Josie and Jack (26 page)

Leaving me by myself again, I thought. I looked at the floor. “Are you disappointed?”

“At missing the chance to spend five days in a foreign country with only Lily to talk to? I’d kill her.” He shook his head. “I don’t care about the trip. But I’m not sure I know what’s going on with her anymore. I don’t like it.”

I lay a hand on the back of his neck. “It’ll be okay.” I ran my fingers up and down the smooth skin that covered his vertebrae. “She’s moody, you know that. By the time she gets home tonight she’ll be so perky we’ll want to bash her head in again.” He didn’t answer. “She wouldn’t be leaving us here alone if things weren’t cool, would she?”

Jack leaned his head back against my hand. “Could be. I don’t know, Jo. I don’t like it.”

And sure enough, when Lily breezed through the door that night with an armful of shopping bags, she was full of good cheer again. “My costume for Carmichael’s party,” she said, holding up the bags, and giggled. “Wait until you see it. It’s fabulous.” She kissed the air in Jack’s general direction and disappeared into her bedroom.

“See?” I said. “Fine.”

“Maybe,” Jack answered.

The noises from their bedroom kept me awake for a long time that night. Everything seemed to be fine after all.

Jack and I were at a loss when it came to Halloween costumes. When we asked Lily for suggestions, she said, “I can’t tell you what to wear. You have to pick your own costume.” Her costume, of course,
was
fabulous. We didn’t see it until the night of the party. A long dark wig covered her pale hair, and she wore a short black dress with a ragged hem made of many layers of diaphanous material. Gauzy black wings dusted with silver glitter sprouted from her shoulder blades; her arms were bare and dusted with more glitter, and she spent an hour forming cobwebs on her temples with tiny black crystals and eyelash glue. Her lips were a bruised purple and her kohl-lined eyes glittered with something feral. “I’m a fairy,” she said. “The fairy of death.”

Jack decided to go as a priest, wearing black and pinning a piece of white cardboard to his collar. I raided Lily’s closet, went to a few thrift shops, and ended up with a conglomeration of brightly colored scarves and junk jewelry. I added a brightly patterned skirt and an old peasant blouse of Lily’s.

When she saw me, she shook her head.

“You’re the world’s only blond Gypsy,” she said.

“I’m the world’s only many things,” I answered. I was finding the whole costume-party concept annoying. My first and favorite impulse had been to pull out one of Jack’s old T-shirts and some cutoff jeans and go as Josie Raeburn. I’d discarded the idea without genuinely considering it, sensing that it would cause more trouble than it was worth. Still, it would have felt good.

New York City on Halloween: half the population was out on the streets, and in the ten blocks between Lily’s apartment and Carmichael’s, we saw satyrs, politicians, pixies and fairy princesses, devils in red satin, witches in black tulle, and giant carrots wearing sneakers. Children were dressed as goblins, birthday cakes, mice, tomatoes; their adult escorts were tigers, pirates, and tired-looking moms and dads in comfortable shoes. Lily was in high spirits as we walked. She would leave for Paris in the morning.

There was the usual complement of sexy witches and space aliens at Carmichael’s, but for the most part his guests’ tastes in costumes ran more toward the obscure and the ironic. One of Lily’s friends from the fashion magazine had come in a three-piece suit; “I’m boring,” he said when people asked him what he was. Maris, who rarely wore any combination of clothing worth less than five hundred dollars, was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and holding a disposable camera. She said she was a tourist and pointed out her practical sneakers, which she had borrowed from her roommate. Another crony—one of the candidates in Lily’s man-parade, actually—was there in khakis and a polo shirt. He was supposed to be a Republican.

We were all crammed into two rooms. The lucky ones had found places to sit, on couches or tables or windowsills or radiators. Everyone knew Lily was leaving the next day and she was beset by people wishing her bon voyage. Jack’s eyes were guarded and grim, but he stood his ground in his priest’s collar, like a good pet roach. I felt no such obligation and staked out a safe spot in a corner.

Carmichael found me and brought me red wine in a plastic cup. He was dressed as a vampire, his dark hair slicked back from his bony face and a red jewel sparkling in one of his buttonholes. He was drunk.

“Like my fangs?” he said and grinned lasciviously. His eyeteeth were long and pointed.

“They look real.”

“Caps. There’s a place down on St. Mark’s that makes them. They take impressions and everything.”

“Do they come off?”

“Eventually. Lily looks gorgeous, doesn’t she?” He scanned me from head to toe and said, “What are you supposed to be?”

“Gypsy,” I said. “I guess.”

He laughed. “Interesting choice. I guess Lily didn’t tell you, did she?”

“Tell me what?”

“That’s what I thought. Well, you look cute, anyway.” He saw someone across the crowd and lifted a hand. “Hey, you made it!” he called and was gone.

I stayed where I was. That was the party strategy that I had developed: I picked a spot and stuck to it. Anyone who drifted within conversational distance, I’d talk to, provided they started the conversation and I felt like keeping up my half. At this party, at least, there were interesting things to look at. I watched as a thin girl wrapped in hundreds of feet of fluorescent pink tubing passed me, and then Jack was at my elbow.

“What the hell do you think that was?” he said.

“No clue. You know, I think I like these people a lot more when they’re not dressed as themselves. At least they’re fun to look at.”

“Trust me,” he said, “they’re no better to talk to. Christ, get me out of here.”

“What’s up with Lily?”

“Fuck knows. She’s running hot and cold. Where’d you find that drink?”

“Carmichael brought it to me.”

“That doesn’t help.” Jack scanned the crowd. “I need something potent. Listen, if you want to play sick and go home early, I’m game.” He tugged at the scarf in my hair and disappeared into the crowd.

I drank my wine, which was warm and bitter, and stood for a while watching the party move around me like a carousel. Then I went to find another drink. The apartment was small; I expected to turn a corner and find Jack at any moment. Instead I found Carmichael, standing with Maris and a man I didn’t know in the hallway outside the bathroom door.

“Line starts behind me,” Maris said.

“I’m actually looking for a drink,” I said.

“I’ll get you one,” the man said. He was wearing a crumpled top hat and a rusty black tailcoat, his face covered in black smudges.

Carmichael put an arm across my shoulders and said, “Jo, meet my downstairs neighbor—Joe.”

Maris laughed. Her eyes were red and I realized that she was drunk, or high, or both. “That’s funny,” she said. “Jo, meet Joe. Joe, meet Jo.”

“Greetings,” the man said. He had broad, muscular shoulders that strained the seams of his black suit. When he reached out to shake my hand, I caught a whiff of his cologne. It had a sharp chemical smell.

“What are you?” I said.

Joe tipped his hat and said, with a bad cockney accent, “Why, I’m ye old chimney sweep, ain’t I, miss?”

Somebody in the crowd called out, “Hey, the psychic’s here!” and Carmichael excused himself. Maris gave Joe and me a knowing look and said, “Think I’ll go help Carmichael,” and then I was alone with the chimney sweep, standing in the hallway.

“So,” he said. “You’re Lily Carter’s newest protégée, huh?”

“No,” I said.

“Funny, Carmichael told me you and your brother were living with her.”

“She and my brother have a thing going on. I sleep in the spare room.”

“But you don’t work.”

“I’m only seventeen.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’re seventeen?”

Then the bathroom door opened and a ghost in a white sheet pushed past us.

“You want to come in?” Joe said.

I looked at the open bathroom door. I looked at him. “With you?”

“Sure.”

Past him, on the bathroom counter, I saw a glass full of cut drinking straws and a small mirror next to the faucet.

“Think I’ll pass,” I said.

“Whatever you say.” Joe reached out and touched the tip of my nose lightly. I shrank back instantly. That was something Jack did. “I’ll find you later. I still owe you that drink.”

The bathroom door closed. Then the music stopped abruptly and I heard Carmichael shouting, “Everyone! The fortuneteller is here!”

The crowd made appreciative noises and headed toward the sound of his voice. Somebody took hold of my arms. It was Lily, her eyes too bright. I wondered if she’d been in the bathroom.

“Josie first!” she called, steering me through the crowd.

Carmichael, standing on a chair, saw us coming. “Oh, absolutely,” he said, and then I found myself standing in front of a heavy woman with a hairy upper lip and massive upper arms. She was wearing a sleeveless blouse and a long skirt; her dark, snapping eyes took in my garish costume and grew contemptuous.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Carmichael cried. “For your tarot-rific Halloween entertainment, my very own neighborhood storefront psychic—Madame Olinka!”

Madame Olinka was rummaging in an immense leather bag. She brought out a greasy deck of cards and began to shuffle them on a small table. Her chunky fingers were graceful as they deftly tapped the cards back into an even deck.

“Pay first,” she said.

Carmichael grimaced and took out his wallet.

“See?” he said as he counted out twenties and pointed to me. “We’ve got our own Gypsy here.”

Madame Olinka looked at me. “So I see.” I felt myself blush. She pointed to the chair that Carmichael had been standing on. “Bring that chair. Sit down.”

“No,” I said.

But Lily was still at my back. She grabbed the chair, plunked it down inches from Madame Olinka’s massive knees, and pushed me into it. “Get your fortune told. Maybe you’ll learn something useful.”

Meanwhile, Madame Olinka had laid three greasy cards face-down between us. The pattern on the backs looked like stained glass, angular and cleanly drawn. She gestured at the cards. “Frank Lloyd Wright tarot. Very modern.”

The crowd laughed and Carmichael said, “Only the best for my parties, people!”

Madame Olinka shrugged. “Modern world, modern tarot.” She bent over the cards with an air of great concentration. “I do three-card spread.” Her English was unaccented and economical. “First card tells the past—tells how you got here, to be where you are. Second tells where you are now, what you got to do to make things right, if they’re not right; and if they are right, it tells you how to keep them that way. Third card tells about the future—but just possibilities,” she added, as an afterthought. “Not what will be, necessarily, but what could be, if nothing you do changes. Future isn’t in anybody’s hands but your own.”

“Sure.” Somebody put another glass of wine into my field of vision. I looked up, thinking it must be Jack. Joe the chimney sweep winked down at me.

“Ask if there are going to be any tall dark strangers in your life tonight,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. It reeked of his cologne. Somewhere in the crowd gathered around us, I heard Lily laugh.

Madame Olinka’s eyes flickered. “I think there already is one, right?” Everybody laughed again. Where was Jack? “First card,” she said and turned it over. The card showed the silhouette of a man framed by a stylized window. It was hard to tell whether he was part of the window or standing in front of it, because his body was cut into pieces like stained glass. “The Hermit.”

“That’s her, all right,” I heard Lily say.

The fortuneteller ignored her. “There’s a big difference between the outside world and the world inside your head. So you trying to make sense of things, and now, you got a better sense of time, what it do to you.”

“I do?” I said.

Madame Olinka shrugged. “This card tells where you come from. Seems to me you got a nasty shock sometime, things aren’t what you expected. Now, next card, you see, is the devil.” The card showed a woman wearing a long black dress standing on a white hill against a deep blue sky.

“The devil is a woman?” I said.

“Is she ever,” Joe said from behind me and squeezed my shoulders. I tried to shrug him away, but when his hands left my shoulders they moved to my hair.

“Sometimes she is.” Madame Olinka looked at the cards. “Not so bad. Sounds worse than it is. You surrounded by bad feelings right now. All it means is, you got to be careful. You got to try and think clearly. Don’t get all caught up in plans and schemes. Logic, right? Logic is what the devil likes most. You stay away, think with your heart. But,” and she pointed a warning finger at me, “this all going on right now. You don’t make a choice now, you maybe never get a chance to choose again.”

“Choose what?” I said.

“Choose what you gonna do.” She sounded a little exasperated. “Choose whether you gonna believe those bad feelings swirling around you like smoke, or you gonna see the world the way it is.” Madame Olinka’s eyes flickered up to the crowd and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“Lots of people here,” she muttered. “More than I thought. Got to hurry. Last card now.”

The last card she turned up showed a circle cut into pieces like a pie. The letters under the picture said “Wheel of Fortune.” Madame Olinka, unsmiling, tapped the card. “But there you go. No matter what you do, things gonna be okay. You gonna end up with no worries and no tears and no questions.”

“Sounds like death,” I said.

Madame Olinka sat back in her chair, losing interest. “What I tell you. Tarot doesn’t tell the future. Could be death. Or could be happiness.”

“My turn,” a pink pixie said. I moved quickly to let her sit down. When I stood up, Joe’s arm was across my shoulder. I stepped away quickly.

Lily appeared in front of me. “Solve all your problems?” Her blackish lips were curled slightly, and her eyes glittered with that feral look again.