Сара Пинскер - A Song for a New Day

“Slide in, Rosemary. There are no reserved seats.”

Rosemary moved toward the opposite bench, but the bassist from the second band got there before she did. She didn’t want to risk being squeezed between two guys she didn’t know if a third person tried to sit on that side, so she slid in next to Luce instead, trying to gauge the appropriate distance to leave between herself and the other woman.

“Do I smell? Eh, scratch that. I probably do.”

“Sorry,” said Rosemary. “I was trying to give you enough space.”

The Harriet drummer—she had already forgotten names—no, Dor: D was for drummer—slid in after her, trapping her. She scooted a little closer to Luce and tried not to panic. They’d let her out anytime she wanted, or else she could always slide under the table, or onto the table and out the door. She’d never be able to return if she did that, but the option reassured her.

The bassist across the booth pulled a flask from his jacket pocket. “To another great show.” He took a swig and passed it around. It got to Rosemary fifth. Four sets of lips—that she had seen—and four mouths’ germs. Had the pox never reached this place? No, she’d seen evidence that it had. Or maybe they had all forgotten already, or been even younger than her. Luce wasn’t younger, though, and she didn’t think any of these guys were, either. Whatever they were drinking was powerful enough to disinfect… or it was worth the risk.

Tonight, for once, she wasn’t going to be her usual anxious self. She held the flask up, trying to keep it away from her lips. She spilled a little but not too much as she gulped a solid mouthful. It tasted like gasoline, but left a warm sensation in its wake. She wiped her face with her sleeve and passed it on.

Mary Hastings’s brother came to take their order, starting with Luce. When he got to Rosemary, she said, “Chicken chili with sour cream,” remembering the last bowl. “And a glass of milk.”

She glanced around to see if anyone mocked her for the milk, but nobody did. They all ordered sodas or water themselves; this wasn’t a bar. When the flask came back a second time, she let her lips touch it as she took a longer swig. The burn spread pleasantly.

She turned to Luce. “Your band was wonderful. I’m so glad I got to be there. I wish everyone could see you play.”

“Ha. You and me both, friend.”

“The room would get awfully crowded, though,” joked the guitarist across the booth. “Poor Alice would have her hands full.”

“First, we clone Alice, then we invite the world.”

“Agreed.”

They passed the flask around again. Rosemary didn’t feel altered, but something inside her unclenched. The proximity of those seated on either side grew more tolerable.

She excused herself to go to the bathroom. Pushed through the people in the aisle with a confidence she didn’t wear every day. Maybe she could. If this person was inside her, why did she only get released with a drink and a good show? She was obviously there beneath the surface.

Joni stood in line inside the bathroom door. Rosemary hadn’t seen a multistall bathroom since she was a kid.

“Hey,” said Rosemary. “I didn’t see you after the show.”

Joni shrugged. “I don’t like standing around doing nothing.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. She had dimples Rosemary hadn’t noticed before.

They both stood in silence for a moment. A song played over a tinny speaker in the corner above the sink, and Rosemary recognized it. “Come See Me for Real” by the Iris Branches Band. She’d listened to it all the time in high school.

Another wave of confidence washed over her. The crowded restaurant didn’t feel oppressive anymore; in this corner, it was protection. She leaned back against the hand dryer to steady herself. “So, uh, what you said earlier, about people playing the way they… I, uh, I like the way you play.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re… deliberate. Careful, but sure.”

Joni cocked her head, stepped closer. “Yeah?”

Even bolder now. “Deliberate is nice. Quiet confidence. People who are loud confident make me nervous.”

“Loud confident?”

“Nervous that they aren’t nervous. As opposed to nervous like something good is about to happen.”

“Like now?”

“Like now.”

They both leaned in. Rosemary’s heart quickened, and she closed her eyes. Lips brushed hers, parted hers, electric. Real lips, a real person, a touch she didn’t want to move away from.

“You drank Mikey Lee’s hooch,” Joni said.

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” Joni kissed her again. “But are you drunk? I don’t want to think you’re drunk and doing something you’ll regret later.”

“I only had a little to drink. I’m kissing you because of how you play your cello.”

“What about that touching thing? I’ve noticed the flinch.”

“I just don’t like it when I’m not expecting it.”

A stall door swung open, and the person ahead of Joni traded places with the person leaving. Joni and Rosemary broke apart for her to wash her hands. Joni had a contemplative spark in her eye, like she was sizing Rosemary up. The far stall opened, and Joni grabbed her hand and pulled her in. Kissed her again.

“Is this okay?” she whispered. “It’s gauche, but I have roommates and you said you’re staying with friends, and I kind of want you right now.”

Rosemary nodded. She could say she had a bed in a room overlooking the entire city, but it might spoil if she tried to trade this moment for a different one in another place. A wrong word, an awkwardness interjected on the ride to the hotel. A chance for her head to catch up with her body and remind her she wasn’t supposed to get involved with the artists, a chance for her usual walls to reappear. Now now now sang inside her, alongside Iris Branches Band’s “Come See Me for Real.” She pulled Joni closer.

The bathroom door opened again, and more people walked in, talking.

“Shit,” said one of them. “Get a room, yo.”

The toilet in the next stall flushed, and Rosemary giggled and then they both did, and Joni pressed her mouth to Rosemary’s shoulder, and Rosemary bit her own lip, trying to keep herself quiet. Running water, the hand dryer, the door, and they were both giggling, the moment gone.

“I’m glad you came here, Rosemary Laws,” Joni whispered.

“Me, too,” Rosemary whispered back.

Joni kissed her again, then slipped out of the stall, leaving Rosemary reeling against the wall.

“Your chili’s cold,” Luce said when she returned. The others at the table were done with their food.

“There was a line in the bathroom.”

“Ah.”

Rosemary mixed sour cream into cold chili. She hadn’t even realized how hungry she was until she took her first bite. She worked to catch up. “So what happens next?”

The Mosquitoes bassist dragged a hand across his throat. “It’s Wednesday night. Most of us have to work tomorrow. Sleep happens next.”

“Oh.”

“I can introduce you to someone from one of the collectives if you want to hang out later. I’m sure some of them will party. Or, I think you know Joni? Ask her.”

Rosemary glanced over to see if Luce said that in a teasing way, but she didn’t seem to be suggesting anything.

“It’s not that I need to party. It’s just been a really nice night. I don’t want it to be over.”

“Even nice nights have to end. That’s what makes them nice. Otherwise they’d roll right into the next shitty day without anything to differentiate.”

The bassist across the booth grimaced. “Or you can do the endless-awesome-night thing, but that takes a lot of drugs to maintain.”