After Delores by Sarah Schulman Page B

I had been cheating on her. So if you ever have more than a cursory conversation with my lover, I hope you will be discreet about what you know.”
    There was some information I had that Charlotte didn’t want me to disclose. But I didn’t know what it was. One thing was clear, though; I had proximity to one of Charlotte’s secrets and that’s why she needed to keep me in her life. The longer I held onto it, the closer we would be.
    â€œDo you understand?”
    â€œYes, Charlotte, I understand perfectly.”
    A long time ago, I learned that being alive meant playing by certain rules. Everyone knows that the specific choice of rules is an arbitrary one, but we agree on them to give ourselves something to focus on. One of the rules is that certain basic things—feelings, other people, and responsibilities—are real. When they slip away, the walls cave in and there’s nothing left but anger at what you gave up along the way just to play along. Charlotte was the last thing I knew of that I wanted to believe in, because she had power, enough power to love and be loved and still be in control. So I loved her too, and let her have her way, even though I did know that she was lying.
    â€œWhat did you like best about Punkette? I mean Marianne?”
    â€œDon’t deceive yourself. I did that out of pure vanity.”
    â€œBut Charlotte, there must have been something about her individually that made you choose her. I know she was sexy and cute in a real touching way, without much passion. Was that it?”
    Charlotte laughed, impatient at having to explain what was already so completely obvious.
    â€œWhat did I see in her? The lack of pain. You can taste that on someone’s skin. I like hope under my fingernails. You can smell it all day long like the insides of grapefruit rind. It’s fresh and you think it can last forever.”
    I jammed my hands into my pockets. “But it’s not forever,” I said.
    â€œObviously, but who looks at a young woman and thinks of murder? I don’t. Even if she was a junkie. A young junkie.”
    I only had to consider that thought for one moment. “No, I don’t believe that. Punkette wasn’t shooting junk.”
    If there was one thing I knew about, it was junkies. They’re all over the place and you get used to them. They scratch their arms. They have nervous tics. They leave the water running and the fire burning. There’s something very stupid in the way they glance around all the time. No, Punkette’s eyes had no junk in them.
    â€œBelieve me, I was fooled too,” Charlotte said. “But she started stealing things from my house and selling them. She took the television, the phone machine …”
    Right then Charlotte did the strangest thing. She grabbed my head with both hands, like she was going to kiss my forehead, but instead, she slid her palm over my eyes and held them real tight. Her hand took up half my face. Then she talked to me in a high, faggy voice.
    â€œCan you see?”
    â€œOf course not, Charlotte, you’re covering my eyes.”
    It was quiet for a minute as I waited without struggling, until she started laughing and laughing and dropped her long arms, letting one swing a full arc.
    â€œThat’s what my brothers used to do to me all the time … ” she said, normal again and seemingly happy, still swinging that arm.
    There was something so brutal in her smile. She was a very dangerous woman. She could really hurt me. And I realized that I wanted her fingers inside me right then. They were long and rough. If I was honest, I would have put my arms around that thick neck of hers and climbed right on top of her fingers.

15
    I FOLLOWED CHARLOTTE into the theater. We were the only shadows passing under the streetlights. The whole block seemed deserted and black.
    She stumbled past the chairs and threw a few switches on the lighting board. Then the stage had