Лиза Макманн - Fade

“Lots of them,” he says. “Not that I need them with you here.”

“Huh.” She follows him through the dazed and half-naked crowd. He stops to grab another glass of punch, and gives her another one too. On the way to Mr. Durbin’s bedroom, Janie waves at Coach Crater.

“Hey,” she says, turning back to Mr. Durbin. “Wasn’t Stacey here?

Before?”

“She’s still here, Janie.” His words are deliberate, like he’s concentrating. “She’s fucking Chris in the other bedroom, so we can fuck in here.” His words sound like slow-motion, matter of fact, and

Janie is certain she’s in his dream now.

He shows her to the bathroom, and she decides maybe she should close the door, even though she doesn’t feel like it. It’s so much work. But that’s weird, because if it’s Mr. Durbin’s dream, why would she be in a room where she can’t see him?

She sits down on the toilet, her head heavy. Something seems wrong, but she doesn’t know what it is. She sits there for a long time, in a halfdream. She almost falls asleep, she’s feeling so warm and mellow. And in her mind, she’s whirling through memories that pop in and out of her brain.

She hears a knocking sound, far away.

“Just go home, Carrie,” she mumbles.

She can’t seem to open her eyes.

She leans to the right, and there’s a cool, comfortable wall to rest her cheek on.

There is another knocking sound. But this one turns into a car’s-engine knock, and Stacey’s driving. There’s going to be a man coming any second from the backseat, Janie remembers, and then he’s there, gripping Stacey around the neck. His hands are sexy, she thinks.

“Come on, Janie, don’t be shy,” she hears from far away, and Janie rouses herself.

“What?” she says.

“Come on out, sweetheart. We’re all waiting for you.”

It must be Cabel. He sleeps a lot. And then she remembers she’s sitting on the toilet, and she chuckles silently to herself and finishes up.

She drinks a long drink from the bathroom tap. She’s so thirsty. She wants milk. Milk always makes her feel stronger. She turns to leave, but the door is gone. It’s just a wall now.

She scratches her head.

Looks around.

Laughs.

It’s on the other wall.

Stumbling, Janie bumps against the door, trying to push it, and finally tries pulling it. It opens, and Mr. Durbin is on the bed. There are three girls from class with him, and he’s taking their clothes off as they lie there.

Janie finds this fascinating.

But now she remembers that she wants milk, so she walks carefully out of the bedroom, trying not to bang into anything.

Mr. Wang is standing by the slider door in his underwear, letting the cool air inside the house. “That feels great,” Janie says. She breathes it in.

It smells like cigarette smoke.

She stands there, spinning. There it is again. That thing that feels funny.

Coach Crater comes down the hallway toward them, as Janie tries to remember why she came to the kitchen.

“Hey, there you are, Buffy,” he says.

Surprisingly he’s wearing jeans and a shirt, although his shirt is open and his chest hair shows.

Janie looks around. Walks back to look in the great room. Everyone is practically naked. How bizarre, she thinks, and goes back to feel the cold air again.

And then Coach Crater grabs her by the shoulders and turns her toward him. He plants a big wet kiss on her mouth. And moves on.

He’s tripping as he walks to get more punch.

She remembers that she doesn’t think she likes him. But maybe that’s not really true.

It’s so hard to decide what is true.

She smells more cigarette smoke, and she has an urge to go outside to have a cigarette. So she goes to the door.

Outside on the deck, it’s dark. Mr. Wang follows her out there, in his

Calvin Klein briefs. Janie breathes in the cold air. She holds on tightly to the railing when Mr. Wang starts touching her. “I smelled smoke,” she explains, but she doesn’t see anyone smoking.

And then Coach Crater comes out too. Mr. Wang is kissing her neck, and Coach is telling her how hot she is and feeling her up, and he says something about bench pressing.

Finally she remembers why she hates him.

And she remembers that she smelled smoke, but no one is smoking.

Then, in her mind, while the two men kiss and touch her, is Miss

Stubin.

Telling her something.

Janie struggles to listen. She remembers liking that old lady for some reason.

Cigarette, Miss Stubin says in Janie’s mind.

“I need a cigarette,” Janie whispers.

Use your lighter, Miss Stubin says. In your pocket.

“I need a cigarette,” Janie says louder. “Now.”

Coach Crater goes inside and comes back with a joint. “How’s this, Buffy?”

“Okay.” Janie takes the joint with a shrug and reaches into her pocket.

She didn’t know she had a lighter. Maybe the old maid put it there.

And then the words register, from what Coach Crater just said.

Janie.

Does not like.

To be called.

Buffy.

Janie reels back against the deck’s handrail, stumbling, grabs Coach’s arm off her breast, wrenches his elbow around so he twirls and faces the other way, and she kicks him, hard, in the kidneys. “Don’t call me

‘Buffy,’” she says mildly. “Ever again.”

His feet splay sideways and he lands with a thud on the wet deck, moaning.

Janie pulls the lighter from her pocket as Mr. Wang stares. She examines it, puts the joint in her mouth, and pulls back the lid.

She tries lighting it.

No fire comes out.

She tries it again.

Mr. Wang is confused, looking at Coach Crater, who is groaning and barely moving on the deck.

“Get me a fucking lighter that works, or I’ll beat the shit out of you, too,” she says to Mr. Wang, and sinks to the deck, exhausted. When her hip starts buzzing, she just figures it’s one of those weird things that have been happening all night.

She looks at Coach Crater. He’s sprawled every which way. His hands are reaching. Reaching for her leg. She watches them, like it’s not happening to her. She focuses on his fingers, thinking how weird fingers are. Like little animals, all their own.

He’s wearing a strange, square ring. She wants it, sort of. It looks cool, like he belongs to something.

Mr. Wang returns with a lighter just as Janie’s hip buzzes again. Maybe she’ll have to have her whole leg amputated, she thinks sadly. That would really suck.

She lights the joint and inhales the smoke. Holds it in. Lets it out slowly. Mr. Wang falls to the deck next to her and starts kissing her cleavage.

She doesn’t like that, she decides. He’s in her way. She’s trying to smoke a joint here.

She makes a peace sign with her fingers, marveling over them. Then, when Mr. Wang grabs her nipple in his mouth, she stabs him in the eyeballs.

She learned that somewhere.

She doesn’t know where.

Mr. Wang swings his fist wildly, crying out in pain. He catches her on the jaw, her head flies back and hits the deck’s rail, and she blacks out.

The joint burns down between her fingers.

NOT ALL RIGHT

March 5, 2006, 6:13 a.m.

Janie is dreaming. She’s dreaming Stacey’s dream, over and over again, and she’s dreaming that she can’t pull out of it. She tries. Hard.

But she’s stuck on the rapist in the backseat.

Over and over again, the dream pauses on the rapist’s hands. And then she sees it.

She gasps awake and sits up wildly, even though she’s numb. “Oh god,” she croaks, her voice gone. She can’t see. But someone is talking, rubbing her hands, her arms. Soothing her with his voice.