Read Online Brightness Falls by Jay McInerney - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jay McInerney
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threw back her own. "You must know a lot of citrus queens. So how'd you do today," she asked, and his face lit up as he described a coup, how he'd heard about a company that was about to go into play. "The buzz was takeover and the buzz went out on the wire and the stock went up. Rumor becomes fact. Even if the stock wasn't in play before, it is now. God bless America." He poured another glass.
"Catch that buzz," she shouted, over the din. As he poured the last of the champagne, which she declined, Duane suddenly became serious. Taking advantage of the privacy afforded by the mob, he said he had to get something off his chest. Corrine wanted to stop him before he got started, but the champagne seemed to have robbed her of her will; she felt like a creature of the savanna stung with a tranquilizing dart, stunned, gazing out from glazey eyes as the biologist scurried in to perform his tasks...
He told her that she was the finest and most beautiful and intelligent woman he'd ever met and that he was in love, even though, sure, he knew he shouldn't be. "I don't know, I'm just saying I'm in love with you and I'd do anything to be with you," he concluded pathetically. She was touched by his sweet adulation. But she had to be firm and she was, pulling away from him and raising the last of the champagne to her lips. She was finally a little more stern than she felt, for part of her was grateful because she suddenly realized she'd needed to feel the way she did when he was saying those wonderful things, and in this celebratory, demi-Dionysian atmosphere it seemed almost appropriate to strip off your clothes and give yourself over to the spirit of the moment.
He was embarrassed, of course, but she summoned her will again and led him gradually out into the clear light of a daytime world in which she was older and married and they were colleagues with an office to return to. But meanwhile she wanted to assuage his hurt pride and show him she wasn't offended, so she ordered another bottle of champagne, though she was going to lay off drinking the next day for sure, and by the time that was gone she felt quite happy with Duane and with everyone around her, part of the great celebration in which she didn't quite believe. Outside, when Channel 4 stuck a microphone in her face, she said, "I don't know, I think basically the emperor's got no clothes. But at the moment he has a pretty good body."
As the champagne wore off in the taxi she realized that it was her night to work at the soup kitchen. She'd completely forgotten. She looked at her watch. There was time to help with the cleanup, but she felt too guilty and disgusted with herself to think about scouring a vat caked with hot-dog stew as a champagne hangover set in.
Russell had left a message on the machine; he was finishing drinks with an author, then dinner with the agent at a restaurant called Cambodia.
Feeling immensely fat and full of high-calorie fermented grapes, Cor-rine decided not to eat; but eventually she went out and picked up a fruit salad at the Korean market and lay on the couch watching stupid television shows, nurturing the warm sleepy feeling of being wanted, which had stayed with her through the afternoon, but which otherwise had been in rather short supply.
At eleven-ten she was astonished to see her face on TV as she flipped through the channels— a pretty good body.
Oh God, some horrible blowsy fat tramp two and half sheets to the wind, and there was Duane with a sort of precoital grin hovering over her shoulder. She was glad Russell hadn't been around to see it.
She was half asleep when he tiptoed in, breathing awkwardly, a little after one. He undressed in the dark and slipped between the sheets. She wanted to let him know she was awake, wanted to hear about his evening, but she wasn't quite sure how she was feeling about Russell: she had a right to be angry, although somehow she was too distant to be really upset.
And then he started to snore.
Nobody
"Catch that buzz," she shouted, over the din. As he poured the last of the champagne, which she declined, Duane suddenly became serious. Taking advantage of the privacy afforded by the mob, he said he had to get something off his chest. Corrine wanted to stop him before he got started, but the champagne seemed to have robbed her of her will; she felt like a creature of the savanna stung with a tranquilizing dart, stunned, gazing out from glazey eyes as the biologist scurried in to perform his tasks...
He told her that she was the finest and most beautiful and intelligent woman he'd ever met and that he was in love, even though, sure, he knew he shouldn't be. "I don't know, I'm just saying I'm in love with you and I'd do anything to be with you," he concluded pathetically. She was touched by his sweet adulation. But she had to be firm and she was, pulling away from him and raising the last of the champagne to her lips. She was finally a little more stern than she felt, for part of her was grateful because she suddenly realized she'd needed to feel the way she did when he was saying those wonderful things, and in this celebratory, demi-Dionysian atmosphere it seemed almost appropriate to strip off your clothes and give yourself over to the spirit of the moment.
He was embarrassed, of course, but she summoned her will again and led him gradually out into the clear light of a daytime world in which she was older and married and they were colleagues with an office to return to. But meanwhile she wanted to assuage his hurt pride and show him she wasn't offended, so she ordered another bottle of champagne, though she was going to lay off drinking the next day for sure, and by the time that was gone she felt quite happy with Duane and with everyone around her, part of the great celebration in which she didn't quite believe. Outside, when Channel 4 stuck a microphone in her face, she said, "I don't know, I think basically the emperor's got no clothes. But at the moment he has a pretty good body."
As the champagne wore off in the taxi she realized that it was her night to work at the soup kitchen. She'd completely forgotten. She looked at her watch. There was time to help with the cleanup, but she felt too guilty and disgusted with herself to think about scouring a vat caked with hot-dog stew as a champagne hangover set in.
Russell had left a message on the machine; he was finishing drinks with an author, then dinner with the agent at a restaurant called Cambodia.
Feeling immensely fat and full of high-calorie fermented grapes, Cor-rine decided not to eat; but eventually she went out and picked up a fruit salad at the Korean market and lay on the couch watching stupid television shows, nurturing the warm sleepy feeling of being wanted, which had stayed with her through the afternoon, but which otherwise had been in rather short supply.
At eleven-ten she was astonished to see her face on TV as she flipped through the channels— a pretty good body.
Oh God, some horrible blowsy fat tramp two and half sheets to the wind, and there was Duane with a sort of precoital grin hovering over her shoulder. She was glad Russell hadn't been around to see it.
She was half asleep when he tiptoed in, breathing awkwardly, a little after one. He undressed in the dark and slipped between the sheets. She wanted to let him know she was awake, wanted to hear about his evening, but she wasn't quite sure how she was feeling about Russell: she had a right to be angry, although somehow she was too distant to be really upset.
And then he started to snore.
Nobody
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