Elizabeth Hand - Glimmering

He took a few steps, stared down at the grass where Jule had fallen. It looked scorched, there was a blurred outline where they had poured disinfectant onto the ground. The heaviness in his chest became nausea. He turned away and stumbled across the vast room.

He found a table on the far side of the atrium. The waterfall cascaded from several stories above him, a glittering curtain with rainbows dancing where the sun pierced it. The air smelled of dirt and sun. Birds darted past him and lit upon the branches of a Japanese maple. Jack sat with hands on his knees, concentrating on the warmth spilling across his face.

It will hit me later, he thought. It will hit me later. A waiter came and he ordered mineral water and pepper-flavored aquavit. The liquor came in a tiny bottle shaped like a fish, prettily arranged on a glass tray with sprigs of watercress and myrtle. It was icily restorative; he ordered a second bottle, and swallowed a dropperful of Fusax as he waited.

“May I join you?”

A dark-haired woman stood on the other side of the granite block that served as a table. She wore a black dress interwoven with shreds of Mylar, very ugly, very fashionable. At first he thought she was wearing a mask, but he saw that it was makeup, chalky white foundation, redlined eyes, birdlime mouth. He had a dim sense of recognition, after a moment recalled that she had been in the crowd surrounding Jule’s body. She had been the one who cried He has come over. The odd words rushed at him, his head began to swim again. He moaned and covered his face with his hands.

“Here—put your head between your knees, take a deep breath—”

He felt her fingers on his neck—she had gloved hands, warm inside their silken sheathing. “Breathe, breathe—”

He did as she said, sucking in quick gulps of air.

“Slowly, slowly…”

Her voice was low and brusque. Her touch upon his bare neck grew warmer, so much so that after a minute it hurt, as though someone had placed a heating pad there.

“Okay—I’m—I’m better now.” When he started to sit up she grabbed his shoulder.

“Slow down! You’ll pass out—”

He was upright again. She sat beside him, her hand still on his shoulder, and peered at him intently.

“Better?” He nodded. “Okay. Here.”

She picked up the crystal fish of aquavit and handed it to him. He sipped it gratefully, nodding thanks.

“I’m Nellie Candry,” the woman said. “Christ. I saw what happened: Your friend…” Her gaze shifted to the Pyramid’s entrance, and she brushed nervously at her hair. “Horrible. And then I saw you sitting here, you looked like you were going to pass out…”

She hesitated. Her gloved fingers pressed at the table’s stone edge, as though she were clinging to it. “I work here—my office is upstairs. I thought, if you wanted to get away, have some privacy. If you needed to make some phone calls. Or just rest—I have a futon…”

He must have been looking at her strangely. “You can check me out with security if you want,” she reassured him. “I mean, I’m a fucking vice president, okay, I’m not going to hurt you. Or maybe you just want to be left alone… ?”

“No.” He winced. “No, I don’t really want to be alone. I—I’ve been ill, this was the first time I’ve left my house in a long while, and—”

His voice broke. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “It was—horrible. Don’t you have any friends nearby?”

“Not now—I used to, but…”

“Yeah, well, I know what that’s like.” She picked up the half-empty crystal of aquavit, put it back down. “Look. Why don’t you come upstairs with me. You can have some time alone, at least.”

“But the police—they were going to find me a ride—”

“We’ll call them from upstairs.”

Before he knew it she was helping him to his feet. The waiter appeared. Nellie waved away Jack’s hand as he reached for his pocket. “No—let me—”

She gave the waiter a credit card and waited as he processed it. Then she touched Jack’s elbow, pointing at a softly lit alcove where elevator doors glowed blue and green.

The elevator brought them to the thirtieth floor, midway up the Pyramid’s interior, then opened onto a space blazing with video monitors. Huge doors of cobalt blue glass bore a holographic logo and the words AGRIPPA MUSIC.

“This way,” Nellie took him by the shoulder and gently pushed him down the hall. “We’ll go to my editing room. Quieter there…”

He followed her down another corridor, and another, ended up in a nondescript hallway. They made little effort at conversation, besides Jack telling Nellie his name. He walked beside her, squinting to read placards: Kingston Music, First Analysis Corp., Merton Defense Systems. At a door reading Pathfinder Films she pulled out a key and slid it into the wall. A grid of light exploded, flashed as she pulled the door open and motioned him inside.

“This is it,” she said.

Her office was a chilly warren of odd-shaped rooms stacked floor to ceiling with silver canisters of film. A few small battery-driven lights were affixed to the ceiling. They cast a sepia glow on everything, so that Jack felt as though he were in an old photograph. There was a small desk littered with curling ribbons of film, a broken light box and old-fashioned loupes, the remains of a boxed sushi lunch, some empty medicine vials. Nellie picked up the phone and rang downstairs. She gave her name and number to security and told them to notify her when someone arrived to drive John Finnegan home.

“Okay.” She dropped the phone onto a pile of discs. “They’re waiting for an officer who’s going off duty, some guy who lives in the North Bronx. He says he’ll drive you, but it’ll be a few hours.”

Jack nodded. “Thank you.”

She shrugged. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

More arcane objects filled the hallway. Cameras or recording equipment. Leaning in a corner was some kind of tall staff. Strips of leather hung from it, and red ceramic beads. On the floor beside it lay a crude mask with gouged eyes and an obscenely long wooden tongue dangling from its mouth. Mounted on one side was a single very large antler—it must have come from an immense stag. There was a hole where the other antler had been.

“Three have been taken, but two are left,” Nellie said, looking at the grotesque face with an odd smile. “Sorry about the mess.” She nudged a canvas sack stuffed with books. “This way—”

There was no other way. Four steps brought them to a miniscule bathroom with composting toilet and no running water; three more steps to a sleeping alcove taken up by a futon and a few paperback books, coffee mug, a torn T-shirt. On the wall hung a small frame with a piece of plain white paper inside. Jack edged past Nellie to read what was typed there.

Life becomes useful when you confront a difficulty; it provides a kind of value to your life to have the kind of responsibility to confront it and overcome it. So from that angle it is a great honor, a great privilege, to face these times, to confront them.

Nellie laughed. “I know, I’m a dharma bimbo! Come on.”

At the end of the hall was another small room, dark except for a monitor set into an old-fashioned editing table. Nellie edged past more film canisters, a metal cabinet, and manila envelopes crammed with papers and black-and-white photographs. She pointed at the glowing white screen. “My Steenbeck.”

“You’re a filmmaker?”

“Yeah. I know, another dying art.” She ran a hand through her close-cropped hair and gave him a wry sideways glance. “I mean, that’s not how I make my money—I really am a VP, I’m in A&R at Agrippa. This other stuff, though—”