1
The flickering streetlamp outside the window casts a tangerine glow in the small bedroom. The unsteady light pushes past the venetian blinds, throws trembling horizontal stripes on the empty beige walls. The shadows stretch up to the ceiling, where, taped over the bed, there is a slightly skewed poster of paradise: blinding white sand, flat stretch of blue-green crystal water, and the lone couple walking far in the distance. The vision circumscribes each day like bookends.
In the corner, near an open door that leads to a dark hallway, a small makeup mirror sits squarely in the middle of a desk. Pencils and pens pushed aside. A chemistry textbook balances precariously on the corner. The pages of a returned English short story marked with heavy underlinings and bold exclamation points litter the floor. Amid all the clutter, Fay leans forward and bows her head to the mirror as if readying for prayer. Without blinking, without a single tremor in her hand, she draws the black eyeliner along the moist pink edge of her lower lid.
A phone rings in the distance. An older woman holding a baby against her hip walks into the hallway and turns on the light. She sets the baby on the floor and answers the phone. The baby is drawn to the light of the mirror, crawling quickly down the hall. Fay’s eyes flicker toward the movement. She reaches out with her foot. And kicks shut the door.
2
Fay is bumped from behind as two women push past her on their way up the stairs to the bouncer guarding the door of the club. The taller blonde takes each step as though she is on stage. Her hands running through her hair, hips rocking, long black fur coat open with each step to reveal the length of her bare legs.
The bouncer takes one look at the women and barely shakes his head. The taller one steps forward, lightly places her finger at the knot of the bouncer’s tie. She shrugs and lets her coat fall off one shoulder, revealing the tight corset top pushing up the creamy half-moons of her breasts. He gives her a quick, embarrassed smile but refuses to move.
A strangled scream breaks the night. The woman wheels around and glares down at the crowd watching her performance. And in the harsh overhead floodlight, all the years of her life crawl out of the shadows and ravage her face.
Fay draws her jean jacket closer to her body as the two blond women pass her and walk across the street. Fay scans the street once more before shoving her hands deep into her pockets. Andy is late as usual; Fay’s eyes follow the sound of laughter to the market, where the women are flirting with the elderly Asian man putting away the flowers for the night. Some people stamp their feet and warm their hands with their breath. The first bitter night of winter catches an unlucky few without the proper clothing, and they complain loudly to each other about how this place isn’t worth the wait, but still they remain standing. Crashing music punctuates the night every time the door opens and lets in the next chosen group. Time passes and the crowd outside begins to dwindle.
A blade of panic cuts into Fay’s body and she begins to think of running away. From this place. From him. From everything. Inside her pockets, her hands ball into fists and she pushes them against her ribs, focusing on the crush of flesh against bone. Stay, she tells herself. Stay and wait. She can’t lose it now. Not now. Not after all this time. All the planning. Fay scans the street once more, and before she can think, her feet are carrying her across the pavement.
“Fay!”
Andy comes striding across the street, her long hair loose and wild, the dark curls framing her electric-blue eyes, open wide with excitement.
Fay stops and shouts in relief. “What the hell, Andy! I’ve been standing out here for over an hour.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The F train was a mess.” Andy studies Fay’s face carefully. “Damn, girl. You lookin’ good. You wearing that blouse I lent you?”
Fay turns away for a second and then nods.
Andy pulls on the hem of Fay’s jacket. “Come on, let’s get inside before my toes fucking freeze and fall off.”
Andy quickly makes her way up the steps and greets the bouncer with a glancing kiss to the cheek.
“It’s hot tonight, Andy. Watch yourself.” He grins and opens the door. The music slams into their bodies and swallows them whole as they step into the darkened club. Fay and Andy immediately peel off their outer layer and hand them over to the girl at the coat check. Fay stares out at the crowd and self-consciously adjusts the thin straps of her silky black blouse. The undulating bodies, hard breathing, and alcohol fumes saturate the air, coating her skin with the moisture, the music, the warmth. It soaks into her tense, frozen body and floods her senses. Fay closes her eyes against the dizziness and takes a deep breath, trying to control the uncontrollable trembling rising up from the soles of her feet.
“Come on,” Andy says, and takes her hand. They push past the crowd standing at the bar and make their way to the back hall.
A few couples linger along the darkened narrow space. Andy stops at a closed door and turns to meet Fay’s eyes. She leans in close. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Fay nods.
Andy pulls back with a reluctant shrug and knocks loudly.
A tall man in a dark suit cracks open the door, his face deep in shadow. A narrow band of red light shines out from the room that he guards, and Fay strains forward to peek inside. The man notices Fay’s interest and the door begins to close, but when Andy steps forward, he pauses. Andy begins to whisper.
Fay gazes into the room. The low red lighting makes it difficult to see, but Fay glimpses the plush sofa where a few older men recline, their legs crossed, their arms splayed out along the length of the backrest. And then her view is blocked. By a woman. Her body is lean and long, and as young as Fay’s.
Andy steps aside and the man opens the door just enough to allow Fay to enter. She steps through. The door shuts behind her.
3
The foyer echoes with the sound of their entrance, the black marble floors amplifying the sigh of coats being removed and the crush of gravel under Fay’s heels as she takes a tentative step forward. He drops his keys on a dark wooden side table next to a minimal arrangement of orchids and long, dark, twisting branches. He turns his head to look back at her, and the soft light from the sconce on the wall catches his eyes. Fay’s throat closes in recognition. His eyes are green. Just like his brother’s. The red lighting in the club had fooled her into thinking that they were blue. But she should have known. The same shade as a newly unfurled leaf.
“Do you want some water?” he calls back as he quickly steps into the darkened space. The city lights beckon from all around the room, the floor-to-ceiling windows clear as air. Fay stares out at the view, and for a moment she is filled with the desire to walk straight ahead, off the edge, into the waiting night. A light in the kitchen flicks on, and Fay’s gaze is broken.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, and she can hear the refrigerator opening.
Fay walks forward and enters the kitchen. Every surface gleams with the shine of meticulous cleaning. Fay walks to the large center island and leans her hip against the edge of the black marble countertop.
“I can make you toast,” he offers with an embarrassed smile, and holds up the bag of sliced white bread.
Fay shakes her head.
He puts the bread back in the refrigerator and then walks over to the island to stand across from her. The silence between them opens up wide and dark as the stone that separates their bodies. He stares across at her, and she can see his thoughts surfacing and breaking the still pool of his face. His chagrin. His desire. His fear. Slowly, she lifts her hand to her neck. Her fingers trail along the line of her collarbone until she feels the silk strap of her blouse barely hanging on to the rounded cliff of her shoulder. A push. The strap falls. Cool air on warm skin. Her nipple contracting in response. Her body stiffens when he slowly closes his eyes.
With an abrupt turn he stammers, “You know what, I’m starved. I could use some toast right now. What do you say? Toast with a little butter? I think I have some strawberry preserves, too. Yeah, let me check.” He flings open the refrigerator. “Sorry, I lied. It’s not strawberry. It’s raspberry. Do you like raspberries?” He says all this without turning back to her. The skin at the base of Fay’s throat flushes red, naked with emotion. She quickly pulls up the strap.
“Just some butter,” she says. “Please.”
He nods and pulls the bread out of the refrigerator.
They stand next to each other silently chewing their toast. He has smeared his slice with raspberry jam. They chew thoughtfully, glancing at each other once in a while. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Wish I had more food in the house, but I’ve been traveling a lot lately.”
Fay nods and longs for a napkin but for some reason feels uncomfortable asking.
When he finishes with his toast, he turns and begins to study her face. Fay holds her breath and lets his eyes wander over her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, her eyes. Fay believes, now, he will come to her. Now, she has him.
His eyes move away, and he begins to study the piece of toast in her hands. “I know how to cook,” he says.
It takes a second for the statement to sink in and then she explodes, bits of bread flying from her mouth. She clamps her hand over the laughter. Her stomach aches from the effort of trying to restrain herself.
He is pained at her disbelief. “No, really. I do know how to cook.”
“Yeah, right,” she says. “Like what? Toast?”
He grins down at her. “I’m serious. I can make you whatever you want.”
“You have no food.”
“I haven’t gone shopping.”
“Check out this kitchen. It looks like it’s never been touched, but you want me to believe that you know how to cook.”
He glances around. “Melinda does a good job cleaning, especially when I haven’t been around for a while.”
Fay chews thoughtfully and wonders if she should ask where he has been.
“How old are you?” he asks, just as she pops the last bit of toast into her mouth. She exaggerates chewing and flashes her fingers in response.
He nods as though he already knew. “Are you still in school?”
“Just graduated,” she says.
“What are you going to do next?”
She glares at him. “What’s with all the questions? Are you like some wannabe guidance counselor or something?” She shakes her head and stares at her fingers shiny with butter and crumbs.
“Sorry,” he says, and pulls open a drawer. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
He hands her a white cloth napkin.
“Then don’t.”
“I just want to get to know you.”
“So you won’t feel guilty when you fuck me?”
He moves away from her and paces, his hands locking together behind his neck. Finally, he turns and says, “I don’t normally go to those places. I run a nonprofit. I go to jazz concerts. I like watching movies at home,” he says.
Fay looks up from wiping her hands. “And you think those men you were sitting with in the club aren’t just like you? Look. The less I know about you and the less you know about me, the better it is.”
“Fay, I’ve been looking for you.”
Fay stares at him evenly. “Do you know how many times men like you have used that line?”
“What do you mean, men like me?”
“Men who are looking for someone like me. Someone young enough to be let into that room I found you in.”
He shakes his head. “No, no. It wasn’t like that.”
Fay steps closer and stands in front of him. “Then what was it like? What is it like now?” Fay places her finger on the top button of his dress shirt.
He holds absolutely still. Fay begins to unbutton the shirt. He catches her hand and slowly lowers it to her side. “I just want to talk. I really do. Talk to me.”
She meets his eyes. “What the hell are we supposed to talk about?”
He releases her hand. “My brother.”
Fay exhales. The length of her spine suddenly prickles with heat. She turns her back to him and stares out the windows, letting the darkness of the night seep into her body. “What do you want to know?”
“Why was he so unhappy?”
“He wasn’t always like that,” Fay says, and she begins with the first time that she met him.
He caught her outside the club that first night, having a smoke with Andy. He had passed them only to double back to ask them for a cigarette. There had been something about his eyes when Andy showed him the crumpled pack. Those crazy beautiful green eyes dropping in disappointment as a simple smile of regret lifted one corner of his lips. Fay couldn’t help but offer him a drag off hers, and as he stood there talking to them, she felt him drinking her up until she felt empty with need.
It is only when the room begins to lighten with the red orange colors of dawn, making Fay yawn suddenly, that he realizes the time. He looks out the windows taking in the sunrise.
“Your mom isn’t waiting up for you?” he asks quietly.
Fay shakes her head.
“I should take you home,” he says, his eyes unable to meet hers.
“I can sleep here.”
He nods. “I should take you home.”
Fay opens the door to her apartment and notices the silence. They have gone out. The weariness comes on immediately, as soon as she steps inside and closes the door, as though the curtains are closing after a long performance. She hangs her jacket on the hook and shuffles to her bedroom. Her eyes droop with the anticipation of bed, with the knowledge that sleep will finally return to her as fast as it has been running away from her for the last few days. Sleep. She lies down and stares up at her poster of paradise. The dream comes and carries her away.
Even with her eyes closed, she knows her mother is in the room. Fay pretends she is still sleeping, but her mother can hear the difference in her breathing.
“What happened?” her mother asks.
“Nothing,” Fay replies without opening her eyes.
“Nothing?”
“Yes.”
“You met him?”
“Yes,” Fay says, and pauses, unsure of whether to reveal that he had known about her. Had, in fact, been looking for her. But this piece of information doesn’t change anything. Her plan remains the same.
“Luke’s taking a nap,” her mother says.
Fay can hear her walking to the door.
“Are you going to see him again?”
“Yes.” Fay opens her eyes and gazes up at the ceiling. The color of the water fills her senses, her mind, deepens the longing in her chest. “Yes. Tomorrow.”
4
He never touches her. Sometimes she can see his hands trembling, but he never reaches for her. He holds them together or puts them to use. He cooks for her. Makes her breakfast after they return from the club. Toast and eggs. Sometimes huevos rancheros with warm corn tortillas that he presses out by hand. She sits on the counter and watches him work, his forehead notched in concentration. And then there are the moments when he just stares. As she is lifting the napkin to her lips or setting down her glass of orange juice, she feels his gaze. Unexpectedly. The verdant green of his eyes darkening with intensity until they are the color of old jade, and that is when she must focus on her feet. Placing them squarely on the surface of the floor. Feeling the solid ground beneath her. But he keeps his distance. Continues to ask her questions about who his brother had become in the years that they had lost touch. Two brothers in the same city, but never speaking. Fay wonders why they fell out with each other but waits to see if it will be revealed before she needs to ask.
In the club he is protective. Shielding her from other men’s eyes. He blocks their view, and when she dances for him, he sits nearby, immediately standing up as soon as the song is over. She feels him watching her when she moves, feels his eyes traveling along the length of her body, and that is when she is sure of him. And yet, when she has had enough of the music and he brings her back to the darkness of his loft, he simply watches her eat and asks questions.
“How is it?”
She nods and spoons more of the oatmeal into her mouth. A ring of maple syrup lines the bowl.
“Of all the things that I can cook, you wanted oatmeal tonight.” He sighs.
She smiles as she stirs some of the syrup into the beige goop. “I like oatmeal,” she says. “It’s comfort food.”
He leans forward suddenly and touches her arm. Fay jolts back, jerking her elbows off the table.
He reaches his hand out to her, beckoning her to come forward. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just saw that mark.”
Fay glances down at the light-brown oval birthmark near her elbow. When she was a small child, her father used to kiss that same spot and whisper that it had been given to her at birth by the lips of an angel. Fay had always believed him, feeling inwardly blessed and lucky until the day when her father didn’t return home. And then she knew he had lied to her, just as he had lied to her mother.
When he continues to wait, his arm stretched along the length of the black marble, the blue veins beneath his pale skin exposed and mapped, she reluctantly places her hand in his. He turns her arm slightly to get a better look and then rubs the spot with his fingers as though he might clean it off like a coffee stain. She turns her head away at the gentle pressure of his hand holding hers. The slight scrape of his calluses as he touches the birthmark. How can his touch feel so different from someone who grew up with the same mother. The same father. In the same house. How can they be brothers, she wonders?
“It’s like someone kissed you right there and left a smudge,” he says.
Fay nods. “My father used to tell me it was a kiss from an angel.”
He smiles. “Yes. Exactly.”
“I used to believe everything my father told me,” Fay says.
“I did, too.”
“But then I found out that he lied.” She glances down at the mark. “The day my father left, all his angels fell to earth and became specks of dirt.”
“You don’t believe in angels?”
“No,” Fay says, and turns away so that he can’t see the lie in her eyes. “Tell me something: Why did you stop talking to your brother?”
He studies the mark a moment longer before he carefully releases her hand, slowly pulling away as a lover might gently ease himself out of bed so as not to wake the other. She longs to grasp his fingers, to pull his hand back, but a shyness steals over her. A shyness that turns to terror at the realization. She cannot feel this way. Fay stands up quickly. She should have grabbed his hand when she had the chance. Grabbed it and pulled it to her.
He studies his palms. “I took my brother to Thailand with me when I had to oversee the water treatment plant that was being built with the funds from my nonprofit.” He pauses and stands up. Begins to pace. Fay sits quietly waiting. He turns away and says, “He raped a young girl in the village, and we had to run before the authorities could catch up to us. When we got safely back to the city, I never spoke to him again.”
An emptiness. A void. The words enter into Fay’s body, and the edges of her memory dissolve, flooding her thoughts until all she can see is the ghostly image of herself that night as she lay beneath him on the stairs in his apartment. She had wanted to be with him that night, she reminds herself.
Fay stands up. “I need some water.”
“Let me—”
“I got it.” She quickly walks over to the cabinet and pulls out a glass. She knows where everything is now. She knows the refrigerator will have neatly lined up bottles of fresh spring water and mineral water and wine and beer.
Fay pours herself some mineral water, savoring the tiny bubbles. She concentrates on the fizzy sensation. He carefully approaches her as though she is standing on a tightrope. A balancing act of sheer will. He stops a few feet away. Fay waits to see if he will ask the inevitable question.
“I have to leave in a few days,” he says. “It’ll only be for a few weeks, I promise.” He leans forward and rests his forehead on his forearm.
The sun pushes over the edge of a neighboring building and pours in through the wall of windows. Fay stares at his hair, at the shy undertones of browns and reds scattered among the black and gray. A cacophony of midnight autumn colors that dance only under spotlight.
“You’ll probably eat pizza every night,” he says, more to himself than to her.
Shallow sips of air, her chest rising and falling in rhythm to the swirling dust caught in a beam of light. She stares at a painting on the far wall while he talks about where he will be going, what project he must oversee before he can return.
“I can see you once more before I leave,” he says. “Can you make it Friday?”
She nods.
She can feel him studying her face. This need to constantly know what she is thinking has become familiar to her. She turns and smiles brightly. Too brightly perhaps.
“Hey, don’t worry. I’ll still be here when you get back. It’s not like I got a million other things to do while you’re away,” Fay says.
He begins to protest, launching into his speech about how she could be whatever she wanted to be if she put her mind to it. Her mind turns inward, but her eyes remain alert so he won’t know the difference. She has a call to make.
5
Fay sits on the bottom step of the stoop, her hand protectively spotting Luke as he pulls himself upright using the upper step as his prop. He has been trying to walk, and already there is a large knot by his ear where he hit the corner of the coffee table before he went flailing to the floor. He pats the step and smiles up at Fay. She smiles down in return.
“Girl, what is that child doing touching that nasty sidewalk?” Andy yells from nearly the end of block as she strides toward them.
“It’s not the sidewalk, Andy,” Fay yells back. “It’s called the stoop.”
Andy is upon them in a leap. She sweeps up Luke and kisses him loudly on the neck before returning him stunned and confused back to the steps.
Fay scoots over, and Andy sits down next to her.
“Where your mom at?” Andy asks.
“She went down to the grocery store.”
Luke begins to crawl over Fay’s lap, headed over to Andy, his eyes focused on the bright round buttons of her coat.
“Don’t let that child slobber on my clothes, Fay,” Andy says, her voice deepening for a second to her usual bass.
Fay grabs Luke and glances over at Andy, noting the dark circles under her eyes.
“You look like shit,” Fay says.
Andy sighs and leans back against the steps. “Thanks, girl. Just what I needed to hear. Damn hormones are messing up my sleep.”
“You up your dosage?” Fay asks.
Andy nods and opens her eyes. Her blue-tinted contact lenses swim in a pool of tears. “Why do they have to make being a woman so goddamn hard?”
Fay reaches out and brushes the loose tendrils off Andy’s forehead. “It’s a hard club to join. That’s why you have to be fierce.”
Andy straightens up and takes a deep breath. “That I am, love. That I am.”
Fay turns her eyes back to Luke, who has managed to traverse all the way over to the railing and is grinning so hard, he begins to drool. Fay smiles. “I wish I could take a magic potion and be a girl again.”
“Me too, baby.”
“I never got that. Those years to be just free and happy. All I can remember is working. Either lugging around some stranger’s kid or helping my mom when she was trying to get that catering business going.”
“Oh yeah, I remember when your mom was doing that.”
Fay hits Andy’s arm. “You do not. We didn’t even know each other then.”
“Yes we did. I moved downstairs from you when we were eight and your moms was flipping out because you had accidentally poured too much cornstarch into the pudding she was making for that wedding or something. I can still hear that slap.”
Fay’s knuckles brush her cheek. “Yeah, that was a bad day.”
Andy hugs her from behind. “Come on. All those years made you a hard-ass. And without you pushing me all the time to be myself, where would I be?”
“You mean, if I hadn’t beaten up every kid who made fun of you, where would you be?”
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. Damn, hard-ass. Yeah, where would I be if you hadn’t been my bodyguard?”
Fay leans back into Andy’s arms and smiles at the memory of the two of them walking the streets like they were some tough shit. They had been so young. If only they could have stayed girls for a moment, a lifetime, longer.
“What’s happening with you and the man?” Andy asks.
“Nothing,” Fay says, and quickly reaches out to grab Luke before he can use the railing to make his way up the steps. Luke arches his back and cries when Fay lifts him up.
“What do you mean, nothing?” Andy yells over the crying.
Fay stands and rocks Luke to sooth him. “He just wants to talk all the time. And cook for me.”
Andy flings up her hands in laughter. “First time inside and you manage to land a hausfrau.”
“He’s no housewife, and if you would come inside with me, you could see for yourself,” Fay says, setting Luke back down on the steps.
“You know my night in the Roxanne room is on Sundays. All them preachers ready to unwind after shouting the gospel all day.”
Fay keeps her eyes on Luke and says quietly, “I need something, Andy.”
Andy runs her large hand down the length of her wig. “What you got in mind?”
“Something to knock him out.”
“That’s easy enough.”
“Nothing crazy, Andy,” Fay says.
Luke lets go of the step, his chubby legs locking into place, and he stands there, looking up at Fay with wonder.
Fay whispers quickly, “Look, Andy, he’s standing.”
Andy turns just as Luke loses his balance and falls on his butt. Andy clicks her tongue. “Yeah, baby, get used to it. That’s what life is all about.”
Fay picks him up and kisses him gently on the forehead. She whispers so that only he can hear. “Don’t worry. I’ll be here.”
6
They leave the club earlier than usual. Fay leans against him and lifts her chin to the door. He immediately gathers their coats. He doesn’t disguise his annoyance at the club scene, but he goes because she likes to dance. They walk out the side entrance into an unusually warm winter night. The snow pushed to the edge of the sidewalk has begun to melt and pool into the cracks and dips of the uneven pavement. Fay stops at a particularly large puddle, pondering how best to navigate around it in her open-toed black heels. He has walked into the street to see if he can spot any cabs in the distance. When he turns back to signal that there is one coming, he sees her dilemma. He steps quickly over to her side.
“I think I can hop over,” Fay says.
Without a word, he sweeps her up in his arms, and as he gallantly steps over the water, he loses his footing, almost dropping her before he rights himself and lets her down on the pavement with a grunt. The gesture is sudden. Unexpected. Ridiculous. Fay begins to laugh. She tries to steady herself on her heels.
“That was not smooth,” she says, looking up at him.
“You’re heavier than you look,” he responds.
She makes a muscle and points down at her biceps. “All muscle, baby. I could destroy you.” She doesn’t tell him how she got to be so strong. How carrying Luke up four flights of stairs to the apartment, especially now that he is getting to be a toddler, creates muscles that never existed before.
He takes her hand and leads her to the street, his other hand flagging down the cab coming toward them. The cab stops, and as he opens the door for her, he whispers, “I’m already destroyed.”
She silently slides into the cab.
Fay waits the entire night before she has the opportunity to drop the tablet into his tea.
“Why do you like that green tea so much?” she asks as he is fixing her a sesame bagel and whitefish. He starts to decorate her plate with cucumbers and tomatoes. He calls it garnishing, but she knows it’s a way for him to get vegetables on her plate.
Gently, he slices the tomato. “It’s an oolong tea, and I like the buttery aroma of it. And the flavor is rich but clean.”
“Can I try some?”
He looks up at her in surprise. “Really?”
She shrugs. “Sure, why not? Does it have caffeine in it?”
He raises one shoulder. “A little. Not like coffee, though.”
She picks up the delicate miniature cup and pretends to take a sip. When he turns to pull the bagel out of the toaster, she slips in the tablet and places her palm over the mouth of the cup, grabbing the entire thing and giving it a quick shake. The tea burns her skin, but she focuses on melting the tablet quickly. She sets the cup back on the counter and checks to make sure everything has dissolved.
“How was it?” he asks as he turns back around and places the bagel on the plate.
“It was good,” she says.
He glances at her before picking up the cucumber to finish with the garnish. “Did you take a second to smell the aroma?”
She shrugs. “Sure. Butter. A hint of nutmeg.” She grins.
“It’s not a cookie,” he says, and slices perfect, almost translucent, green circles of cucumber.
She focuses on eating her sesame bagel quickly, but in her peripheral vision she watches him sipping his tea. She wonders how long it will be before he begins to feel the effects. Andy said it was a tranquilizer, but what did that mean? Will he fall asleep right here in the kitchen? Will he start to get sleepy and move to the sofa or the bedroom?
“You’re going to choke if you keep eating that fast,” he says.
“I’m starving,” she says with her mouth full.
He gestures toward the tomatoes and cucumber. “Come on, at least try a little bit with the bagel. It won’t kill you to eat something healthy.”
Fay grabs the entire neatly lined row of cucumbers on her plate and shoves it into her mouth.
He begins to laugh. “That wasn’t quite what I meant, but I suppose it’ll do the trick.”
Fay watches him stifle a yawn.
“When are you leaving?” she asks.
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Should I go and let you sleep?”
He shakes his head and starts to protest, but another yawn overwhelms him. “Sorry, I’m just feeling exhausted all of a sudden.” He pushes away from the island and blinks quickly. “I wanted to burn you some of my music so that you could listen to some good stuff for once. Maybe when I get back, we could go to some other clubs.”
She nods. He has talked about going to jazz clubs. Maybe catching a concert. She listens while staring at the empty teacup in his hands, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the smooth porcelain. She thinks about the drug coursing through his body. This is the only way. The only way. The sudden hum of the refrigerator makes her aware that the room is silent. Fay lifts her eyes.
He is staring. She waits to see if he will suddenly pull away or turn his back. Do something, anything to break the tension and keep her at a distance. Or will he yield? She steps toward him. A band of panic narrows his eyes. “I should burn you those CDs,” he says quietly, but he remains standing in place.
She takes another step.
The teacup in his hands begins to tremble.
She takes another step and reaches out to take the cup from him. He slowly releases his grip. She sets the cup on the counter, her eyes never leaving his. Slowly, she rises up on her tiptoes and leans forward, her forehead brushing against his lips. She moves her face slowly, as though she is dancing for him at the club. Her temple. Her eyes. She can feel his lips parting, the gentle push of his tongue as he tastes her skin. Her heart contracts for a second when he lifts her up and she realizes that her feet are no longer on the ground. She is floating. Floating. She closes her eyes and raises her lips. And she knows that from this point on, every kiss will taste incomplete without the lingering salt of tears.
In the bed he refuses to let her undress, only wants to hold her. He strokes her hair, and she can smell the toasted sesame of her bagel clinging to his shirt mixed with the evergreen scent of soap on his skin. His fingers press into her scalp as though he can feel her thoughts, and he begins to mumble about why she needs to go home. And then, slowly, she feels his body relaxing. His arm twitches. She waits a few minutes longer and then carefully she moves.
She takes off only his shirt and covers his pants with the sheet. She strips completely and positions herself almost on top of him without covering his face. She reaches over and turns on the lamp. With her camera phone extended as far as her arm will allow, she begins to take pictures. One after another, moving and angling her body for better shots. Finally, when she has enough photos, she gets up. He flings an arm across the pillow. She turns off the light and dresses quickly.
In the hallway leading back to the living room, she stops in front of a photo of the two brothers when they were teenagers. Her age. Possibly younger. She studies their faces. The similarities in their cheekbones and eyes. Their lips are pronouncedly different. One is full while the other is thin. She stares at their faces until, suddenly, she runs for the bathroom. She throws up everything.
7
From four flights down she can hear Luke crying. By the time she reaches the door, his cries have become choking wails.
Fay walks in, and her mother holds out Luke.
“He’s had a temperature all night and he won’t drink anything.”
Fay takes him into her arms. “But we’re almost done weaning. I don’t know if I have any more milk.”
Her mother walks away. “Your body knows.”
Fay sits down on the couch and unbuttons her blouse, putting him to her breast. Immediately he begins to nurse, but when her milk will not come, he pulls back in frustration and howls. She rocks him, but he only wails louder, his body tense with pain. She sits down again and focuses on making him well. A mother will provide for her child. She puts him back to her breast, and his time when he begins to nurse, she can feel her milk letting down. He finally quiets and gazes up at her peacefully. Fay looks into his eyes. Green as a new blade of grass. Just like his father.
8
The letter has been composed for months. The first and last part of her plan. Ever since she discovered, after his death, that he had a brother. A younger brother who lived in the same city. A brother starting to haunt the same places. The same club. The same room. Only this time she would not be caught outside unawares. Naïve. This time she would be the one in control.
“You send the letter?” her mother asks, walking into Fay’s room.
“Not yet.” Fay keeps her eyes on the poster. Luke sleeps quietly curled along the side of her ribs.
“What are you waiting on?”
“He won’t be home for another week.”
“Then it’ll be sitting in his mailbox when he gets back.”
Her mother turns around to leave but lingers for a second longer in the doorway as though she has something else to add. As though she is the one directing the plan. And maybe she is. Fay understands how much her mother has had to sacrifice since Luke was born. Since Fay decided to keep the child against her mother’s warning. And what could her mother really say? She had been even younger than Fay when she got pregnant. But unlike her mother, Fay knows what she wants. Has known from the moment Luke was born. They must leave. This apartment. This life. Return to the home her father left so many years ago. The birthplace of her father, her grandfather, her great-grandfather. An island she has never seen except in pictures, as a vacation place for the wealthy. A paradise. A dream. To Fay, the island harbors a childhood of memories that seem more real to her than her own. Even if he lied about everything else in their lives, she holds on to her father’s descriptions and stories of his island like a religion, a leap of faith. She needs to believe he told the truth when he said he had a boyhood of simple pleasures. And more than anything in the world, she wants to be able to give that childhood to her son.
The request is simple. She knows he has the funds. His brother did as well, but he died before Luke was born. Before she even realized that she was pregnant. She’s not asking for the world. Only what is fair. For her and for Luke. Just enough to start over. She can go to school at night. And yet, for some reason, she can’t seem to mail the letter with the photos. After everything, she can’t slip the slim white envelope into the mailbox.
Her mother taps her fingers against the doorjamb. “You didn’t tell him about Luke, did you?”
“No,” Fay says. “Luke is mine.”
Her mother nods and then leaves the room.
Fay hears Luke’s lips smacking in his sleep as though he is still nursing. Her breasts feel raw and tender, but Luke’s fever has finally broken and he sleeps peacefully. A mother will provide for her child. Fay reaches over and picks up the envelope.
9
Three weeks later Fay checks the post office box she has set up specifically for the plan and finds a small green envelope. Inside, there is no letter. No note. Only a check folded in half. Fay pulls out the small square and checks the envelope again. It’s stupid, but for some reason she thought he would write. She quickly buries her disappointment, but an ember lingers in her chest, burning fast and hard before it is stamped out completely. She unfolds the check. It is double what she requested. The sheer audacity of the zeros lined up like cans in a shooting gallery infuriates her. She slams shut the small metal door of the post office box and checks the amount again. It’s a joke. He’s mocking her. There’s no way the check will clear. He is refusing to cooperate. Fay has prepared herself for the inevitability of the situation. A picture will be mailed to his workplace. Nothing too risqué, but interesting enough that his office might begin to talk. There will be another letter. This time with the threat of police involvement. Sex with a minor. It would be his word against hers, and with the photos and witnesses at the club, it won’t be too hard to make her case. Fay walks out onto the street and crumples the check, burying it deep in her pocket. Tomorrow. She will mail the picture and letter tomorrow.
Her mind is still on the money when she rounds the corner and begins to walk toward her apartment. Her eyes focused on the sidewalk, her body braced against the freezing wind. She goes over the plan again and again, thinks about all his possible reactions. She has prepared herself. She is ready. And that is when she spots him. Sitting on the stoop, his dark wool coat draped on the steps. She pauses midstep.
He sees her and stands up quickly, waiting to see what she will do. Fay bows her head and continues walking. She hurries past him, refusing to acknowledge his presence. Takes the steps two at a time and fumbles in her coat pocket for her keys.
“Did you get the check?” he asks.
She pulls out the key and slides it into the front lock.
“It’s real,” he says. “You can cash it right now if you want.”
She turns the key and leans her hip on the door.
“Or we could just keep going.”
She takes a step inside and then turns around to shut the door behind her.
“Please listen to me,” he says. “Fay. I want to be in your life.”
Fay’s anger pushes her forward. “Shut up. Just pay me what I’m owed. I don’t want a boyfriend. You think I’m an idiot? You think just because I let you take advantage of me that I’m just some stupid thing that you can play with?”
He walks forward, but Fay threatens to close the door and he stops.
“No, I don’t think you’re stupid. In fact, just the opposite. I didn’t know what to expect when I started looking for you. My brother left behind so few clues. But now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to lose you.”
Fay shakes her head. “You’re rich. You travel all over the world. People respect you. And I’m supposed to believe that you want to be with me? How does that make sense?”
“Why does it have to make sense? Why can’t it be that I feel connected to you? Maybe it’s because of my brother, or maybe it’s that I like talking to you or the way your eyes just kill me. I can’t explain it except to say that I feel it and I know you feel it, too, Fay.”
A wind blows the dust and trash across the streets. Fay wonders about angels.
“Be with me, Fay.”
Can they return to the heavens after falling? Can they still fly even with scars?
“Do it for Luke.”
She grips the edge of the door and keeps her eyes on the street. He knows. How could he know? She watches a man pushing an empty grocery cart up the sidewalk. The wheels rattle and the metallic clatter accompanies his whistling. How could he not know? The question is: How could she have been so naïve? He has all the resources in the world. He could take away everything.
“You really should have asked for more,” he says, and takes a step forward.
She steps back.
“You can cash that check and do whatever you want, but if you stay with me, Luke will always have more.”
Fay waves to the man passing by and then says, “What are you going to give him that I haven’t already? Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“His uncle.”
Fay rushes to close the door. She doesn’t care about the money, the plans. She needs to hold Luke right now. Hold him and never let go.
He jams his foot in the door. “Fay, please. I didn’t say anything sooner because I didn’t want to scare you off. I wanted you to trust me. I want to be in your lives. I can give him anything he wants. You know that. He can grow up secure and happy.”
“Money doesn’t buy you any of that,” Fay yells, and kicks his foot out of the way. “Haven’t you wealthy idiots paid someone to help you figure that out yet?”
He holds up his hands. “I understand. But money does help you do other things. It gives you options. Isn’t that why you asked me for the money? So you and Luke would have options?”
“Fuck you. He owed me that money. He owed me for everything he did.” Fay brushes aside the tears of anger welling up. Goddamn it. She hates when her heart betrays her this way. “You owe me,” she states.
“Be with me and I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you and Luke. I’m trying to do the right thing.” He steps backward and holds out his hands. “Let me love you. Let me love Luke. I’m not a bad man, Fay. You know that. I’m not like my brother. He was a lot of things that I couldn’t understand. Let me try and fix some of his mistakes.”
Fay looks out across the street. Stares at the gray-and-brown buildings lined up like tired old men waiting for a wind to blow them all over. She has lived on this block all her life. Watched men and women hustle for a living. Watched men and women die before living. She may be young, but she has lived long enough to know, shackles come in many forms.
“I’ll be good to you. I’ll cook for you. I want to know you and Luke. That’s all.”
Fay stares at him. The shade of a nearby building cuts a diagonal line across his face. The green of his eyes in shadow, dark as a forest, old as money. This is a complication she has not anticipated. What would she be giving up for all that he is offering? What would she have to take? It’s never free. But a part of her wants to believe him.
She remembers the feel of his arms that last night together. The feeling of floating. The taste of salt on her lips. She could imagine him being a kind father to Luke. A kind man. And maybe he could love her. Maybe she could love him. If she believed in happily ever after. In angels. He watches her for a sign, his need to know exactly what she is thinking. She lifts her face, raw as the winter wind, and lets him read her as she slowly closes the door. She was never for sale.
10
The warm water laps at Luke’s feet. He toddles in the sand, the uneven surface an obstacle course for his balance. Fay catches him up and throws him high into the sky. She had always dreamed of the colors. Blues and greens and summer white draped with rainbows. But she hadn’t been prepared for the textures and sounds. Slippery scratching sand next to slippery silk water. The scorch of sun on a bare back. The rhythmic, soothing sound of the waves breaking along the shore. Before, she could not have imagined such a world existed even if she had tried. Now, she can’t imagine having ever been away. She runs with Luke across the sand. She runs and slips and slides and falls and gets up and runs again like she’s never had the chance to do before. The image of the poster jumps into her thoughts as they run back toward the water. Far in the distance, Fay believes, she can see the angels soaring up to the rainbows. Shaking the dust and dirt from their wings. They stretch for the heavens. Flying far and fast, scars and all.