Rachel Glaser - Paulina & Fran

Paulina wondered if Fran still painted. She’d searched the Internet for both Frances and Francesca Hixon, finding mostly obituaries of ancient widows. Maybe she’d been painting her ass off. Maybe she’d want to stay for a while. Paulina would let her use the sunroom as a studio. It had great light and ventilation. But she was getting ahead of herself again. Fran was probably lying on Julian’s chest in that stuffy Pittsburgh apartment. Fran lacked guts. Sometimes she was full of life and longing, but other times Paulina had found her as hollow as a decorative egg.

It was well past midnight, but Paulina didn’t know the trains, how long it would take Fran to get there from whatever landfill she clung to in the Midwest. From what Julian said, it sounded like the poor thing worked in a factory all day. Onscreen, two men struggled past the camera carrying a bureau. Eugene led them to the service elevator and pushed the button for them. Paulina knew Eugene well by now. She’d watched him pass his hand over his face when he was tired, and she knew the neck stretches he did every hour. He always spoke to the cleaning crew. He knew all the tenants. She’d seen the way he chatted with his replacements — a younger, trimmer man that worked mornings, and the large woman that worked the graveyard shift, who once kept Luca waiting until Paulina picked up her phone and vouched for him.

The second time would be more nuanced. They’d be high off each other by then. Paulina would show off all she could do. The third time, Fran would surprise her. Fran would learn quickly. She’d laugh in Paulina’s arms. They’d eat between sessions and leave a huge mess in Paulina’s kitchen. One that would never truly get cleaned up.

A woman caught her eye on the television. She was about Fran’s size, but had long, straight hair. Paulina’s phone vibrated with a text from the Curl Club. She turned back to the television and watched the woman wait near the elevators. Paulina couldn’t make out her face. She stared at the woman’s low-cut dress. Paulina was so prepared for a guest, so ready for adventure, that she considered going down to the lobby to meet the woman, or asking Eugene to send her up. Paulina imagined the woman lounging around her apartment. After hours of sex, an intimacy would form. Maybe they would even fall in love. But this was nonsense. If the last decade had taught her anything, it was that no other person would do. Besides, Fran was probably walking out of the subway this very minute. The woman hesitated by the elevators and seemed to change her mind, or maybe she had forgotten something. It was impossible to tell. Paulina watched the woman as she turned and walked past the doorman’s table, through the revolving doors, to where Paulina could no longer see her.

Thank you to my Mom & Dad, and to all of my family, Buck’s Rock, Flying Object, my editor Cal Morgan, my agent Claudia Ballard, Harper Perennial, Granta Books, Anne Meadows, McSweeney’s and the Amanda Davis Highwire Fiction Award, Joanna Howard, Sandy Florian, Meredith Steinbach, Mairead Byrne, Karen Rile, Noy Holland & Sam Michel, Chris Bachelder, Peter Gizzi, Lynn Bailey, John Maradik, Adam Robinson, Blake Butler, Giancarlo Ditrapano, Barbara Galletly, Mojo Lorwin, Paradise Copies, Veronika, Erin, Brent, Asher, the Xperimental People, C. S. Ward, my FO classes, my Jersey friends, and the wonderful readers: Ahrum, Anita, Anna, Arda, Carla, Cat, Chain, Chelley, Chelotti, Deweese, Edward, Ehu, Eliza, EP, ES, Ezra, Guy, Halie, Heather, Ivan, Jacob, Jono, Julio, Landman, Lauren, Leidner, Luke, Madeline, Max, Mike, Nat, Noah, Phoebe, Sarah, Shannon, Susan, and Ted.

RACHEL B. GLASERis the author of the story collection Pee On Water and the poetry collection MOODS . She is a recipient of the McSweeney’s Amanda Davis Fiction Award, and her work has appeared in the anthologies 30 Under 30 and New American Stories. Nylon has cited her as one of the “Coolest Female Poets to Know Right Now.” She lives in Northampton, Massachusetts.

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