white teeth gleamed between two brilliant red lips.
“I am so des-per-ate-ly sorry to have kept you waiting,” she purred in a soft, coquettish drawl. “I do hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me, but I regret to say I have simply had no sleep. The dreadful little children from across the square threw a bomb under my bedroom window in the dead of night. My nerves are still unsettled. My life is in constant danger.”
“Why, Miz Dawes,” said Maggie, “it wutt’n them chirrin at all. It was on’y Jim Williams shootin’ off a cap pistol. You know how he likes to get your goat. An’ it wutt’n no death a night neither. It was noontime.”
“Decent people were still resting!” said Serena. “And it was
not
a toy pistol! You don’t understand these things, Maggie. It was a fuckin’ bomb! It nearly tore the goddamn side off the house. I am quite sure my bedroom is structurally unsound as a result. And as for Jim Williams—that no-good, low-rent middle Georgia redneck—I will fix his wagon. You wait and see.”
Luther appeared, carrying a Chinese food take-out carton. “Well, I’ve got the goldfish ready. Let’s go.”
Serena insisted on making the circuit of local nightspots rather than going directly to the Purple Tree. The effort of getting dressed warranted nothing less than a Grand Tour, she felt. We went first to the bar of the 1790 restaurant, then to the Pink House, then to the DeSoto Hilton. At each stop, Serena’s friends gathered around. She paid attention only to the men among them, flattering and bullying them by turns and fanning herself with her cocktail napkin. “Oh, darlin’, you look so handsome. Dear me, I left my cigarettes in the car. Now, be a love and go get them for me—here, take my keys. Goddamn, it’s hot as a bitch in here. I swear I’ll pass out unless somebody turns up the air. Oh, goodness, look at that, my drink’s all gone! I simplymust have another! Why, thaaaank yewwww. My nerves are still shattered from that bomb attack last night. Haven’t you heard? A disappointed lover blew a hole in my bedroom wall. I’m still too upset to talk about it.”
As the evening wore on, Luther became concerned that the fluorescence might wear off his goldfish and that they might begin to fade. “We need to get to the Purple Tree before it’s too late,” he said.
“We’ll get there, darling,” Serena trilled. “After we peek in at the pirates’ Cove.” Luther opened the carton and sprinkled a little more fish food into it. After the pirates’ Cove, Serena insisted on a stop at Pinkie Master’s. Luther added more fish food. At Pinkie Master’s, several people peered into the carton.
“Goldfish,” they said. “So what?”
“Come with us to the Purple Tree,” said Luther. “You’ll see.” He put another dose of fish food into the carton. When we finally reached the Purple Tree, it was two-thirty, and our party of three had grown into a small crowd with Serena at the center of it. Luther was content to look after his goldfish and become quietly drunk. In the black-lit darkness of the Purple Tree, Serena’s face was all but invisible under her hat, except for her teeth, which were all aglow. “If it wasn’t a jealous lover,” she said, “then it could have been the Mafia. They use explosives too, don’t they? They’d give anything to get their hands on the magnificent jewels my late husband left me. He was one of the richest men in the world as you all know. After the attack last night I consider myself lucky to be alive.”
Luther, none too steady on his feet by this time, stepped behind the bar. “Well, here goes,” he said, and without further ceremony he poured the goldfish into the tank. They plunged into the water in a burst of bright green bubbles. Luther held his breath as the bubbles rose and the water cleared. There, swimming around the tank—brighter than the gills or the mouths or the eyes or the fins—were the glowing intestines
“I am so des-per-ate-ly sorry to have kept you waiting,” she purred in a soft, coquettish drawl. “I do hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me, but I regret to say I have simply had no sleep. The dreadful little children from across the square threw a bomb under my bedroom window in the dead of night. My nerves are still unsettled. My life is in constant danger.”
“Why, Miz Dawes,” said Maggie, “it wutt’n them chirrin at all. It was on’y Jim Williams shootin’ off a cap pistol. You know how he likes to get your goat. An’ it wutt’n no death a night neither. It was noontime.”
“Decent people were still resting!” said Serena. “And it was
not
a toy pistol! You don’t understand these things, Maggie. It was a fuckin’ bomb! It nearly tore the goddamn side off the house. I am quite sure my bedroom is structurally unsound as a result. And as for Jim Williams—that no-good, low-rent middle Georgia redneck—I will fix his wagon. You wait and see.”
Luther appeared, carrying a Chinese food take-out carton. “Well, I’ve got the goldfish ready. Let’s go.”
Serena insisted on making the circuit of local nightspots rather than going directly to the Purple Tree. The effort of getting dressed warranted nothing less than a Grand Tour, she felt. We went first to the bar of the 1790 restaurant, then to the Pink House, then to the DeSoto Hilton. At each stop, Serena’s friends gathered around. She paid attention only to the men among them, flattering and bullying them by turns and fanning herself with her cocktail napkin. “Oh, darlin’, you look so handsome. Dear me, I left my cigarettes in the car. Now, be a love and go get them for me—here, take my keys. Goddamn, it’s hot as a bitch in here. I swear I’ll pass out unless somebody turns up the air. Oh, goodness, look at that, my drink’s all gone! I simplymust have another! Why, thaaaank yewwww. My nerves are still shattered from that bomb attack last night. Haven’t you heard? A disappointed lover blew a hole in my bedroom wall. I’m still too upset to talk about it.”
As the evening wore on, Luther became concerned that the fluorescence might wear off his goldfish and that they might begin to fade. “We need to get to the Purple Tree before it’s too late,” he said.
“We’ll get there, darling,” Serena trilled. “After we peek in at the pirates’ Cove.” Luther opened the carton and sprinkled a little more fish food into it. After the pirates’ Cove, Serena insisted on a stop at Pinkie Master’s. Luther added more fish food. At Pinkie Master’s, several people peered into the carton.
“Goldfish,” they said. “So what?”
“Come with us to the Purple Tree,” said Luther. “You’ll see.” He put another dose of fish food into the carton. When we finally reached the Purple Tree, it was two-thirty, and our party of three had grown into a small crowd with Serena at the center of it. Luther was content to look after his goldfish and become quietly drunk. In the black-lit darkness of the Purple Tree, Serena’s face was all but invisible under her hat, except for her teeth, which were all aglow. “If it wasn’t a jealous lover,” she said, “then it could have been the Mafia. They use explosives too, don’t they? They’d give anything to get their hands on the magnificent jewels my late husband left me. He was one of the richest men in the world as you all know. After the attack last night I consider myself lucky to be alive.”
Luther, none too steady on his feet by this time, stepped behind the bar. “Well, here goes,” he said, and without further ceremony he poured the goldfish into the tank. They plunged into the water in a burst of bright green bubbles. Luther held his breath as the bubbles rose and the water cleared. There, swimming around the tank—brighter than the gills or the mouths or the eyes or the fins—were the glowing intestines
Similar Books
