refused to return to Bar 13 and, once she heard about my experience there, so did Tati. Her boyfriend, whom she always called Mr. Billings, seemed like a very nice guy—kind of a rich, urban version of Tom—though Tati was constantly agonizing over whether he really cared about her. As far as I could see, he was crazy about her, putting up with her drinking and smoking and wild ways but at the same time being a total gentleman. She’d dance away from him, draping herself over some sleazy guy just to make him jealous, but instead of getting mad he’d talk to me about how cute he thought she was, how exciting, how awful her life had been in Ukraine and how much he wanted to take care of her. And he’d ask me about myself too, acting genuinely interested in my modeling stories and listening to me agonize about Tom. Just be patient with Tom, he always advised me, casting a wistful glance toward Tati. He was sure that even if Tom couldn’t always be the person I wanted him to be, Tom really loved me and everything would work out in the end. If Tati gave up teasing him and decided to go home with him, he always sent his car back to wait to bring me home—which more and more often was much later than my ten o’clock curfew. I always wanted to dance just a little bit longer these days, the nights at the clubs my only physical outlet now that I wasn’t getting any sex.
The morning of my day off, I had been planning to air out and clean the apartment and then head to the library, but when I woke up I was stunned to find Tati snoring in the bed beside me. When had she come home? She’d been out with Mr. Billings the night before and usually that meant she either stayed over at his place or returned very early in the morning, flipping on the television or the stereo, smoking up a storm, and polishing off another bottle of brandy, inevitably waking me in the process.
But last night she must have sneaked in and slipped into bed without a peep. I tiptoed around the place, showering and pulling one of my T-shirt dresses over my head, making myself a cup of tea and peeling an orange for breakfast.
I was about to tiptoe out to head to the library when I heard Tati in the bed, moaning.
I went in and stood at the bedroom door. She looked pale, and was lying with her arm flung across her eyes.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She groaned. “Sick like dog.”
“Oh gosh, Tati, I’m sorry. Can I get you something? Some water? An aspirin?”
“Nothing,” she muttered, closing her eyes and pulling the covers up to her nose even though the sun was streaming in the window and the apartment was toasty, despite the steady hum of the air conditioner.
She must be really sick, I decided, because in the time I’d known her, one of the first things she did whenever she woke up was light a cigarette. But today she just kept lying in bed, making little moaning noises.
“I was going to go to the library,” I said, “but would you like me to stay with you until you feel better?”
“No,” she said. “Nothing you can do.”
That alarmed me. “Should I call Raquel?”
Raquel might not be the warmest, fuzziest, most sensitive person on the planet—okay, she may have had fewer of those qualities than anyone else alive—but she was the person who was supposed to help us in an emergency.
“No!” she said loudly.
“Mr. Billings?”
Now her eyes shot open. “No!”
She curled into a ball and turned toward the wall. “Go away,” she muttered.
I stood there for a few more minutes and finally went out into the already hot morning. In Eagle River when it got hot, there was always a lake to jump in, but here the closest thing was an air-conditioned shop or restaurant. Walking uptown to the library, I stopped along the way at a Starbucks, a Krispy Kreme, a big Barnes & Noble, Macy’s, and an enormous fabric store where everything was so beautiful I ended up buying bright pink silk and dark gray linen and iridescent blue taffeta and
The morning of my day off, I had been planning to air out and clean the apartment and then head to the library, but when I woke up I was stunned to find Tati snoring in the bed beside me. When had she come home? She’d been out with Mr. Billings the night before and usually that meant she either stayed over at his place or returned very early in the morning, flipping on the television or the stereo, smoking up a storm, and polishing off another bottle of brandy, inevitably waking me in the process.
But last night she must have sneaked in and slipped into bed without a peep. I tiptoed around the place, showering and pulling one of my T-shirt dresses over my head, making myself a cup of tea and peeling an orange for breakfast.
I was about to tiptoe out to head to the library when I heard Tati in the bed, moaning.
I went in and stood at the bedroom door. She looked pale, and was lying with her arm flung across her eyes.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She groaned. “Sick like dog.”
“Oh gosh, Tati, I’m sorry. Can I get you something? Some water? An aspirin?”
“Nothing,” she muttered, closing her eyes and pulling the covers up to her nose even though the sun was streaming in the window and the apartment was toasty, despite the steady hum of the air conditioner.
She must be really sick, I decided, because in the time I’d known her, one of the first things she did whenever she woke up was light a cigarette. But today she just kept lying in bed, making little moaning noises.
“I was going to go to the library,” I said, “but would you like me to stay with you until you feel better?”
“No,” she said. “Nothing you can do.”
That alarmed me. “Should I call Raquel?”
Raquel might not be the warmest, fuzziest, most sensitive person on the planet—okay, she may have had fewer of those qualities than anyone else alive—but she was the person who was supposed to help us in an emergency.
“No!” she said loudly.
“Mr. Billings?”
Now her eyes shot open. “No!”
She curled into a ball and turned toward the wall. “Go away,” she muttered.
I stood there for a few more minutes and finally went out into the already hot morning. In Eagle River when it got hot, there was always a lake to jump in, but here the closest thing was an air-conditioned shop or restaurant. Walking uptown to the library, I stopped along the way at a Starbucks, a Krispy Kreme, a big Barnes & Noble, Macy’s, and an enormous fabric store where everything was so beautiful I ended up buying bright pink silk and dark gray linen and iridescent blue taffeta and
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