Glimmering (44 page)

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Authors: Elizabeth Hand

BOOK: Glimmering
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Family.
The realization that something like that could be out there, just yards away, made Jack dizzy. He yanked the window open and heard singing, a complicated contrapuntal chant, women and men and children, too.
I don’t mind the sun sometimes,
The images it shows
. . .
 
 
Even if he didn’t recognize it, it was music, and had been all along. It wasn’t squatters out there in the carnival darkness, crude creatures leering at him from their gutted mansions. It was civilization.
They’re adapting
, he thought.
The last scenes of
Fantasia
flashed before him, lumbering Technicolor giants on their doomed exhausted search for water, heedless of the tiny bright mammalian eyes that watched them from the shadows . . .
Leaning from his window out into the December air, Jack stared up into the cold whirling sky, and heard lemurs and shrews and megazostrodons rustling in the night.
 
 
Christmas Day was muted, as it had been for several years now. Rachel Gardino had been killed by a drunken driver on Christmas Eve, and the holiday had been poisoned by that, for Jack and his family as well as for Jule and Emma. There were a few makeshift presents exchanged: some baby clothes Mrs. Iverson dredged up from the attic and cleaned; gingersnaps hard and aromatic as amber; the copy of
The King in Yellow,
which Jack presented to his grandmother in its elaborate cloth wrapping. They ate by candlelight, bean soup and flatbread and dried fruit; then sang a few rounds of the more melancholy carols, “O Holy Night” and “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” and went to bed early.
Four days after this, very early in the morning Jack heard the familiar groaning roar of the Range Rover. He groaned, slid from his bed, and trudged across the hall to look out the window. Down Hudson Terrace crept Jule’s old car, dodging potholes and piles of refuse like a tipsy dowager, a loose strand of barbed wire trailing in its wake.
At the head of the drive it stopped. Jack watched as his friend emerged, an imposingly tall if unsteady figure in navy overcoat and fedora, brandishing a very large black umbrella. Jule walked over to the gate, regarded it balefully before starting to poke at the LED readout with the tip of his umbrella. Jule had always been intimidated by the security system, all the more so since he was one of the few people granted knowledge of the code that granted access (Leonard had paid one of his hacker minions to break it for him). Ever since the glimmering began, when Lazyland’s power came and went as casually as socialites once had, Jule’s anxiety had become outright phobic: he was terrified he would be electrocuted by the gate. Jack sat, elbows propped on the sill, and observed as Jule tried unsuccessfully to gain entry.
After five minutes he couldn’t stand it anymore. He shoved the window open. “For Christ’s sake, Jule! There’s no power! Just get in the car and drive through!”
Jule looked up. “But what if it comes back on?”
“It
won’t
come back!”
“But what if it
does?”
“Just drive
through.”
Jule got back into his car. Clouds of blue exhaust engulfed the end of the drive as the car nudged at the gate, until slowly it swung open. A minute later the Range Rover shuddered to a halt in front of the house. Jule got out, removing his fedora and mopping his head with a white handkerchief.
“Now go back up and close the gate,” Jack yelled down. Jule shot him an angry look. He reached back into the car, emerging with his umbrella and a pair of bright yellow electrician’s gloves, and plodded up the drive to shut the gate. When he returned to the house, Jack was on the front porch.
“You know, Jule, very few security gates were originally designed actually to
kill
people.”
“You’re wrong, Jackie, you’re wrong. Somebody was just telling me about this thing he saw up at Pocantico Hills, this sort of electrified moat—”
Jack ushered Jule toward the front door. “Well,
our
system hasn’t killed anyone yet. C’mon, it’s freezing—”
“Yeah, but you guys could actually use something like that here.” Jule looked worriedly back at the Range Rover. “My car gonna be safe?”
“Yes, your car is going to be safe. What, you leave Emma at home and fall apart? Jesus, just relax for five minutes, okay? You drive up to Poughkeepsie in your sleep, go into the city, and have a picnic on the fucking Major Deegan Expressway, but every time you come to
my
house you have a goddamn heart attack.”
“Emma’s not feeling so good these days. And electricity makes me nervous,” Jule said meekly.
“Then you should be very, very happy, because you will find no electricity at Lazyland today.”
Inside there was the flurry of footsteps in the hallway, the scent of Chanel Number 19; and Jule was bending to hug first Keeley and then Mrs. Iverson.
“Jule dear! What a surprise!
”
“I know, Grandmother, I’m sorry. Sort of unexpected, gotta do something in the city . . .”
“Of course, dear, we’re just so happy to see you! How is Emma?”
“Oh, she’s okay, just great—” He stared over their heads to Jack, who felt a bump of fear at his friend’s haunted expression. “Uh, listen, I can’t stay today, I just needed to, uh—well, I wanted to borrow Jackie.”
Keeley’s gaze softened. “Borrow Jackie! Why, of course you can borrow him!”
“
What?
”
Jack eased himself between Jule and his grandmother. “What’re you talking about, Jule?”
“I, uh, got an errand in the city. I, well, I didn’t want to—”
“The city.” Keeley glanced at the old grandfather clock. “Well! Do you still go down there, Jule?”
“Sometimes.” He pulled at his collar. “Jackie?”
Jack shook his head. He was close enough to Jule that he could smell whiskey, not just on his breath but everywhere, as though he’d doused himself with it. He had a flickering vision, the Range Rover careening through the flooded canals that had been the Merritt Parkway, a bottle tucked between Jule’s legs.
“Jule, dear, would you like some tea?”
“No thanks, Mrs. Iverson.” Jule’s big hands twisted his fedora. His hazel eyes were moist with supplication. “Jackie?”
No thanks, Mr. Gardino,
thought Jack. But then the chorus began shrilling in his head.
What, you jumped off all those bridges for Leonard Thrope, now you can’t get into a car with your best friend?
But he’s
drunk.
He’s
—
“Go ahead, dear,” said Keeley. She turned to Jule. “But you’ll have him back by tonight?”
Jack swore under his breath; as though he were still fifteen fucking years old. “I’ll be back by tonight, Grandmother,” he said. His eyes sought Jule’s. “This better be good, Julie.”
“Mary Anne is asleep.” Mrs. Iverson looked plaintively at Jule. “Don’t you think Emma could come down to help her have the baby?”
Jule smiled. “That would be nice, huh? I know she’d like to . . .”
“Well.” Keeley smiled bravely. “You’d better go, if you’re going to be back by dark.”
Jack stood, trying to think of some last-minute excuse. “It’s just a few hours,” pleaded Jule.
“Oh, all right,” Jack said, crossly. “Just let me get a few things, okay?”
He went upstairs, fighting all the fears that assailed him—Jule’s obvious distress and the thought of leaving his grandmother alone, not to mention the girl, she could have the baby any minute—but also feeling something he hadn’t felt in years. He was going to the city with his friend. They would have an adventure. He grabbed the Fusax from his nightstand, did a quick blast from his inhaler—it was empty, he was sure of it, but prayed there might be a few bronchio-dilating atoms left to fight their way into his lungs—pulled his grandfather’s old Burberry raincoat from the closet, and went back down. On the second floor he paused to glance into Marz’s bedroom, her leviathan form beneath the blankets, white-blond hair across the pillow.
“’Bye,” he whispered, and shut the door.
They made their farewells to Keeley and Mrs. Iverson.
“Drive carefully.” The faintest tremor entered Keeley’s voice. “You’ll call if you’re going to be late?”
Jack glared at Jule. “We won’t be late.”
“Of course not,” Jule said. He leaned to kiss Keeley’s forehead, and for a moment held her tenderly. Only Jack noticed that his hands were trembling. “I promise Jackie’ll be back tonight. It’s just a quick trip into the city, people do it all the time.”
“Do they?” Keeley murmured. “Well, be careful, boys.”
“Get back in there!” shouted Jack. “Before you catch cold.”
He had a glimpse of Keeley’s white face and waving hand; then the oaken door slammed shut.
“
Now,” said Jack, following his friend to the car. “Will you tell me what the fuck is going on? Where’s Emma?”
“I told you. She’s not feeling so good,” Jule said shortly, then fiddled with his door. “And, well, I got to take a little road trip, and I thought maybe you might want to come with me.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because you’re becoming a fucking agoraphobic, that’s why. I think so, and Emma thinks so—”
“Emma thinks I should get in a car with you?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake! You’ve been in a car with me a hundred thousand times—”
“Jule, you’re drunk.”
Jule looked hurt. “You used to drive with me when I was drunk.”
“Oh, forget it. Look, Jule, why don’t I try calling someone—”
“Fuck you.” Jule’s tone was even. He smiled affably, pulling the door open and easing his bulk into the seat. “Just get in the fucking car, Jackie. You know, Emma tried to have a, a what-you-call-it—an intervention. Because I’m an alcoholic. Ha! Like where the fuck they gonna lock me up? Her and some people we know at home, this guy from the hospital and Edgar Evans.” Edgar was senior partner at Jule’s old law firm. “You know what I did?”
He stopped and fixed Jack with a challenging gaze. Jack stared back, holding open the passenger door. “No. What did you do?”
“I belted him. Edgar. Laid him out right on the floor of the fucking kitchen. I would have hit someone else, too, but there were four of them, counting Emma, and only one of me.” He leaned across the seat and stared up at Jack. “I told them, and I’ll tell you, Jackie—
“I do this by choice.
By choice.
I may be an alcoholic but I have my reasons. You understand, Jackie?”
“I don’t think it’s that we don’t understand, Jule, everyone understands—”
“You do not. You do not have the slightest fucking intimation of an idea.” Jule’s voice was calm. “Something’s happened to me, Jackie, something very strange. Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it.”
He thumped the car seat and laughed. “Maybe even today. Maybe that’s why I came here to get you! Ever think of that?”
Jack took a step backward. “Look, I’d love to go with you, Jule, but—you know, I’m thinking about this now, and I really shouldn’t leave Grandmother alone, or—”
“Don’t sweat it.” Jule grabbed Jack’s arm and yanked him into the car, then pulled the door shut after him. “Here, look at this, Jackie—”
Jule patted at his pockets, grandly pulled out a small red oblong. “See this here? This is Emma’s. One of those beeper things, they plug into some relay somewhere so they work even when the power’s down, they give ’em to all the senior doctors at Northern Westchester. I’ll leave this with Grandmother. If there’s any problem, she can call Emma.”
“And what? Emma’s going to come down here with a scalpel? She’s forty miles away, Jule! Plus you said she’s sick—”
“I don’t
know
that she’s sick. She just—she doesn’t look so good, that’s all. Probably it’s nothing.” Jule shook his head. “Look, leave the beeper here, okay? Emma could at least call the police or something. Don’t sweat it, Jackie, please?”
“You just told me—”
But Jule had already bolted from the car and loped onto the porch to bang at the door. It cracked open and Jack could see Mrs. Iverson’s face, the beeper disappearing into her hand. Before he could do anything, the car shuddered as Jule jumped back into the seat beside him.
“C’mon, Jackie-boy,” he begged. “How often do I ask you to do anything? I just want some company, okay? I have a client up in Goldens Bridge, an actress, she’s on
Till the End of the World,
I’m representing her in a breach-of-contract thing. It’s the weekend, I got to deliver something to the studio, down at the Pyramid, and—something else, something I have to do. I thought maybe you’d like to come with me. We could talk, Jackie. It was nice, seeing you this summer. It’s been a long time since we talked like that.”
His tone grew wistful. Jack looked at his friend’s unshaven face, glanced down and saw the glint of glass on the floor at his feet. “Well, yeah,” Jack said. “But couldn’t you just stay overnight here? Then we could—”

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