Part 13 (1/2)

”Last night you whispered into my hair 'Kiss me right now, if you dare.'

I closed my eyes and welcomed your lips And until morning I took little sips.

”I pray for the night Because that's when we meet I hate the daylight Reality is not as sweet As the dreams where I hear you say '”We share the same blood We're sisters under the skin Rise out of the mud Our love is no sin.'”

When Trudy had finished she glanced over at Harumi, whose neck still drooped, then Ca.s.sie, who was watching Esther. Finally she aimed her eyes at Esther and sneered, ”This is Hallmark c.r.a.p. We can't sing this.” She thrust the paper back at Esther. ”We're b.i.t.c.hes. Don't you get it?” She snorted and tossed her head.

”It could be a ballad,” Ca.s.sie said. ”I think it's kind of pretty, especially the part about dancing in the moonlight.”

Trudy glared at her. ”We don't do ballads. We're punk.”

Ca.s.sie shrugged. It was obvious that Trudy was in one of her moods and there weren't going to be any drastic changes in her point of view in the next few minutes.

Esther crumpled the paper and stuffed it into her pocket. Later she'd burn the whole notebook. She kept her face turned away from the others while she packed up her equipment. She'd suffered enough humiliation for one day; she didn't want anyone to see her tears. She felt a gentle hand on her back.

”Hey.” It was Ca.s.sie.

Esther looked up and sniffled.

”Hey, don't let her get to you. Trudy's mad at the world, not you. She's got all these unresolved issues with her parents. You know, her dad kicked her out of the house and her mama doesn't want to have anything to do with her. Sometimes the anger just jumps out of her.”

Esther nodded, but it was hard not to take rejection personally.

”By the way, I think it's a beautiful song.”

Esther tried to twist her lips into a smile. Ca.s.sie had never been so nice to her before. She knew she'd play this moment over and over while she stared at the ceiling that night.

”If you wait a sec, I'll walk out with you,” Ca.s.sie whispered.

Esther rubbed the tears out of her eyes and nodded. She wanted to burst out of the house and never go back, but Ca.s.sie's sweetness made everything else worthwhile. She lingered by the door while Ca.s.sie gathered up her guitar and exchanged a few final wisecracks with Trudy. Then Ca.s.sie winked at her, and they left the house together.

Ca.s.sie's Beetle was parked right in front, but she walked with Esther to her car across the street.

Esther didn't know why Ca.s.sie was walking to her car and she didn't know what to say. They were silent until she slipped the key into the lock.

”It was you, wasn't it?” Ca.s.sie's voice was calm and clear.

Esther turned to look at her, a sudden panic tightening her chest. ”What?”

”You're the one who wrote me all those letters.”

For a second, Esther thought about throwing herself into her car and peeling out of there. Would there be no end to her shame on this awful night? But then she looked into Ca.s.sie's eyes and saw nothing but wonder and curiosity. ”Yes,” she confessed, in a strange, high voice.

Ca.s.sie stepped back. ”I thought so.” She smiled then, as if solving the mystery had given her great joy. ”I still have them, you know. They're in a s...o...b..x under my bed.” Then Ca.s.sie put a finger to her lips and Esther knew that she wouldn't tell anyone. It would be their secret.

Esther watched her retreat. She watched until Ca.s.sie had gotten into her car and started the engine. She saw Ca.s.sie's hand lift from the steering wheel.

Esther waved back, then sank against the vinyl seats, trying to still her trembling limbs.

29.

Ca.s.sie knew about Adam's habit, but she'd never seen him shoot up before. She wasn't even sure she'd ever seen him when the junk was coursing through his veins, though there had been afternoons when his eyes were unnaturally bright, his movements a little too slow.

One afternoon when Ca.s.sie was sitting cross-legged on his floor, he reached under the tattered sofa for the wooden box that held his kit.

”Can I watch?” she asked, before he had a chance to ask her to leave.

Adam looked at her face for a long moment. Then he dropped his eyes and lifted the lid. ”I don't care.”

She was silent and still, like a hiker in the presence of wildlife. She watched his ritual-the careful measuring of white powder, the spoon over the flame, the belt tightened over his bicep-with fascination. And then she observed the needle sliding into his vein, the backwash of blood in the syringe, the relaxation of his face. He moaned, then fell back against the sofa, forgetting she was there.

It scared her as much as it attracted her. She knew how easily things could go wrong, yet she craved that instant relief. She'd thought all this time that she wanted only to be loved, but what she really wanted was to get out of her body.

The next time she went to him, she asked if she could try, too.

He grinned crookedly, his unwashed hair falling in his eyes. ”What? You want me to corrupt you?”

”It's too late for that,” she said.

He stared at her for a long time and she was afraid that he'd see the desperation there. She should try to be more casual about it. Make it seem like it didn't matter to her at all.

Finally his gaze dropped. ”All right.”

Ca.s.sie smiled.

”You have to be careful,” he told her, as he tapped out the powder. ”You shouldn't do this alone. And never when drunk. People pa.s.s out and choke on their own vomit. Got it?”

She nodded, flipped her hair back. She hated being babied. She probably knew more about the world than Adam, with his ordinary middle cla.s.s parents and interior trips. Heroin didn't make you wise. Or at least she didn't expect it to.

She held out her arm, the way she did for nurses, and waited while he tied a silk scarf around her. The veins popped out, blue and fat. He pressed down on one with his finger, then kissed it. Ca.s.sie thought it was the most erotic thing he'd ever done.

She closed her eyes, heard him tapping the ampoule with a fingernail, then felt the needle's p.r.i.c.k.

She waited for something to happen.

At first, there was nothing, and then gradually, she felt a calm enter her body. It was like being in the warm bath water with Mama, having her head stroked as she drifted off to sleep, or being rocked, maybe. It was lovely, like a Monet watercolor, blurry and soft.

But that first afternoon, she wound up cramped and retching over the toilet. Adam, seemingly unaffected, held her torso and smoothed back her hair.

”The first time can be rough,” he said. He kissed her clammy cheek. ”Believe me, it gets better.”

She vowed she would try again.