answer was never.
5
The Piano Has Been Drinking
Z ZZZ!-ZZZZ!
After a big move and twelve ounces of fizz, Audrey dozed. The story line from Night Court entered her dream. A smarmy lawyer with short, slicked-back black hair hunkered over her piano. He wore an old-fashioned notch-collared shirt and three-piece suit, and when he winked, he reminded her of all the charmers Betty had dated on the road. She’d always been surprised when they got tired of her bullshit, and walked.
“Have you ever built a door, darling?” he asked. His eyes were dilated like he was high, and in her dream, she smiled, because “darling” was a pretty word.
ZZZZ!-ZZZZ!
“Shouldn’t be hard for a bright girl like you,” he said, then turned back to the Steinway and began to bang out “Heart and Soul”:
— I beg to be adored, Heart and Soul!
His voice was low-pitched and strangely plural like that of a locust.
“I tumbled overboard…” His face hollowed as he played, and she saw now that his chin was dark with stubble, and the circles under his eyes were deep.
I fell in love with you madly! he sang, then he leaped up from the piano bench and ran at her with open arms. His voice got louder as he charged:
“BECAUSE YOU HELD ME TIGHT!”
She woke with a start. A man, in the room with her! A man, coming after her! But then, the television played a courtroom scene. A laugh track crescendoed with John Laroquette humping the blond defense attorney, the bailiff, the judge, then the camera. Equal-opportunity hump.
She rubbed her eyes. A dream. But the man in her dream had been different from the one on television, hadn’t he?
ZZZZ!-ZZZZ!
She spun in all directions and peered down the hall toward the front door. What the hell was that? A plague of locusts? Was this her tiny studio in Omaha? Saraub’s place on the Upper East Side? Oh, right, The Breviary.
ZZZZ!-ZZZZ!
She staggered out from the den and down the long, dark hall. Felt her way with her hands. What was making that noise? Still groggy from sleep and champagne, her thinking was murky.
ZZZZ!-ZZZZ!
She jumped, then sighed, and said aloud, “shit-all.” The intercom. She’d ordered Tandori Chicken from one of Jayne’s menus a half hour ago, before falling asleep. She pressed the TALK button and got staticky feedback in reply. “Hello?” she asked.
The she pressed LISTEN, and heard the Haitian guywith the 1950s uniform: “blah-hiss-blah-guy-blah-up?
Her stomach growled. “Send him up!” she said.
The bell rang a few minutes later. She swung the door wide without looking through the peephole. Saraub blinked at her. She blinked back.
“Hey!” she said. A rush of warmth filled her cheeks: You know, I just had the craziest dream, she nearly told him.
He leaned into the door. His breath was bad: whiskey and dog biscuits. He was a big guy; that meant a lot of whiskey and dog biscuits. “Want my piano back,” he slurred.
“What?” she asked.
He balled his fists into the pockets of his wax rain jacket. “You took my Frank Millers, too, didn’t you? I fucking knew you’d be petty like that!”
She’d been about to step aside and let him in. Let me show you Wolverine’s new home! She’d planned to say, and then, by implication: Let’s both live here! Better yet, Oops, my bad! This place freaks me out. Let’s both live someplace else!
“Are you tight?” she asked.
“I want my piano…and my Batman. Just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean I can’t have it. You were always doing that—taking my stuff and moving it when I wasn’t around. Bruce Wayne is awesome. You have no idea!”
She looked at her bare feet. This was true. She’d thrown away the “Bless This Home” welcome mat he’d carried back from CVS Pharmacy (Come on! Those things are breeding grounds for bacteria!), and she’d hidden his favorite cutoff sweatshirt, because its red color had faded to pink. When he’d worn it, he’d looked gayer than a Lucky
5
The Piano Has Been Drinking
Z ZZZ!-ZZZZ!
After a big move and twelve ounces of fizz, Audrey dozed. The story line from Night Court entered her dream. A smarmy lawyer with short, slicked-back black hair hunkered over her piano. He wore an old-fashioned notch-collared shirt and three-piece suit, and when he winked, he reminded her of all the charmers Betty had dated on the road. She’d always been surprised when they got tired of her bullshit, and walked.
“Have you ever built a door, darling?” he asked. His eyes were dilated like he was high, and in her dream, she smiled, because “darling” was a pretty word.
ZZZZ!-ZZZZ!
“Shouldn’t be hard for a bright girl like you,” he said, then turned back to the Steinway and began to bang out “Heart and Soul”:
— I beg to be adored, Heart and Soul!
His voice was low-pitched and strangely plural like that of a locust.
“I tumbled overboard…” His face hollowed as he played, and she saw now that his chin was dark with stubble, and the circles under his eyes were deep.
I fell in love with you madly! he sang, then he leaped up from the piano bench and ran at her with open arms. His voice got louder as he charged:
“BECAUSE YOU HELD ME TIGHT!”
She woke with a start. A man, in the room with her! A man, coming after her! But then, the television played a courtroom scene. A laugh track crescendoed with John Laroquette humping the blond defense attorney, the bailiff, the judge, then the camera. Equal-opportunity hump.
She rubbed her eyes. A dream. But the man in her dream had been different from the one on television, hadn’t he?
ZZZZ!-ZZZZ!
She spun in all directions and peered down the hall toward the front door. What the hell was that? A plague of locusts? Was this her tiny studio in Omaha? Saraub’s place on the Upper East Side? Oh, right, The Breviary.
ZZZZ!-ZZZZ!
She staggered out from the den and down the long, dark hall. Felt her way with her hands. What was making that noise? Still groggy from sleep and champagne, her thinking was murky.
ZZZZ!-ZZZZ!
She jumped, then sighed, and said aloud, “shit-all.” The intercom. She’d ordered Tandori Chicken from one of Jayne’s menus a half hour ago, before falling asleep. She pressed the TALK button and got staticky feedback in reply. “Hello?” she asked.
The she pressed LISTEN, and heard the Haitian guywith the 1950s uniform: “blah-hiss-blah-guy-blah-up?
Her stomach growled. “Send him up!” she said.
The bell rang a few minutes later. She swung the door wide without looking through the peephole. Saraub blinked at her. She blinked back.
“Hey!” she said. A rush of warmth filled her cheeks: You know, I just had the craziest dream, she nearly told him.
He leaned into the door. His breath was bad: whiskey and dog biscuits. He was a big guy; that meant a lot of whiskey and dog biscuits. “Want my piano back,” he slurred.
“What?” she asked.
He balled his fists into the pockets of his wax rain jacket. “You took my Frank Millers, too, didn’t you? I fucking knew you’d be petty like that!”
She’d been about to step aside and let him in. Let me show you Wolverine’s new home! She’d planned to say, and then, by implication: Let’s both live here! Better yet, Oops, my bad! This place freaks me out. Let’s both live someplace else!
“Are you tight?” she asked.
“I want my piano…and my Batman. Just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean I can’t have it. You were always doing that—taking my stuff and moving it when I wasn’t around. Bruce Wayne is awesome. You have no idea!”
She looked at her bare feet. This was true. She’d thrown away the “Bless This Home” welcome mat he’d carried back from CVS Pharmacy (Come on! Those things are breeding grounds for bacteria!), and she’d hidden his favorite cutoff sweatshirt, because its red color had faded to pink. When he’d worn it, he’d looked gayer than a Lucky
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