Elizabeth Hand - Black Light

Above me the window glowed like stained glass at dawn. Only it was not a window anymore. It was a portal. Flame runneled along its edges, blue-white deepening to indigo, feathered off into a desultory darkness that I knew was the room surrounding me.

But I could no longer see the room. My sense of it came only from knowing that it was not the incandescent threshold, a threshold that made everything else seem bleak and inconsequential. It was not a room there behind me, or even a world, but a prison. Ralph’s despairing voice came back to me—

More than anything — more than I have ever wanted anything on this earth, love or money or children, I’ve wished to be one of them —

—and I thought of who they were and what they might become, those Chosen Ones who could pass through such a door.

“Charlotte.”

I stiffened, refused to turn.

“Charlotte. Come back. Come back now .”

I shook my head, then felt Precious Bane’s strong hand on my shoulder, pulling me away.

“You just got back here, honey,” she said softly. “Don’t be in such a hurry to leave. Not yet, anyway.”

The portal was gone. Rain slashed through the open window. From behind us came a faint echo of laughter. Precious Bane put a finger to her lips, indicating the far end of the room.

“Remember: we are not alone,” she said sotto voce. “Com-pa-nee!”

“Right.” I sighed, looked over and saw who the company was—eight or ten people thrashing naked on the floor, bathed in the leaden light spilling from a single glaring bulb on a pole. I gulped and looked away.

But there was Precious Bane staring at me, so I had no choice but to watch.

“Oh,” I said.

“Why look, Charlotte,” she said. “They’re making a movie.”

Above the heaving group Page Franchini stood impassively, filming it all with a Super 8 camera. The blue light gave everyone’s skin a wet, glassy sheen. It was less like an orgy than a school of dolphins arcing up through the floorboards, with only an occasional flash of a mouth or eyes to betray anyone as human. I stared, fascinated, until Page Franchini lifted his head from the camera and saw me.

“Hey,” he called. He set the camera on its tripod, still whirring, and waved at us. Behind him I glimpsed an open door, jeans and T-shirts flung over it. “You! C’mere, we could use some girl action—Precious, bring her over—”

“No way.” I spun around, and Precious Bane draped her arm around me protectively.

“Not today, Page,” she said, drawing a hand across her brow. “Our aura is very weak today—”

She tossed her head, cherry hair cascading down her back, and escorted me to the door. We had to step over several men, none of whom took the slightest notice. Page Franchini shrugged, lit a cigarette and tossed the match onto somebody’s bare ass.

“Well,” sniffed Precious Bane. “Now we know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall.”

I laughed and squeezed through the door beside her. She kicked at a heap of clothes, then glanced back at Page Franchini angling in for a close-up. “Well, Charlotte. That’s what comes of wearing white shoes after Labor Day.”

“Was that, like, an orgy?”

“Very, very like.”

We were in the corridor, back on the main floor. There were people here, certainly more than I expected to be wandering the halls a few yards away from an orgy. An extremely pregnant woman in a dashiki dress, holding a wine glass and looking very drunk; a naked man in a wig. Music ricocheted from an upstairs room—

Just a few doors down, the corridor opened onto the music room. It seemed almost incongruously bright in there, all the lamps turned on and the candelabra alight atop the piano. Someone was hunched over the keys and a few people were gathered around, their backs to us. It took me a minute to disentangle their singing from the stereo upstairs and the resonant thump of dancing in the main hall.

But when we entered the room I saw it was Duncan at the piano, shirtless, his back slick with sweat and dusted with silver glitter, lank hair hanging around his face. He was banging out a ragged barrel-house version of “Moondance” and singing in his rich baritone, accompanied by a blonde high school chorus—Christie Smith, Alysa Redmond, Leenie Wasserman, all warbling cheerfully out-of-tune—and two predatory-looking women in tuxedos and stiletto heels.

“It doesn’t look good for Marsha and Jan and Cindi,” said Precious Bane. “I think I’ll leave you here with the cheerleading squad for a few minutes. Just don’t get lost. The party’s not over yet.”

She blew me a kiss and strode off. I nodded but forgot to thank her—I was too relieved to finally see my friends again, and something that looked like normal life. I hurried over to the piano. With a flourish Duncan finished the song. His face was glistening, his makeup smudged. But he looked astonishingly happy, and for a moment I almost forgot who I was looking at, Precious Bane or Dunc or the statuesque creature who had pulled me through the portal. The girls applauded, the tuxedo-clad women moved to touch their shoulders. Duncan looked over his shoulder at me.

“I wish my brother George were here,” he said.

Leenie and the other girls gave me stoned, slightly damaged smiles, brightening when one of the women dangled a small brown vial in front of them.

“Wanna come with us, Lit?” Leenie called as Christie and Alysa followed the older women across the room.

“No thanks.”

“Sure? Well, see you later—”

I watched them disappear into a corner, cheeping like goslings, then turned back to Duncan. “Hi, Dunc—”

He ran a hand across his face, leaving a smear of blue eye shadow. “Lit. Christ, what happened? You in a car wreck or something?”

“Or something.” I angled onto the piano bench and lay my head on his shoulder. “Oh, Dunc, am I glad to see you.”

“Yeah? How come? Aren’t you having a good time?”

“No.”

“Really?” He looked shocked. “Well—why not? I mean, who’ve you been hanging out with? Your parents?”

“Where are my parents? Are they still around?”

“Uh-uh. Nobody is—I mean, nobody from town. They all split around the same time, about an hour ago. Everyone but us, I mean. You know”— He flapped his hand, indicating the corner where Leenie and her friends appeared to be exchanging articles of clothing while singing “American Pie” —“the usual suspects. All our Kamensic heroes,” Dunc finished.

I stared bleakly at the piano.

“Well, jeez, Lit, it can’t be that bad — ”

He struck a pose, head held high and candlelight glinting from a sequin stuck to his nose, then let his hands fall to the keys and began tinking out a few notes.

I shook my head. “Duncan, I don’t think Noel Coward would have liked this party very much.”

“Boy, you really are Captain Bringdown, aren’t you? Here—”

He reached beneath the piano bench and withdrew the bottle of Tanqueray. A scant two inches remained. He took a long swallow and handed it to me. I hesitated, finally took it and knocked back what was left.

“There! That’s better. Drunk Dunc and lit Lit.” He took the empty bottle and let it crash to the floor. “What should we sing now?”

I got woozily to my feet. “I think I’m gonna try to find Hillary. Have you seen him?”

“Not for a while. He and Jamie Casson were talking about going down to the city—”