Ryan Jahn - Low Life

Gil clapped for her and everybody followed his example, and then, when the clapping subsided, he said, ‘Her beautiful paintings are all for sale, and worth every penny, I assure you. In sixty years when she’s dead and famous, your grandchildren will be so glad of your present good taste.’

Several people chuckled.

‘We’ve sold about half already,’ Gil said in what Simon thought was an intentionally too-loud whisper.

He headed over to the bar.

An hour later he was on his third glass of wine. His head was throbbing. He was standing in a corner with Samantha. She’d circled the room smiling and shaking hands while he stood in the corner and drank, but the room was fully reconnoitered now, good prospects charmed, and they were together again. They watched the crowd. Gil was putting red stickers on the wall next to two more paintings – the last two – which meant they had now sold out.

‘You don’t look so good,’ Samantha said.

‘My head still.’

‘Maybe you should—’

‘Samantha?’

Simon looked up at the sound of the voice.

It belonged to a brunette with a boy’s haircut and a woman’s body. She had red lipstick smeared across her full lips making her look like she’d been punched in the mouth and liked it. She was wearing a short skirt and black stockings and a Pere Ubu T-shirt that said

‘Marlene Biskind with the East Sider. Can I get a picture of you and your husband?’

‘Of course,’ Samantha said, slipping a hand through Simon’s arm.

Marlene Biskind held up a Nikon camera with a lens like the barrel of Dirty Harry’s gun.

Simon tried to smile but his eyes felt dull in his head.

A flash of light exploded in front of him and everything disappeared behind it. He blinked and people became out-of-focus silhouettes. Then a second flash. Then a third.

Simon dropped his wine, blinking, trying to regain his vision.

The wine splashed across Samantha’s shoes and legs.

‘Oh, shit.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right.’

Gil came rushing over with a wad of napkins like he’d been standing in the corner just waiting for it to happen and started wiping at Samantha’s legs and shoes and then the floor.

‘My God,’ he said. ‘Some people just can’t hold their liquor.’ He stood up. ‘You do it like this.’ He made a cupping gesture with his empty right hand. ‘Not like this.’ He flattened his palm.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m just kidding.’

‘I’m—’

‘It’s a party. There’s more wine.’ And then he was off.

Marlene looked from Simon to Samantha.

‘Should we try again?’

Samantha laughed. ‘I think we’d better.’

She put her arm through Simon’s again.

Another flash of light exploded.

Simon fell backwards. He hit the wall behind him and then slid down it. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. Maybe just the day. Dogs and people coming back to life. Corpses disappearing. Impersonating a dead man. And now he was standing here pretending to smile while a woman from the East Sider snapped his photograph. It was all too much.

He looked up and saw Samantha and Marlene looking down at him, both with concern in their eyes. They looked incredibly tall.

‘Are you okay?’ Marlene said.

‘Baby?’

Simon worked his way to his feet with Samantha’s help.

‘I’m okay. Just a little tired. It’s been a long day.’

Several people had stopped their conversations and were looking at him – wine glasses or toast smeared with cheese paused halfway to or from their mouths, sentences half caught in their throats. It was obvious by the disapproving but amused looks on their faces that they thought he was drunk. He was not. He was trying to get drunk, but he felt sober as a newborn.

‘We should go,’ Samantha said.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Marlene said. ‘You really took a spill.’

‘You stay for the rest of your night, honey. This is a big deal for you. Enjoy it. I’ll take a cab home.’

‘Are you sure?’

Simon nodded.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m sure.’

The ride home took thirty minutes – thirty minutes in a blue and yellow cab that smelled vaguely of vomit and ammonia. It did nothing to improve his mental state.

He sat in the back with the window cracked.

The cab driver was not one of those guys who felt the need to fill silence with the sound of his own voice, and Simon was grateful for that at least. He just sat silently in the front seat and drove while Simon sat in the back, watching the cost of the cab ride go from its two-dollar beginnings to its thirty-six-dollar total.

The car pulled to a stop in front of Simon’s – it’s mine now, goddamn it – front yard. The house was silent and dark but for a lamp in the living room whose light was shining yellow through a crack in orange striped curtains. Simon gave the cab driver two twenties – keep the change; hey, thanks, buddy – and stepped from the vehicle.

He was halfway up the concrete path that bisected the lawn, watching his feet move one in front of the other, when he saw her. She had been sitting on one of the steps that led up to the front door, and as he approached she got to her feet.

‘I thought you’d never get here.’

She wrapped her arms around his neck.

He had forgotten all about Kate Wilhelm.

‘Hi,’ he said.

He shut the door behind him and put his back against it. Kate stood only a couple of feet away. He could smell soap on her skin and lotion and perfume. Her eyes had been painted black, her lips red.

She dragged a finger across the scar on his face.

‘It really is sexy,’ she said.

‘Thank – thank you.’

Kate laughed.

‘You seem a little tense.’

She stepped to him until he could feel her breath on his neck, warm and wet.

She ran her hand down his chest. It made his skin tingle. This felt like a dream. The entire day did – it felt unreal and wrong and like a dream. But he knew it wasn’t.

Kate ran the flat of her palm over the front of Simon’s pants. He heard a small gasp escape his own throat and felt his heartbeat thumping in his chest.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You seem really tense down here.’

Simon shoved Kate’s skirt up around her waist and pulled down her panties, hearing them tear as he did. There was nothing intimate about what followed. He pushed her down on the bed, licked his fingers and rubbed them over her mound, which was smooth and recently waxed or shaved. The scent was strong and erotic. He grabbed his penis at the base and put himself inside her. She spasmed tight around him. He thrust as deep as he could, getting out everything he had in him, getting out all the frustration and fear and turmoil he was feeling inside. He ran the palms of his hands over her breasts, unbuttoned her blouse and reached inside. Her nipples were hard and she groaned. He pinched them. She reached up and scratched at his chest. He put a thumb into her mouth and she sucked on it. She grabbed his hips and pulled him even deeper into her, again and again and again.

In three minutes it was over.

Afterwards Simon put his pants back on. He felt guilty about what had happened. He felt guilty about everything. A constant cloud of guilt hung over him.

He sat on the couch, Kate beside him, and played with his Zippo lighter, lighting it and snuffing the flame repeatedly.

‘How long have we known each other?’

‘What?’

‘How long have we known each other?’ he asked again.

‘Since last spring.’

Simon nodded.

‘What’s bothering you?’ Kate asked.