As she strides to the bar, some of the unruly voices hush, some of the clumsy gesticulations freeze. Men drowning in the glorious annihilation of alcoholic voids do their best to claw and beat against the sweet blind oblivion they before were so desperate to submerge themselves in. Old and young men alike scream with effort in trying to gawk through their watery peepholes at her slender, sinuous body with a meager black dress clinging to it. Her milky skin is pure and unblemished, so smooth and fine it seems almost to flow and cascade like a waterfall. She tosses her long, straight hair, which is as black as the coldest unlit reaches of space, or the most secret and hidden corners of the earth, where only spiders and insects and other things that like the dark thrive, just for effect as she takes a seat on a stool.
The bartender is a ragged, thirty-two year-old man known as Buzz by his friends, because he often hums when he pours drinks or does work of some kind, though he is so disharmonic they say his humming resonates more like the buzzing of a bee or fly than any kind of musical intonation. Brown hair hangs in his face and a stained Grateful Dead T-shirt hangs from his chest. He is very laid-back, and although the woman who now sits before him asking him for a Rum and Coke stirs his loins for a second, he calms down and pours her drink, remembering that he has a girlfriend. He sets the drink in front of her.
"Widowmaker," she says. "Strange name for a bar. "
"Well, they say I make the drinks so strong here, I can make a widow out of the wives of the men who come in here. "Buzz's lips part slightly, wrinkling his stubble-laden face.
"Clever," she responds, gulping her Rum and Coke in one swallow to test his claim. Buzz's mouth drops open for a moment, but it isn't anything he hasn't seen before. "Get me another, and next time, less Coke, more Rum. "Buzz nods and complies with her request.
"You sure know how to down your liquor," a young man says, sitting on the stool next to her as she attacks her second glass. He is clean-shaven, hair neatly combed, redolent of the gallons of cologne he has splashed over his natural scent. "Can I buy you drink?" he asks.
She turns to him, her eyes scanning him briefly, then going up to meet his. He jerks back, nearly spilling off his stool onto the floor. Her dark metallic gray eyes slice through him like the icy blade of a warrior's sword, steaming with the hot blood of bodies it cuts through like butter. He aches almost as if those gray orbs have physically struck him. "Perhaps I could buy you a drink?" she nods at him with the corner of her mouth curled.
He stumbles off of his seat, reeling backwards as if hastening to avoid confrontation. "No thanks," he gasps, scurrying away.
Being interrupted, she has only swallowed half of her Rum and Coke. She sees a plate on the bar piled with packets of ketchup, salt, and sugar. She grabs a handful of the sugar packets and empties them into her glass.
Seeing this, Buzz says to her, "That one must have been too strong for you. You want me to put more Coke in it next time around?"
"No," she snaps, "I just like my drinks to be strong and sweet, that's all. "Her mouth sucks out the remaining contents of her glass with celerity. She asks for another, but this one she will drink more slowly, not because she fears the power of the toxin, but because she will shift her attention to the men around her.
The old and weary are first to be dismissed. Any over thirty years of age, or lost to the obliteration of the stupor of booze and their own wasted lives, are immediately eliminated. She looks for the healthy, the refined. Not necessarily in physical terms, but their appearance must be a reflection of what she's looking for. A purity and stability of mind, body, and soul. She does more then sees it, she smells it, tastes it. In a man sitting at the other end of the bar, with short but thick chestnut hair only slightly disheveled, like the bark of energetic trees spreading their multiple arms to the sun and straining to free their roots from the soil that tethers them to the ground. He looks to be in his mid to late twenties. He is not large and muscular, but his body moves and swings with a graceful ease that shows he isn't weak, either. His face is clean-shaven, though with a few nicks. The edges of his mouth deform with laughter often, flashing white teeth. His skin gleams and glows with vivacity, capturing the dim, dirty light and beaming it back with bright, warming rays as if put through a filtering system. Complexion is light tan, with hints of brown, yellow, and orange, almost like the burning colors of a sunset. A solid navy blue Denim shirt covers his top half, a pair of light brown Dockers his bottom half. A bottle of Rolling Rock stands before him, though it looks barely touched. He is constantly looking around the room and towards the door. She senses a small fragrance of anxiety; he must be waiting for someone. Perhaps a friend; she can't tell if it is a lover. If it is a lover, he is not very sexually interested in the person at the moment; he does not emit vibrations of sexual excitement like some of the other people are, looking around and waiting for someone just as he is. No matter whom he is waiting for; she has chosen him.
He hasn't even noticed her, and she startles him as she appears by his side, saying, "It looks like you're waiting for someone; mind if I keep you company?I'll by you a drink. "
He stills with wonder at whether he is imagining the woman he is seeing, or whether his vision might not be playing tricks on him. The admiration he shows her in his expression, not merely a lusty ogling, but a ponderous recognition of beauty, pleases her. His eyes, a firm but gentle blue, as if the cold but cleansing waters of mountain streams, meet hers. He smiles. "I'm not going to turn down a drink, especially from a beautiful woman. "
She sits, placing her Rum and Coke beside his Rolling Rock. "Are you sure?It doesn't even look as though you've sipped the beer you have now. "She folds her arms across the bar, slowly rubbing one of them with the opposite hand.
He looks at the bottle and shrugs. "I'll finish this soon now, I was just waiting for my friend. I don't like to drink alone. Now that you're here, I can start going at my normal pace. "He takes a gulp from the bottle to reassure her.
"I know what you mean," she says, pausing and blinking for a few seconds. "I don't like to drink alone, either. "Glances from him come furtively, traveling back and forth between her and the Rolling Rock, though he tries to hold his gaze, not only to appear calm, but also to enjoy her body. Hands not shaky but not quite steady grip the bottle, allow him a swig, bring the bottle down, allow another swig. She smiles very subtly at his nervousness. She knows he is excited now. Not an overwhelming arousal, but an awkward dazzling. He begins to sweat slightly more, releasing a sweet, musky scent that is a mix of deodorant, cologne, and his natural smell. This causes her own body to pique and tingle, though she remains steady and cool outwardly. She sips on her Rum and Coke, occasionally emptying a packet of sugar in when he isn't looking. "I don't want to be intruding or anything like that," she says softly, not looking at him directly.
He waves his hand at her. "No, no, it's just a friend, she won't mind. "
"Oh, it's a girl?"
"Yes, a girlfriend, that is, I mean, a friend that's a girl. . . . "He laughs, shakes his head. Looks at her like he'd done something wrong. "I'm sorry. She's a former girlfriend. We broke up a while back, but we're still good friends. "He smiles, gasps for breath a bit and takes a nice long drink of his bottle, draining it in fact. "Now how about that drink you promised to buy me?"
"What'll it be?"
"Just another Rolling Rock. "She is about to order it for him, when he stops her. "Wait, what is that you're drinking?"
"Rum and Coke. "
"I'll have one of those. "
She orders it for him. "My name is Charlotte, by the way. "
"Sean. "He breathes deeply, his nervousness fading. Somehow, names make it more comforting for him. But she knows that although the first short spasm of excitement is passed, there will be other, far more powerful and lingering ones.
She begins to ask him about his life, what he does for a living, what his interests are, what he does for fun. Asks about his ex-girlfriend. He does not hesitate to answer her questions. She does more than listen to him talk; she watches, smells, tastes. She consumes every sound wave he utters, every movement he makes, every drop of liquid that evaporates out of his pores. She avoids questions he directs towards her, trying to get him to reveal as much as he can about himself without her revealing much of herself.
He does not think much of her ambiguous answers, or realize that he is giving her much information about him while she has given him virtually no information about herself. She throws in a detail here or there when it seems important. Perhaps she is still wondering whether she is intruding, he thinks. Maybe she will say more later on. He does not mind her sitting beside him even if she won't reveal personal information just yet; she possesses a beauty he has never encountered before. Her body is built perfectly to him; nearly as tall as he is, five foot ten, maybe even a little taller; stomach not entirely flat, just rounded enough to be enticing to him; generously curving hips and breasts; a long but proportionate face conveying both maturity and playful vitality at the same time. Her lips are a little big, but no one's perfect; and besides, their size is all the more appealing with the way she purses and bites at them.
After nearly twenty minutes pass, a smallish girl with shoulder-length blonde hair comes scurrying through the door and over to Sean. "Sorry I'm late," she says, gasping for breath. "I got held up at work. "She takes the seat on the side opposite from where Charlotte sits, throwing a few inquisitive glances Charlotte's way.
"They're always trying to get the most out of you they can," Sean says, patting her shoulder. "You're the only one around there now with any talent. "
"I know, I know," she smiles, needing that particular remark.
Sean sees Charlotte and Crystal looking at each other. He has never introduced a girl he just met to Crystal before, so he is a bit awkward again. Charlotte senses this, although it is not as sweet or powerful of a sensation as he gave off before.
Crystal orders a Bud Light and looks over curiously at Charlotte. The way this girl talks, moves, and looks seems not like Sean's type at all, she thinks. For one thing, she is wearing a dress. Crystal herself always wears jeans and a T-shirt, like she is now. She talks and moves slowly as if she is calculating every word and motion. She seems almost arrogant and uptight. Yes, she is not Sean's type at all; how odd they are even talking and sitting together!
"So you write for a newspaper?" Charlotte asks Crystal, looking past Sean and smiling, though Crystal catches something subtle and cruel in her tone and glare. "Sean was telling me about that. "
"Was he now?" Crystal looks at Charlotte, trying to mix politeness with aggressiveness as finely as Charlotte has, so as to only be detectable by other women. "Yes, I write articles about fires and car accidents and the activities of the local government, your basic blah disasters. But my real passion is creative writing," she knows this unnecessary information will not matter to Charlotte, but will force her to make a response.
"Just like Sean," Charlotte says.
"Yeah, I use to work with Crystal, actually," Sean says. "But that whole scene is bad for creative people, so I had to get out. "Coincidentally, he left the paper around the same time he and Crystal broke up.
"Bad for creative writers?" Charlotte asks, appearing to be surprised, "But it's writing, isn't it?"She looks at Sean, but Crystal answers.
"It's not writing, it's reporting, documenting," Crystal grunts, inspecting the inside of her Bud Light bottle. Her and Sean say in unison: "The most amount of news in the shortest views. "
Charlotte crinkles her face, still not comprehending. Sean explains, "They want the most amount of facts in the shortest amount of space. "
Charlotte nods. Crystal adds to Sean's illumination, "Which means you have no chance for creative expression. Hell, they even tell you not to fuss about grammar and spelling, much less any kind of literary elements. They only get in the way, slow your writing, and take up too much space. "
"I see," Charlotte nods sympathetically towards Crystal, although her eyes keep focused on Sean.
"So what do you do?" Crystal looks inquisitively at Charlotte, swigging her Bud Light.
"I work in fashion design. I design and sew," Charlotte answers quickly, surprising Sean; she hadn't given him a clear answer when he'd asked. Must be a female thing, Sean muses. Perhaps she is more relaxed now that she sees me and Crystal are only friends, he imagines.
"Oh, that's interesting," Crystal says without even the pretense of caring. Then she notices that Sean isn't drinking his usual preference, Rolling Rock. "What's that you're drinking?" she asks.
"Rum and Coke," he says, holding up his glass proudly. "I figured I'd try something a little different for a change. "
A little different. . . . Crystal looks at Charlotte. Different, indeed.
By ten o'clock, Crystal is thoroughly intoxicated. Being five-foot four and one hundred ten pounds, her body rocks within the clutches of alcoholic poison even when she drinks a small amount in a short period of time. And tonight she drinks faster than usual, somewhat upset about Charlotte's presence. She tries to tell herself it is not completely jealousy--she knows she must deal with the fact that Sean is no longer hers--but something about Charlotte distresses her. Though not quite tangible, Crystal suspects cruelty and ruthlessness in Charlotte. She doubts herself, but she thinks she sees this viciousness glimmer in Charlotte's steely eyes occasionally, mostly when she looks away from Sean, and especially when she looks Crystal's way. Even if Crystal imagines this, it upsets her because she knows this perceived malignance is the result of jealousy or envy. If not only over Sean's growing enchantment with her--Sean and Charlotte have been conversing most of the time, rarely giving Crystal a chance to join in--then over the woman's radiantly perfect body. Crystal notices the other men in the bar constantly watching Charlotte in a trance-like stare, their jaws hanging open, and spittle dripping down their chins like a thin stream of water escaping from a faucet not completely turned off. It is nearly sickening how much the woman appears to glow and beam, as if every sound and movement is a perfected work of art. Being that perfect is a flaw, Crystal reasons.
Or the careful disguising of a flaw.
Crystal hangs her head. Thinks, I'm only being troubled by my own insecurity. I'm small, flat-chested. I'm simple. I don't have the look or flair that captivates men like Charlotte does. Crystal gets up from her stool, mutters something about the bathroom, finds herself splashing water on her face in the ladies' room for close to five minutes. Her wary but powerful green eyes pierce through the affects of alcohol, staring at her reflection in the mirror like an alley cat challenging its opponent. Wet strands of hair hang in her face; she fixes them with her hands. She licks her lips, breathes deeply and lets it out slowly. Begins to feel composure. Her body relaxes. Vision once clouded now becomes clear; throat choking and burning now cool and accessing unblocked air. She dries her face. She is better, until--
The door swings open, Charlotte trots in.
Crystal screams.
Crystal stomps her foot on the floor, twists it to make sure the spider she's crushed is entirely deprived of life. Crystal has no time to react to Charlotte entering the room, since the moment that happens Crystal sees a huge black spider creeping towards her leg. She has an extreme loathing towards spiders that borders on irrational fear at times. To her, they are the ugliest and most menacing-looking creatures on Earth, their eight legs superior to the two, four, or six legs of most other animals. Their faces--which she only sees in detail on television or in books--show compassionless, venomous hunger for their victims. Since a girl, Crystal has envisioned herself trapped in a spider's web, restrained and helpless, as the huge, malicious predator creeps tormentingly closer with its eight spindly legs, gnashing its pointy mandibles together in ravenous anticipation of its feast.
Crystal barely realizes Charlotte standing there beside her when Charlotte grabs her, swings her body around and smashes it into the wall. Charlotte's delicate-looking hands squeeze Crystal's arms like vices. Crystal sees the cruelty now plain and evident in Charlotte's eyes, locked on Crystal like the crosshairs on a mercenary's gun. Or like the cold outer casing of one of the bullets in that mercenary's gun. Crystal shivers. She does not know what to do or say.
"What do you think you're doing?" Charlotte growls at her.
Crystal is confused. Does she mean with Sean?"What?"
"Why did you kill that spider?"
Although this further confuses Crystal, it relieves her somewhat. "Oh, that?I just, I don't like spiders. "Crystal finds her relief starting to slip when she realizes that Charlotte's hands are still tightened around her arms, almost crushing them, and that none of the menace has dissipated from Charlotte's face. In fact, she seems more enraged when she sees that Crystal regards the killing of the spider as inconsequential. With her face slightly titled down at Crystal, her eyelashes point up, reminding Crystal of the teeth-like hairs lining the inside of a Venus'-fly-trap--or the stick-like legs of a spider.
"So you don't like spiders?So that gives you the right to kill them?I guess we have a right to kill anything or anyone we don't like?" Charlotte hisses.
Distress begins to pound at Crystal's head, make her eyes water. "Uh, well, no. . . "She can't think of anything to defend herself.
Charlotte releases Crystal, backing away from her a couple of steps without losing a hint of her anger. "I guess I live my life by a philosophy different than yours. I try to have respect for all forms of life, now matter how small and ugly they may seem. "Charlotte glares at Crystal for a moment in silence.
Small and ugly.
Charlotte thrusts into a stall. Spinning with disorientation, Crystal tumbles out the bathroom door.
"She's a maniac, Sean. She looked like she wanted to kill me," Crystal says into the phone.
"Over a spider?" Sean asks incredulously.
"I guess so--I mean, I dunno. She's psycho or something. "
Sean laughs. "Every woman I like or try to go out with is a psycho, Crystal. "
"So you like her or want to go out with her?"
"Yes, both. I'm having dinner with her tomorrow night. "
"Sean, I don't know if that's such a good idea. "
"Just like every woman I meet is a bad idea?"
"When did I ever get on you about a girl like this?This Charlotte is different, I could see it in her eyes. . . she's not a good person, Sean. "
"Just like Emily wasn't a good person?"
Crystal pauses before answering, "Oh, come on, Sean, she was a druggie. If she wasn't doing it herself, she was selling it. "
"And Beth?"
"She just wanted your money--"
"And Kristen?"
"She was mentally disturbed, Sean!Remember how when you got into a fight with her, your fish would suddenly die?That's a little messed up, if you ask me. "
"The temperature gauge on my fish tank hadn't been working right; if the water isn't just the right temperature--"
"And you always defend them, Sean; that's what worries me. "
"All right," Sean says with exasperation. Then: "What really happened earlier tonight, Crystal?Did you really have a fight with Charlotte in the ladies' room?"
"It wasn't a fight, Sean!" she exclaims, waving her free hand in the air as if Sean were there to see it. "She just grabbed me, threw me up against the stall, yelled something at me about having respect or something. She's damn strong, she was crushing my arms, and by the look in her eyes I swear she wanted to kill or maim me. Now if she's going to do that because I killed a spider, imagine if you go out with her and do something to piss her off, which, with you, won't be very hard. "
"Well, thanks to you, at least I know not to kill any spiders around her. And if she doesn't like spiders getting killed, I shouldn't have to worry about my fish, either. "
Though Crystal can't see it, she pictures Sean smiling at her. She sighs. "OK, well, whatever, just be careful with this one. I don't want to see you get your heart--or arms--broken. "
"Maybe she's Italian?I've never dated an Italian woman before. I wonder if she has connections. . . . "Sean begins a terribly poor Godfather impression.
Crystal points the phone away from her mouth so Sean doesn't hear her laugh. "I'm hanging up, Sean. Goodnight. "Crystal puts the receiver down, cutting off a comment of Sean's about sleeping with the fishes. Crystal leans back onto her couch, ignoring the hard buttons and springs poking through cheap material at her back. It is 1:15 in the morning, but she knows she won't be able to go to sleep for a few hours yet.
Sean laughs at it, but he'll have to find out the hard way, she thinks, slowly shaking her head back and forth without even realizing it. Something about that girl is disturbing, I knew it since I first saw her. Too perfect. Perfectly flawed. That hair so black black as something really black and mean like the night, like under the bed, like the bottom of the ocean with no light. . . .
Crystal leaves the bar at 10:30, but she comes home and has some beers stored in her fridge before she calls Sean. At 1:15 she is fairly drunk. She gets up, goes to the window, looks out at the shadowy Pittsburgh streets. Dogs bark not far away, sirens blare in the distance. Glass breaking, a muffled sound that could be on the side of the building or down the street. A few streetlights throw pale yellow beams onto the pavement, illumination that reveals discarded McDonalds containers, broken beer bottles, alley cats slinking along with matted dirt-flecked fur. The price of seeing. Crystal stares, pondering the filth of the place she must call home.
Writing stories for the Post Gazette, one of the few newspapers with an office in southwestern Pennsylvania, she learns quickly that life is not pretty. Students are killed the day before graduation, leaving bereaved parents with nothing but loving memories and charred remains. Parents strangle with laundry ropes, beat with their own fists, smother with pillows, or throw in boiling water babies because they won't stop crying. Children, women, and old ladies are raped, tortured, and sometimes killed because of men that feel impotent and find power in committing the ultimate act of humiliation. Five year olds constantly showered with attention and love fall into family pools and drown, or wander out into streets and are hit by cars, those few seconds when the parents are drawn away from their child on pressing matters proving fatal. The world is a cruel, unkind, savage place, a merciless conglomeration of rocks, water, and life forms that seem to exist for the sole purpose of destroying each other.
But denial of these things is the true ugliness--once Crystal accepts the blind destruction that is existence, she feels a kind of harmony with the world. A lie is much more ugly than a mutilated corpse, deception is more terrible than a killer with a bloody knife, and monsters and natural disasters are much more beautiful than pretending to be beautiful with fancy clothes, expensive cars, and big houses, when there are other people who not only can't afford, but don't have access to, clean drinking water, food, or medical treatment that would easily cure the legions of diseases infesting their bodies, much less clothes, cars, or houses, no matter the style, cost, or size.
There are two kinds of people in the world: the dead and the dying. There are two kinds of dying people: those who accept death, and those who try futilely to escape it. The dead, the desecrated, the deformed; those are more beautiful than those that hide behind suits, dresses, cologne, makeup.
I am more beautiful because I won't deny the truth. Sean will see. He'll see the truth.
She tries to think of Sean, but is annoyed to find that she can't get Charlotte out of her mind. The twisted look of hatred in her eyes and face pulsates inside Crystal's head.
She's evil, Crystal thinks.
The lights of the city blink at Sean as he steps out of his car, flushed with anticipation. His neck and face are still red and stinging from a razor and burning from aftershave, his neatly combed chestnut hair firmly in place, no wind to disturb it tonight. He wears a sports jacket and a solid black shirt, and white Dockers. He is nervous but not in an unsettling way. A warm feeling of giddy anticipation ripples through his body, much like the warm air of this Pittsburgh night. He hasn't felt this way about a woman since. . . .
Crystal. Perhaps because Crystal is so special. Perhaps because Crystal ruined all my other relationships. But no thinking bad thoughts now. The lights of the city are sparkling on the newly arrived chariot of night, no clouds to dim the soft glow of a half moon suspended gently in a sky still caught in mild blue twilight. People dance up and down the sidewalks, laughing and smiling with the relief that the end of the day brings--not only the end of sunlight, but, for most people, of work and responsibility. Their conversations and sounds of jubilation, mixed with the murmuring of engines and the singing of horns, are not overwhelming; though Pittsburgh is a big city, even on a Saturday night, there is not usually the kind of ruckus and jumble of noises, bodies, and vehicles that spawn in and never seem to leave other big cities like New York, Philadelphia, or Miami. The buildings tower not ominous and ugly, but noble and welcoming. The air is relatively clean, not anything like the suffocating fog that used to smother the city when the steel mills were rampant and unconcerned with carbon emissions. It is probably just his excitement over Charlotte that makes Sean feel this way--he never stopped to think much of the city one way or the other--but tonight Pittsburgh is beautiful to him.
He is meeting Charlotte at Primanti Brothers', a bar-and-restaurant type thing. He wants to impress Charlotte, but he isn't the kind of guy that does that through money. He can't, even if he wants to. He writes a few magazine articles here, sells a story there; is funds allow very little after bills and food. But Sean is the kind of guy that has confidence in his ability to win people over with personal qualities instead of money. Besides, showing up at the Widowmaker, Charlotte must not have high expectations financially. The Widowmaker isn't exactly the kind of place for rich slobs. It is the kind of place for poor slobs.
Primanti's is famous (in the Pittsburgh area, anyway) for its cheese steak sandwiches that come with fries and Cole slaw. Not on the side, but on the sandwich itself. It may not be elegant food, but its something a bit unique and tastes damn good. When Sean goes and orders his steak sandwich, he sees Charlotte already there, waiting by at the bar that greets you just inside the door.
Stunning. Absolutely stunning.
Charlotte is actually dressed down from what she wore at The Widowmaker's last night. Perhaps the dress had only been for first impressions. Now she wore a thick purple cotton shirt, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, tucked in to a light blue pair of jeans. Somehow though, she looks even more impressive than he remembers. Her skin isn't as pale as he thought it had been, her smiling face flushed and rosy. Her hair isn't as straight as it had been last night; now it is wavy, winding around her head and down her back like a coiling mountain road. She motions to him; he goes to her, feeling light-headed, almost as if her beauty is giving him a slight buzz. She hasn't ordered anything yet, not even a drink, and says to Sean, "Do you want to eat outside?"Diners often eat outside at one of the patio tables, or on one of the benches or stone blocks lining the sidewalks. It is a nice night, so Sean agrees. They each order a steak sandwich and a beer, going out to one of the benches.
Still nervous, unable to look away from Charlotte for more than a few seconds, Sean says, "I know this isn't a lot, but these sandwiches are pretty filling. "He holds his sandwich in both hands, fries dangling out over the bun, pieces of shredded slaw spilling onto the napkin he set on his lap.
Charlotte wraps napkins around her sandwich, leaving only a space at the end to bite into. She holds the sandwich with both hands also, but has it turned longwise, pointing away from her, instead of sideways, as Sean holds his. She tears off a piece with speed and surgical precision; no stray food matter sprays onto her face or drops from the neatly dressed sandwich, napkins protecting it like a burial shroud. The bite in the sandwich, too, is neat and clean, with not jagged edges. Sean thinks it strange for him to notice these details, but he finds a kind of wonder in them. Even the way this woman eats is graceful.
"Don 't worry, I'm a light eater," she assures after completely chewing and swallowing every crumb that is in her mouth. "I might not even be able to finish this. "With another quick and immaculate strike at her sandwich, she reminds Sean of bird of prey, perhaps a majestic eagle. Powerful, yet efficient, quick and neat. Strike the prey, rip a piece of flesh off, pull back and devour it, the movements so swift the human eye can barely see them.
Though he compares Charlotte to one animal killing another, it is only out of Sean's awe and respect, without consideration of the morbid element of the metaphor. Sean is by no means a fanatic about animals, but he does admire them, and unlike most people, who try to anthropomorphize animals, Sean likes to look for animal qualities in humans. We should stop being humans, and admit we're just animals, he reasons. If we embrace our animal sides, we won't have all the worries and atrocities that come along with being human and "civilized. "Still watching Charlotte eat, he thinks of her yelling at Crystal for killing a spider. He almost laughs. He could see it. Someone as graceful as her knows respect for life, he ponders. So he can imagine her getting upset for Crystal killing a spider--though Crystal probably touched the story up some, trying to make Charlotte sound mean and cruel. There isn't anything the least bit cruel in this woman. She wouldn't hurt a fly.
"What, aren't you hungry?" Charlotte winks at him. He has been staring at her all this time, and hasn't done anything with his sandwich except suspend it in midair like a dead criminal hanging lifelessly from a gallows' pole. Meanwhile, Charlotte has already consumed half of hers. She doesn't seem to mind, smiling at him and returning his stare. Even without looking at her sandwich, she retains her flawless eating style. Sean looks away, blushes. Instead of taking a bite of his sandwich, though, he sets it down on his lap-napkin and pops open his beer, swigs it. He then commences eating. He tries to mimic Charlotte's precision, but is not very successful.
With a mouthful of food Sean mumbles, "Oh, shit," as the fries and slaw continue to dive off his sandwich, as if fugitives desperate to escape pursuing authorities. He brushes the debris from his pants, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, gulps at his beer.
"You blush a lot," Charlotte says softly, almost in a whisper, rubbing the back of her hand on his reddened cheek. "Are you nervous?"
Sean finds it hard now to look directly at her. "A little bit," he blurts out.
"I'm sorry," Charlotte says.
"Huh?What?" Sean asks, a bit confused. He now is able to look steadily at Charlotte.
She lowers her head. "It's because of what I said to Crystal last night, isn't it?"
Sean tilts his head back, chuckles. "Oh, no. Don't worry about Crystal. She's a bit quirky sometimes. I think since she can't exercise her creativity at work, it bleeds over into real life. She's a hell of a woman, she just overreacts sometimes. "
"I just didn't want you to be angry at me for upsetting one of your friends," her hand slips from his cheek to his thigh, pats it a few times, then goes back to supporting her sandwich.
Sean takes another drink of his beer, surprised at himself for finishing it so quickly. His heart his racing, he feels the sandwich twitch between his fingers. The night suddenly seems not warm but scorching, as if the blazing sun is burning into him. He hopes he isn't sweating or visibly shaking, but the sensation of spasm seems so intense he feels sure it must be visible, though Charlotte continues to eat her sandwich serenely. Then Charlotte looks down at her sandwich so that Sean can no longer see her eyes, and the anxiety fades. The air night actually begins to feel cooler than it was before, his whole body seems calm, with no shaking whatsoever. He looks up to the sky, thinking again of a mighty eagle, pictures one soaring overhead, razor-sharp talons tucked under its golden-brown feathered breast, snow-white wings spread wide, wise and royal-looking head pointing out, ending in the dangerous claw of its beak.
"What're you thinking?" Charlotte asks, crumbling up her napkins.
Sean doesn't know how she would react to being compared to a bird of prey, even if she does have a respect for life and like animals. After a few seconds of thought, he answers, "Just what a beautiful night it is. "
"Me too. Want to go for a walk?"
"Sure. "Sean is more or less finished with his sandwich. They discard their trash and begin to walk. Charlotte takes his hand. Though her grip is gentle, it is firm. Sean could sense the strength Crystal remarked on.
They walked along a few minutes without talking. Usually, this might make Sean agitated, but he enjoys the silence, still studying her beauty to make sure it is real, relishing the warm embrace their hands are in.
Sean leads them down to the Allegheny River, where the kaleidoscope of city lights play on the water like small children rampant on a playground.
"I love nights like this," Sean says with sincerity. "The wind is still, it's just the right temperature, people are out but too many to feel crowded. "He nods to a few other people along the shore: another couple walking along, deep in conversation; a woman looking to be in her forties walking her dog; a group of teenagers playing Frisbee. The teenagers consist of four males, all with the "skater" look: baggy pants, chain wallets, Van shoes, short but scraggly hair. Their shirts boast the names of punk bands: Pennywise, Rancid, and The Exploited, the fourth shirt sporting a phrase Sean finds comical: I'M NOT ANTI-SOCIAL, I JUST DON'T LIKE YOU. The look is outdated, but Sean is not an expert on fashion, and does not really care much about it. But then he remembers that Charlotte had said she works in fashion design.
"Isn't that style of dress out of date?" Sean asks Charlotte, pointing to the Frisbee-gamers.
"Huh?What do you mean?" Charlotte looks over at the group with confusion.
"The 'skater' look?"The boys with the Frisbee see Charlotte looking at them, and are frozen still. The Frisbee whirs by one of the boys' heads, missing it by inches. He hardly even blinks, his eyes fixed on Charlotte. The Frisbee lands a few feet behind him. Sean and Charlotte look at each other and laugh. The boys break from their spell and resume playing.
"Oh. Well, it's not so much about what's in style by what other people say. Wear what you want, whatever's in style for you. "
That makes sense, but Sean still feels as if she is evading the question. "So you work in fashion design, right?"
Charlotte flinches, slowly nods. "Yeah, why?"
"What kind of stuff do you design?Dresses?Uniforms?"
"Actually, I'm not into clothes so much as packaging. . . . "She seems to pause for a moment before continuing, "Luggage, backpacks, all that sort of thing. "Her smile melts any anxiety he has about her mysteriousness. "And you?What have you been up to work-wise lately?"
They'd talked about work last night briefly, but Sean hadn't given her any details about what he did for money. He had told her he didn't have a steady job. He must have seemed just as mysterious, he mused. "Well, the last thing I got a check from was a short story, actually. I'm proud of that, because short stories are hard to sell nowadays. It was kind of a weird story, too," Sean can't help but giggle.
"Oh?Weird?Do tell. "
Sean looked out at the river. Water comes splashing onto the shore from the wakes of boats. Charlotte's thumb escapes from the interlocked fingers and caresses the back of Sean's hand, making slow circles in the skin.
Growling and barking suddenly interrupt the relaxing and sensuous moment. The lady with the dog begins to walk close to them, when the dog lashes out at them, its apparent anger oblivious to the choking leash. "Bad!No!Grande, back!Back!"
The dog is a Rottweiler, just as large and nasty looking as they usually are. He snarls savagely, snarling with ferocity that begins to make Sean nervous; even though the dog is not close enough to touch, it looks ready to pull free of its owner and pounce on them. Charlotte, however, does not look nervous or agitated at all. In fact, Sean thinks she is smiling very subtly, staring in the dog's direction. The dog's attention also seems to be focused on Charlotte. It doesn't even glance Sean's way. "It's all right, doggie," Charlotte says, taking a couple steps towards the raging ball of canine terror with the calm, nonchalant languid look of a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Sean fears that Charlotte's advances will set the dog into a violent rage, but things do not always happen as humans predict. The beast actually stopped barking and cowered back, as if frightened. It kept it's eyes intently on Charlotte, however, it's ears pointed back, emitting a low grumble like that of an idling diesel engine. "I'm sorry," the lady says, "I don't know what got into him. "
"It's OK," Sean says, a little spooked, pulling at Charlotte's arm.
They keep walking along the river, but in the opposite direction the lady goes. Sean says with wonder: "That dog. . . . It was as if. . . you scared him. "
"Its all in the eyes, the stare-down," Charlotte explains.
Sean looks at her eyes. He sees only soft, silvery gray, as gentle and kind as a smooth, sleek dolphin at Sea World, winning the hearts of many by its playfulness. Her face has the same innocent enchantment. "I see nothing to fear," Sean says, running a hand through her hair. Nothing to run away from, but to run towards. "
"You're sweet," she coos, mimicking Sean's head caresses, but taking more time to rub strands of hair between her fingers, almost as if she is massaging his head. Perhaps she knows some erogenous spots on the head, because Sean began to feel his loins stir and his skin tingle with pleasure. The feeling of being buzzed comes again, as if she is some kind of drug. If she is making him high, he won't mind getting stoned. The high increases but instead of feeling slurred or impaired, his senses are acute. Each brush of her fingertip turns into an explosive tactile sensation, causing his already racing blood to pump even faster through every vein and artery in his body; each word or sound she whispers or moans like a reverberant cry over a bullhorn, the accompanying hot breath condensing on his skin like the reviving warmth of hot chocolate after hours stuck in flesh-numbing ice and snow; the smell of the food and beer covered up by a sweet, fruity smell that must have been a mint of some kind. Yet, as all these perceptions erupted with ecstasy--each sense, not only touch, becoming erogenous and causing both enormous pleasure and a gnawing pain, the pain to release and fulfill their desire for each other, a pain that can never really be totally dissipated, even with orgasm--the world around Sean disappeared. At first the world blurred and distorted into shadows and pinpoints of light behind Charlotte, as monstrous and surreal as a Salvador Dali work, then it disappeared altogether, not only from Sean's senses, but also from his memory. No world except Charlotte exists now, and he becomes lost in it, a traveler embarking on a journey to conquer a foreign land, only to find, upon arrival, that he himself becomes conquered by the exotic and alluring mysteries they never even dreamed could exist.
Crystal uses Bud Lights as nuclear warheads to obliterate the armies of emotions threatening her--anger, depression, self-loathing. Usually she only engages in mild atomic skirmishes, but tonight, thinking about Sean and Charlotte, she wages all out thermonuclear confrontation.
Buzz buzzes along to Lynyrd Skynyrd's "That Smell. "He leans over the bar to Crystal. "Sean go out with that black-haired broad?"
"Yeah," Crystal answers with a disgust not directed at Buzz's use of the word "broad. "
"She was something all right. Can't say I wouldn't bang her if I wasn't taken. A little weird though, if you ask me. "
"Weird?Try mentally disturbed. "
"She was downing drinks like nothing--but did you notice her constantly pouring sugar into her drinks?"
Crystal looks up, squints at Buzz. Last night, she hadn't looked too much Charlotte's way. She'd kept her eyes mostly on her beer bottles. "No, I didn't. Why would she do that?"
Buzz shrugs. "Beats the hell out of me. I guess she had a sweet tooth or something. "
Crystal shakes her head. She knows there is something wrong with Charlotte, although she is still not quite sure exactly what. Perhaps more alcohol will help her figure things out. She needs something stronger than beer. She orders an arsenal of liquors: Gin, Rum, Vodka, Scotch, Tequila. With barely a wit of consciousness left, she shambles into the ladies' room and bows down to the porcelain god. After an extensive cleansing, the contents of her stomach being flung into the swirling whirlpool of the sewage system, her body goes limp as she sits beside the toilet, back and head against the wall. Blackness washes over her for a few moments, a blissful peace that is interrupted all too soon as her stomach is once again twisted and wrenched in the teeth of grinders of intoxication. When she finishes the expulsion this time, she dizzily rises to her feet. At first the disorientation seems overwhelming, but managing to stay on her feet, she is able to steady herself and clear her head somewhat. She throws herself at a sink, lapping at the water coming from the faucet in an attempt to wash away the burning and bitter taste in her mouth and throat. Then she splashes her face, hearing herself begin to moan. Looking in the mirror she faces the disheveled mess she has become, eyes red and droopy, hair sprouting in all directions. She wants to cry, but finds that she can't. Won't let herself. "It isn't over", she says.
Straightening her hair with her hands, wiping her face dry, she summons calm and composure, and walks out of the bathroom. She goes to the bar and retrieves her purse.
"You all right?" Buzz asks.
Without an answer, Crystal pays him and leaves. She is fighting drunkenness, but she knows she is not yet ready to drive. She'll take a walk until she sobers up enough. She's done this with Sean many times before. But she shouldn't think about Sean. Focus, concentrate. The night air is cool, helping her to shake free from the clutches of inebriation. Think of the beauty of ugliness. Stronger than the kind of beauty Charlotte has. I am beautiful because I am ugly. I am not ugly because I am not beautiful. Look at the littered cement and asphalt, discarded lives rotting here in Pepsi and Budweiser cans, Twinkie wrappers, cigarette butts, plastic bags, newspapers. Lives left to be consumed by fast food, nicotine, and alcohol, as unconcerned for their own well-being as they are for that of the rest of the world, indifferently strangling the planet with plastic, deep-fried, and cancerous hands. Beauty. . . .
With each block the wobble disappears from her step, with each step she straightens and the shaking continues to fade. It is about half an hour since she left the bar when she decides to turn back. Until she sees a car parked along the side of the street with two people in it. Sean's car.
For a minute she is frozen, dumbfounded. The sight of Sean and Psychotic Charlotte clawing at each other like two rabid wolves does not so much sicken her as shock her. Perhaps it is her inability to accept the two of them being together, or just the sheer coincidence of coming upon them. Three or four minutes pass before she thinks of the embarrassment of being seen. She scurries between two buildings, sticking her head out over the corner of one building so she can still watch them and remain hidden. Now that surprise beings to wear off, disgust finally sets in. Her beauty is ugliness, Crystal whispers. Perhaps the effects of the alcohol haven't truly worn off yet, because she feels disoriented again as she spies on their lustful activities. Her heart jumps in her chest as they get out of the car, fearing that they've seen her. But when they begin to talk, she doesn't hear her name mentioned. Charlotte wants them to walk to her house. Sean agrees, his voice dull and acquiescent, in an almost zombie-like fashion. His movements, too, are slow and subdued. Charlotte, however, retains her vivacity, her playful seductiveness masking subtle cruelty. When they begin to walk away, Crystal finds herself following them. She is confused by the willfulness that propels her on, as if guided by some unknown force. But although she feels uneasy about her actions, her suspicions about Charlotte have been strengthened and fortified. Sean speaks and moves in a hazy and clumsy way, making Crystal thinking Charlotte has drugged him. Given him one of those "date rape" pills, perhaps. It would explain such an unlikely couple, the ugly and the beautiful, would be together.
Crystal keeps a distance and uses corners of buildings and doorways as measures to make sure she isn't seen or heard. The couple pays attention only to each other, though. Charlotte repeatedly whispers into Sean's ears. Sean reacts by approving nods or muffled laughs. Charlotte's vigor beside Sean's submissiveness reminds Crystal of a giddy child dragging along its pet.
They come to an apartment building black as Charlotte's hair and as crumbled and dilapidated as the litter scattered along the streets. Some of the windows are broken. Crystal wonders how people would still be allowed to or even want to live in these cracked, shambled ruins. Sean does not protest though; in fact, he grows excited, as he and Charlotte return to their kissing and caressing. Crystal pauses when they disappear through the doorway. There are no lights on in the windows, no sounds or signs of life. She looks around, listens, but she is frightened by a stillness that is like the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. This place feels empty, barren, as if she is standing in the rubble of the Apocalypse, the last living thing left on Earth. And the apartment building, apparently abandoned except for Charlotte and Sean, looms before her like a warhead, the mocking weapon that destroys all of civilization but is not destroyed itself.
But she knows she must enter and rescue Sean. Rescue him from this. . . apocalyptic evil. She mounts the stairs, climbs to the porch, which is covered by a layer of trash, splintered boards of wood, and broken glass. She tries the door, expecting it to be locked, but finds it open instead.
She enters.
With no lights inside, Crystal finds it hard to see. The only illumination comes from faint rays that fall through the windows. Heart is racing, she finds herself wanting to turn around and run as fast as she can, as far away as possible. But she goes on, down through the narrow and unlit hallway, swallowing her in its darkness like a giant mouth. She hears creaking, movement behind a door at the end of the hallway. That must be where they are. Surely no one else is here. But what will she say to them?Maybe not say anything. Just charge in there, grab Sean by the arm and pull him away from her clutches. And if the bitch tries to stop me. . . .
She pauses at a room that's door is half open. Yellow beams spill into this room, making it somewhat visible. In there she sees glistening white oblong-shaped things. They look almost like people in sleeping bags, but they look like they're wrapped in something, string or thing rope of some sort.
Crystal steps into the room to get a better look. Are those people lying there, wound like Egyptian mummies?Get closer and see. . . .
When she tries to take another step, her feet don't come up as she expected and she falls over flat on her face. But she doesn't quite hit the floor. She hits something, but not the floor.
Trying to get back up, she finds herself unable to move, except for her right forearm, slightly titled upwards. She feels a stickiness clinging to her skin. Then she begins to laugh. Charlotte. The spider in the bathroom. . . it was, one of her cousins perhaps. In the hallway, a door opens and there is a skittering noise, as if made by a bunch of pointed legs. Eight, to be exact. Crystal's body shakes and convulses with hysterical laughing. An acrid smell fills the air; Crystal has retrieved her lighter from her purse, and is setting the webbing she is entrapped in on fire. She is able to free her upper body enough to be able to twist around and see a large black shape standing behind her in the doorway, two small red eyes staring at her. She hears a hissing sound as the thing comes crawling towards her. As Crystal continues to burn away at the fibers, her own clothes are catching on fire, but this effects her not. Tears are streaming down her face, her sides are swelling with pain, but she continues to laugh.
The thing lunges at her. It bites into her, hoping to knock her out with its venom. However, Crystal is able to kick at it. She even reaches toward it with the lighter, waving the flame at it with maniacal delight. It backs away from the flame, but hisses angrily. Crystal stands up, little fires licking at her clothing, and the spider-thing comes at her again. But it does, she burns it, eliciting a high-pitched scream and a raging red flare in its eyes. Despite the burn, it bites Crystal again, though once it does it backs away. Crystal jumps up and down, shouting, twirling the lighter in the air like a child with a sparkler at the Fourth of July. She goes over to the cocooned bodies and sets them aflame. Soon the walls and the floor are burning. Crystal sits down among the flames, laughing as she watches the spider scowl at her one last time before it retreats into the hallway and disappears.