shoppe at the end of the street; Babycakes Bakery and Sweets to our right; our home base— the Pawnshop; Spa Rosa to our left; across the street, the Mayflower Diner and banquet room; and Launderlove, where we had our first appointment that day.
“Launderlove, the biggest laundromat you’ll ever see. I’ll show you.” First genuflected slightly as she stepped off our track patch.
“Whose house is that?” At the end of the street there was an old Victorian mansion that First had overlooked entirely. It spanned a good half-block. The mansion and its surrounding grounds were a homogeneous clay colour, every surface cracked and thirsty. The windows were walled over with heavy black drapes, except for one. In an upstairs room a curtain billowed out from an open window like an escapee ghost. I noticed a single wisteria flower hung on a struggling vine. “That poor house,” I said.
“That’s the house of the Diamond Dowager,” First said briskly, “mother of all Sub Rosa! She don’t need your sympathy.” She tugged at my arm to get me to follow her.
Hot steam welcomed us as we entered Launderlove. It certainly was big. Rows upon rows of dryers tumbled clothes, but no one waited for their laundry. The only person there was a woman sewing furiously at the back. The seamstress peeked at us from behind a sturdy metal sewing machine. “Candy, what do you need today?” she asked as she noisily finished a seam.
“Well, June, this girl here needs some work clothes. She’s been wearing city clothes.” The seamstress wrinkled her nose at that. First imitated her, the two of them sneering at my T-shirt and jeans. “It ain’t you, baby girl. Most city things just aren’t as good as what we got here on Sub Rosa. Apart from gifts from live ones, which we accept outta politeness, we has a ban on city things. No phones. No newspapers. No television.”
“But there’s a TV right there,” I pointed up at the set mounted above the washing machines.
“DVD,” said the seamstress. “I have every episode of Cheers. Ask me anything about Cheers, anything. I’ll tell you.”
“Tell me you got whites,” said First, putting us back on track.
The seamstress pushed herself up from the table with some effort. Her lip curled as she looked me over, revealing a gold eyetooth. “Whites? This is your newest one?”
“That’s right. Came out of the Dark yesterday.”
“So … two days,” said the seamstress. A measuring tape sprang from her sleeve and circled my waist.
“See, Little, even June knows you. Now introduce yourself.”
The seamstress might have known me, but she didn’t talk to me. She ignored my offer to shake her hand. “How many whites?” she asked First as she slid the measuring tape under my breasts. I lifted my arms for her.
“Well, she’s barely broken in. Then again, she is so quick at every darn thing I bet she’ll debut sooner than most. And she’s going to the Pawnshop soon for her ring. ” First tapped her nails on the folding counter. “How many whites you got in her size?” The seamstress folded back a paper screen behind her workspace, revealing half a dozen racks packed tight with clothes. She produced a small sailor suit: white shorty-shorts and a cropped middy blouse. This seemed to appease First, who started to lift my dress off right there. The seamstress unclipped the shorts from the hanger and held them out for me. “Step in,” she commanded. “Shoes off,” she barked again as I lifted my foot. I was a human kewpie doll with embroidered anchors on my ass cheeks. First was fucking thrilled.
“And I have this one.” The seamstress opened a zip-lock baggie and poured a swatch of cloth into First’s hand.
“This barely covers my head.” First showed me what looked like a figure skating dress made of white mesh. “Would you wear this?”
“Maybe with some new tall boots,” I said, spying the rack of shoes. Why not milk the situation for all it was worth?
First sighed. “What else?”
“Today, I have only the two outfits. I didn’t expect her so soon,” said the seamstress. “You can order more.”
“Order more! We need them now.” First puffed up and began to complain that she couldn’t have me starting work with just two outfits. I was a Dark Days champion, and do champions wear the same outfit over and over? No, they don’t. That made June scramble through her rack of clothes, grabbing anything white that was smaller than a size six. Most of these dresses were the same: strapless and stretchy, nothing more than tiny tubes of cloth chosen because they were easy to take in. She fit me in a pearly white tube, a white tube with a star print up the sides, and a pleather tube. I froze as she lined the pins up along my body. First crossed her arms in front of her chest. “They’re all so skimpy.”
I smiled at myself in the full-length mirror. “Tighter,” I told the seamstress, and sucked my stomach in as she pinned.
I left Launderlove swinging my shopping bags beside me. “Don’t think you gonna wear that pleather on your first night,” said First. She’d been clicking her tongue since she paid the seamstress. “We never even got started on your debut dress.” She shook her head, fatigued from it all.
“When is her debut? We all have to plan our outfits, you know!” A man came racing up behind us; his shiny black shoes sounded like a show pony’s hooves clacking against the cobblestones. This can’t be one of the live ones that First told me about, I thought. He was more perfect than Arsen: glossy black hair with a flawless side part, crisp white shirt, four or five buttons undone; a red silk scarf tied around his long neck; heavy eyelashes, and a gift-box bow of a mouth.
First clicked her tongue one last time before introducing him. “This is Second Man, our neighbour from the House of Man.” He held his hand out to me, horizontally, as if I should have kissed it. I laughed, thinking it was a joke. When he didn’t retract, I gave it my best friendly squeeze; his skin was velvety in my hand. “And there is no debut date, not yet,” First told him. “She’s only startin’ work tonight. I’ll let you know when to start polishin’ your dancin’ shoes.” She put her hand on my back, signalling that we should move on. I was already getting good at translating her language of touch.
“Two days. Brava,” Second Man said as we started to go. I lowered my head and shrugged, only pretending to be embarrassed at the compliment. He pursed his pretty pink lips at me. “You cost me a whole night’s work,” he said. I didn’t understand and looked to First to answer this. She gave Second Man an icy stare, the three of us caught in a triangle of fixed eyes. “I can’t blame Arsen now, can I? He predicted you’d be out in two days before the bets were taken, but my girlish pride got the better of me.” Second Man ran his hand, not through, but slightly above his glossy hair as he said “girlish pride.” My cheeks grew hot and prickly as I caught on. Arsen had wagered on my speedy return. That was why he wanted me out so quickly—for money. All the talk about me being a hero, his hero, was probably all just to help secure his winnings. I was sure Second Man thought I was blushing over his tongue-in-cheek compliment. He let a dramatic pause pass before he said to First, “What? You’re telling me she does not know who I am?”
