except for the performers, two of whom were vomiting, Tess lightheaded and sick to the door and arms around her, helping arms taking her to safety and to air.
"-just stupidity, that's all it is. If they're supposed to be in charge," a dark pause, "then maybe we ought to rethink this whole fucking enterprise."
Tess, scrubbing her face for the third time, plastic stink indelible down her throat: slow turn, water running to a stop. Listening to Crane, outside on the stairs, Crane who could not see her: presumably as well the others just up from the show's debris, and Paul's voice: "I got no problems with them being in charge." A pause. "Either one of them."
Her hand on the faucet: listen to Sandrine: "-to admit it, she gets a little crazy sometimes, she's got her own ideas-"
"We could get sued. Has anybody thought of that?" Raelynne, dry, "No, Crane, only you would think of that. Who the hell's going to sue us?"
"Who?" His voice swooping, deep registers, the world's last sane man. "How about the kid who got all cut up?" What kid? "He's going to need stitches. And that woman, last time, yelling about being blinded, she-"
Tess, eyes closed in memory: the girl behind the panel; not blinded, no, but the flash would bring pain worse than a migraine, endless crying eyes and the cure for that was a raw potato, cut in two; put it on your eyes and let it sit. She had learned that in the truck shop, too. But that girl didn't know, though, did she?
And Crane still talking, "-Tess's stupid welding torch, what about her? What-"
"What about her, Crane?"
Bibi's voice, so flat even Tess froze, then from behind the green screen to the door to see the four in tableau and Bibi half a landing down. And rising: smoke-smeared, hair fantastic with sweat, black gauntlets shredded to the wrist. Staring.
"What about her?" Closer. "What about me, Crane? Are you going to sue me?" Even her voice stalking. "If I threw you down the stairs right now, would you sue me?" Hands on him now, her fingers flexing hard against the thin slick of his silver vest, the others stepping back; instinct; away. Crane far larger, far heavier, Crane's slitted eyes and no attempt to move, or even move her hands, scratching deeper now, she had torn the fabric, her hands all at once in gripping motion and he was tumbling, abruptly off balance as the others flattened startled to the wall and Bibi aloof above, smiling? And Tess, instant past the door her lunge to grab him back, yank his arm hard to keep his fall contained; something hurting in her back, the stress of his descent arrested.
Everyone staring; everyone silent. And Bibi, breathing through her nose, twin lines like scars deep and sudden in her forehead: "You asshole. Go home."
Crane on his feet, shaking sudden and enraged away from Tess, her guarding arm and down the stairs, not looking back: the ferocious slam of the fire door setting the dogs to yelping. Bibi's arrowed shoulders loosening, just a little, the tiny sound of her breath released.
"Go on," Tess to the others silent around them, "go on in," and waiting out their motion, Bibi where she was; waiting too. Tess closed the door, then quietly, to her alone: "I saw you hook his leg."
The barking dogs. Bibi shrugged.
"Did you want him to fall?"
Shrug.
"Bibi, answer me. Did you want him to fall?"
Another shrug, a step closer and "Did you see me jump off the ramp?" next to her now, linking arms. "Boom! I thought I broke my foot. Wasn't it cool?" and the smile tempered with something both hideous and sweet, something that made Tess close her fingers about the trusting arm, squeeze it lightly; and for an instant's darkness close her eyes.
Crane was out, back to the old group Raelynne said: "Back to his dumb toe-shoe shit," but Bibi's sneer was more succinct-"He was never what you'd call simpatico"-and
"-just stupidity, that's all it is. If they're supposed to be in charge," a dark pause, "then maybe we ought to rethink this whole fucking enterprise."
Tess, scrubbing her face for the third time, plastic stink indelible down her throat: slow turn, water running to a stop. Listening to Crane, outside on the stairs, Crane who could not see her: presumably as well the others just up from the show's debris, and Paul's voice: "I got no problems with them being in charge." A pause. "Either one of them."
Her hand on the faucet: listen to Sandrine: "-to admit it, she gets a little crazy sometimes, she's got her own ideas-"
"We could get sued. Has anybody thought of that?" Raelynne, dry, "No, Crane, only you would think of that. Who the hell's going to sue us?"
"Who?" His voice swooping, deep registers, the world's last sane man. "How about the kid who got all cut up?" What kid? "He's going to need stitches. And that woman, last time, yelling about being blinded, she-"
Tess, eyes closed in memory: the girl behind the panel; not blinded, no, but the flash would bring pain worse than a migraine, endless crying eyes and the cure for that was a raw potato, cut in two; put it on your eyes and let it sit. She had learned that in the truck shop, too. But that girl didn't know, though, did she?
And Crane still talking, "-Tess's stupid welding torch, what about her? What-"
"What about her, Crane?"
Bibi's voice, so flat even Tess froze, then from behind the green screen to the door to see the four in tableau and Bibi half a landing down. And rising: smoke-smeared, hair fantastic with sweat, black gauntlets shredded to the wrist. Staring.
"What about her?" Closer. "What about me, Crane? Are you going to sue me?" Even her voice stalking. "If I threw you down the stairs right now, would you sue me?" Hands on him now, her fingers flexing hard against the thin slick of his silver vest, the others stepping back; instinct; away. Crane far larger, far heavier, Crane's slitted eyes and no attempt to move, or even move her hands, scratching deeper now, she had torn the fabric, her hands all at once in gripping motion and he was tumbling, abruptly off balance as the others flattened startled to the wall and Bibi aloof above, smiling? And Tess, instant past the door her lunge to grab him back, yank his arm hard to keep his fall contained; something hurting in her back, the stress of his descent arrested.
Everyone staring; everyone silent. And Bibi, breathing through her nose, twin lines like scars deep and sudden in her forehead: "You asshole. Go home."
Crane on his feet, shaking sudden and enraged away from Tess, her guarding arm and down the stairs, not looking back: the ferocious slam of the fire door setting the dogs to yelping. Bibi's arrowed shoulders loosening, just a little, the tiny sound of her breath released.
"Go on," Tess to the others silent around them, "go on in," and waiting out their motion, Bibi where she was; waiting too. Tess closed the door, then quietly, to her alone: "I saw you hook his leg."
The barking dogs. Bibi shrugged.
"Did you want him to fall?"
Shrug.
"Bibi, answer me. Did you want him to fall?"
Another shrug, a step closer and "Did you see me jump off the ramp?" next to her now, linking arms. "Boom! I thought I broke my foot. Wasn't it cool?" and the smile tempered with something both hideous and sweet, something that made Tess close her fingers about the trusting arm, squeeze it lightly; and for an instant's darkness close her eyes.
Crane was out, back to the old group Raelynne said: "Back to his dumb toe-shoe shit," but Bibi's sneer was more succinct-"He was never what you'd call simpatico"-and
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