Short Century by David Burr Gerrard

happiness and unhappiness seem feeble and perverse, as feeble and perverse as stolid determination.
    When I arrived at the hotel my suit was dripping. As I entered the lobby I imagined, as I always did, my grandfather hanging by a noose from the chandelier. Emily was sitting in one of the clay-red leather chairs in the lobby with her legs draped over the edge, which in the nice silver dress she was wearing had probably taken some effort. Her hair had clearly been worked on that morning and looked even straighter and more exhaustively yellow than usual. I did not think her attractive or unattractive. I just thought her my lovely sister, and I felt terrible that I had entertained thoughts of defiling her. She looked uncomfortable, as though she were wearing a movie-star costume.
    She jumped out of her chair and stumbled on her heels. Grabbing my hand to steady herself, she twisted her mouth for an instant to acknowledge her clumsiness.
    â€œWelcome to Hanging Huntington’s Hotel,” she said. “I really thought I would be able to get us out of it.”
    â€œNext time.”
    â€œJames just bought me a really nice sweater. It’s a shade of blue I really like. Do you think I need to give it back?”
    â€œYou shouldn’t have broken up with him just because of what happened with me.”
    â€œIt wasn’t just that. He’s boring. All the boys I know are so boring. And the girls are much, much worse. I wish you still lived at home.”
    This was not what I wanted to hear given what I had been thinking about the previous day. “Maybe you should get back together with James,” I said.
    â€œDon’t I look horrible? Mom forced me to wear this ugly dress.”
    â€œYou look gr…”
    â€œI thought about calling you this morning and saying you didn’t have to come, but I wanted you here. Was that selfish?”
    â€œOf course I’m here. It’s your birthday.”
    And on saying this, I felt a rush of triumph, just because Paul was dead and I was here.
    â€œI was just thinking,” Emily said, “about a time when I was maybe three or four when Paul told me that all the Greek gods lived in the Chappine. This was before anybody in the family knew that I knew that Grandpa had killed himself. I was too old to believe Paul about the gods so I asked him to take me to the Chappine to prove it. He said that the gods killed little girls who entered. I think on some level he actually believed that the hotel had some sort of mystical force, as opposed to just being a place where the wives of insurance agents from Kansas pretend they’re rich Europeans. He was such an idiot. You’re nothing like him. Are you sure you’re all right? You look like something’s bothering you.”
    â€œBuses always make me want to throw up.”
    â€œYou know, I don’t know what I think about whether I want to get married. And I sometimes think that I wouldn’t miss Mom at all if she suddenly dropped dead. That’s awful to say, but it’s the way I feel. I love Dad, but you’re the most important person in the world to me. I want you to know that in case you ever think about doing what Paul did. You’re so much smarter than he was and I don’t think you would, but just in case you ever…”
    â€œMaybe you should get back together with James.”
    â€œYou don’t have to worry. I’m doing fine. We should get going. Arthur the Third is waiting.”
    As concerned as she was for me, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to get under my skin. And I couldn’t resist the urge to let it bother me.
    â€œDo you have to call him that?”
    â€œ Arthur the Third is waiting.” She asked me how I thought the war was going as we headed to the elevators.
    Emily rang the bell to our suite and we waited a longer time than I would have expected. She pantomimed a noose, cocked her head sideways, and stuck out her