Part 22 (2/2)

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-s.h.i.+rts 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 s.e.xy witches and s.p.a.ce 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 fas.h.i.+on 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-s.h.i.+rt 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 s.h.i.+rt. 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 wis.h.i.+ng 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 b.u.t.tonholes. 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 pa.s.sed me, and then Jack was at my elbow.

”What the h.e.l.l 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?”

”f.u.c.k 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 c.o.c.kney 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 protegee, 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 gla.s.s full of cut drinking straws and a small mirror next to the faucet.

”Think I'll pa.s.s,” I said.

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