MTV.
Since Jack and I didn’t have anything to change into (we slept in our shorts) we put the pizza out on the coffee table and found some paper plates up in Dad’s cupboard.
Dill came out of the bedroom first, wearing a pair of her dad’s old striped pajamas with the sleeves and pants rolled up.
I cornered her in the kitchen. “Jack’s still drinking.”
“I’d drink, too, if she was my date for a birthday weekend. Didn’t she think of a cake? Some candles we could put on top of the pizza? Something?”
“She gave him the T-shirt,” I said.
“That thing will fall apart in the wash,” Dill said. “She wouldn’t wear it herself. Have you noticed the clothes she’s brought along for herself this weekend?”
Right on cue, Nicki came out of the bedroom in a silk robe that looked like it was torn at the bottom, with something white and silk and torn-looking under it. Barefoot, the same rhinestone ankle bracelet. The white lace scarf she’d worn around her neck to the concert was holding back her long blond hair.
We sat around gobbling down pizza and watching MTV, but the fun was gone out of the evening for Dill, who looked like a little boy over on Dad’s couch. Nicki spread herself out on the rug, leaning back against a pillow, blowing perfect smoke rings up at the ceiling. The Long Island Tea was beginning to show on Jack. He was stretched out on the rug, too, on his back, trying to talk with his eyes closed, close to konking out.
Dad’s apartment always looked like the maid just left, and I was running around after we ate, getting the pizza carton and the paper plates ready to carry down to the incinerator.
Dill came into the kitchen and said, “All she needs is a feather boa wrapped around her neck. I feel like some eighth grader still going through my tomboy stage.”
“What the hell am I going to do about Jack when Dad gets here?”
“Leave Jack where he is. I’ll get her to bed. Let’s just start all over tomorrow. Okay?”
I kissed her. I said, “Do you want to take a walk in Central Park tomorrow morning? Early?”
“Just the two of us, please,” Dill said.
I kissed her again. I could hear Nicki in the background saying, “Jack? Wake up!” I knew she’d never wake him up if he’d passed out.
I could hear Honeymoon Suite singing their old song about a hot summer night and a new girl.
“Nicki?” Dill called in. “Bedtime. Okay?”
“Okay,” she called back. “Go ahead and use the bathroom first.”
I took everything down to the incinerator.
When I came back, Nicki was standing in the kitchen. I could hear the water running in the bathroom down the hall.
“I can’t wake Jack up,” Nicki said. She leaned against the refrigerator and watched me. “What did you like best in the concert?”
“‘Thunder Road,’ I guess. I like that bit he does at the end, on his knees, when he slides across to the saxophonist.”
“I like ‘Born in the U.S.A’ best,” Nicki said. “That part about the woman his brother loved in Saigon? About him having a picture of his brother in her arms?”
I kept smelling that perfume of hers.
She said, “I liked ‘Dancing in the Dark,’ too. I wouldn’t mind being asked to dance with him like that girl was tonight? He did the same thing on the video, asked a girl from the audience up onstage.”
“Nicki,” I said, “Jack doesn’t usually drink.”
“I don’t care if somebody drinks. Ski drank.”
“I just wanted you to know that.”
“It’s how somebody drinks.”
“That’s why he isn’t drinking well. He doesn’t drink.”
“He doesn’t drink well, and he doesn’t let me talk about things. I can’t even mention Ski’s name.”
“Jack’s jealous. You can’t blame him.”
“But I like to talk about things. I can, with you.” She had her arms folded in front of her, her head cocked to one side, eyes watching me that way, one eyebrow raised.
I heard Dill call, “Good night,” as she came out of the
Since Jack and I didn’t have anything to change into (we slept in our shorts) we put the pizza out on the coffee table and found some paper plates up in Dad’s cupboard.
Dill came out of the bedroom first, wearing a pair of her dad’s old striped pajamas with the sleeves and pants rolled up.
I cornered her in the kitchen. “Jack’s still drinking.”
“I’d drink, too, if she was my date for a birthday weekend. Didn’t she think of a cake? Some candles we could put on top of the pizza? Something?”
“She gave him the T-shirt,” I said.
“That thing will fall apart in the wash,” Dill said. “She wouldn’t wear it herself. Have you noticed the clothes she’s brought along for herself this weekend?”
Right on cue, Nicki came out of the bedroom in a silk robe that looked like it was torn at the bottom, with something white and silk and torn-looking under it. Barefoot, the same rhinestone ankle bracelet. The white lace scarf she’d worn around her neck to the concert was holding back her long blond hair.
We sat around gobbling down pizza and watching MTV, but the fun was gone out of the evening for Dill, who looked like a little boy over on Dad’s couch. Nicki spread herself out on the rug, leaning back against a pillow, blowing perfect smoke rings up at the ceiling. The Long Island Tea was beginning to show on Jack. He was stretched out on the rug, too, on his back, trying to talk with his eyes closed, close to konking out.
Dad’s apartment always looked like the maid just left, and I was running around after we ate, getting the pizza carton and the paper plates ready to carry down to the incinerator.
Dill came into the kitchen and said, “All she needs is a feather boa wrapped around her neck. I feel like some eighth grader still going through my tomboy stage.”
“What the hell am I going to do about Jack when Dad gets here?”
“Leave Jack where he is. I’ll get her to bed. Let’s just start all over tomorrow. Okay?”
I kissed her. I said, “Do you want to take a walk in Central Park tomorrow morning? Early?”
“Just the two of us, please,” Dill said.
I kissed her again. I could hear Nicki in the background saying, “Jack? Wake up!” I knew she’d never wake him up if he’d passed out.
I could hear Honeymoon Suite singing their old song about a hot summer night and a new girl.
“Nicki?” Dill called in. “Bedtime. Okay?”
“Okay,” she called back. “Go ahead and use the bathroom first.”
I took everything down to the incinerator.
When I came back, Nicki was standing in the kitchen. I could hear the water running in the bathroom down the hall.
“I can’t wake Jack up,” Nicki said. She leaned against the refrigerator and watched me. “What did you like best in the concert?”
“‘Thunder Road,’ I guess. I like that bit he does at the end, on his knees, when he slides across to the saxophonist.”
“I like ‘Born in the U.S.A’ best,” Nicki said. “That part about the woman his brother loved in Saigon? About him having a picture of his brother in her arms?”
I kept smelling that perfume of hers.
She said, “I liked ‘Dancing in the Dark,’ too. I wouldn’t mind being asked to dance with him like that girl was tonight? He did the same thing on the video, asked a girl from the audience up onstage.”
“Nicki,” I said, “Jack doesn’t usually drink.”
“I don’t care if somebody drinks. Ski drank.”
“I just wanted you to know that.”
“It’s how somebody drinks.”
“That’s why he isn’t drinking well. He doesn’t drink.”
“He doesn’t drink well, and he doesn’t let me talk about things. I can’t even mention Ski’s name.”
“Jack’s jealous. You can’t blame him.”
“But I like to talk about things. I can, with you.” She had her arms folded in front of her, her head cocked to one side, eyes watching me that way, one eyebrow raised.
I heard Dill call, “Good night,” as she came out of the
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