breath, her tar shampoo. In that moment, she thought Julie might kiss her, but she didn’t, of course.
When Julie had used all the colors in the case, she unpacked a final surprise — an expanding mirror — and held it up to Milla’s face. Immediately, Milla was reminded of a glasnost-era movie about a hard-currency prostitute she’d seen with her parents. She looked, not like the prostitute-heroine, but like the heroine’s hapless Moldavian friend, Glasha, who was trying to move up to hard-currency work after a stint on the streets. Each of her cheeks bore a red triangle. Her lips were red, too, the shiny, bloody red of a recently sated cannibal. Her eyes were almost invisible beneath heavy, downward-sloping purple lashes.
“I love it,” she had said. “Can you do it for my wedding, too?”
Julie was Polish, not gay, not wealthy, not even Jewish, not even educated. If Malcolm’s parents found out! “Going off with a low- rent Pole, are you?” she imagined Jean saying. Milla would sock Jean right in the mouth (but those pointy teeth), the side of the head, then. Yes, she’d clock her good, grab Julie’s hand, and run away to New York City. Not to the Upper West Side, where Malcolm’s parents lived, but a more bohemian place: the Village. If Milla’s own parents found out —
These thoughts would go away once she was married. At no time previous to this had she been a lesbian. Obviously, lesbianism was one of those things that mysteriously came and went, like a sunspot (Julie’s hair in the sun!) or a wart.
She rolled her chair backwards, away from the mirror, so that more of her was visible. A lumpy-nosed vampire, she was lucky, very lucky, to have Malcolm Strauss for a fiancé. “Malcolm Strauss,” she said aloud. “My husband is Malcolm Strauss.” Then she tried, “My name is Malcolm Strauss,” but it sounded all wrong, so she couldn’t be a lesbian, or else she’d think it sounded fantastic, wouldn’t she?
Her phone rang. It was Malcolm, who had just finished his job interview at an advertising agency whose owner was friends with his mother. “How’s the welding coming along?” He called their wedding a welding, because their families were so different.
“Welding is hard work.” They were meant to be: they were already becoming an annoying couple. “When are you getting back?”
“I’m meeting Ravi and Jason, so I don’t know. One?”
Milla couldn’t help sighing into the phone. It was not so easy to live with her fiancé and her parents at once. Her mother would notice how late he’d come back. She couldn’t wait until they were married and alone in New York.
“What’s that for?” he said. She’d made him feel trapped and defensive, which you were never ever to do , all the women’s magazines agreed, it was like feeding a Gremlin. “You’re not even doing that much, are you? My mom said you just go around saying everything’s okay with you.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m not enough of a sosh for you,” Milla said and surprised herself by beginning to cry. She felt like a character in The Outsiders . Not like a specific character, but like all of them combined: The Outsider .
“What’s all this?” he said, and it was hard for Milla not to tell him. He was her sami rodnoy , her closest person. Instead, she listened as he said, “What’s going on?” and, “Milla,” and then, as she calmed down, “This is just wedding stuff, right?” and still later, “You think I want a socialist?”
Katya
Katya was living with a guy named Matt, or maybe a couple of guys, she wasn’t sure because his friends came over a lot. You have to know what your energy is about. You have to know what your energy is about. Say it fifty times as you breathe out. She breathed out onto the half-open window. There was a time when she would have drawn something in the condensation, an anarchy sign, the mark of the beast, a tulip, but now she looked at it and
When Julie had used all the colors in the case, she unpacked a final surprise — an expanding mirror — and held it up to Milla’s face. Immediately, Milla was reminded of a glasnost-era movie about a hard-currency prostitute she’d seen with her parents. She looked, not like the prostitute-heroine, but like the heroine’s hapless Moldavian friend, Glasha, who was trying to move up to hard-currency work after a stint on the streets. Each of her cheeks bore a red triangle. Her lips were red, too, the shiny, bloody red of a recently sated cannibal. Her eyes were almost invisible beneath heavy, downward-sloping purple lashes.
“I love it,” she had said. “Can you do it for my wedding, too?”
Julie was Polish, not gay, not wealthy, not even Jewish, not even educated. If Malcolm’s parents found out! “Going off with a low- rent Pole, are you?” she imagined Jean saying. Milla would sock Jean right in the mouth (but those pointy teeth), the side of the head, then. Yes, she’d clock her good, grab Julie’s hand, and run away to New York City. Not to the Upper West Side, where Malcolm’s parents lived, but a more bohemian place: the Village. If Milla’s own parents found out —
These thoughts would go away once she was married. At no time previous to this had she been a lesbian. Obviously, lesbianism was one of those things that mysteriously came and went, like a sunspot (Julie’s hair in the sun!) or a wart.
She rolled her chair backwards, away from the mirror, so that more of her was visible. A lumpy-nosed vampire, she was lucky, very lucky, to have Malcolm Strauss for a fiancé. “Malcolm Strauss,” she said aloud. “My husband is Malcolm Strauss.” Then she tried, “My name is Malcolm Strauss,” but it sounded all wrong, so she couldn’t be a lesbian, or else she’d think it sounded fantastic, wouldn’t she?
Her phone rang. It was Malcolm, who had just finished his job interview at an advertising agency whose owner was friends with his mother. “How’s the welding coming along?” He called their wedding a welding, because their families were so different.
“Welding is hard work.” They were meant to be: they were already becoming an annoying couple. “When are you getting back?”
“I’m meeting Ravi and Jason, so I don’t know. One?”
Milla couldn’t help sighing into the phone. It was not so easy to live with her fiancé and her parents at once. Her mother would notice how late he’d come back. She couldn’t wait until they were married and alone in New York.
“What’s that for?” he said. She’d made him feel trapped and defensive, which you were never ever to do , all the women’s magazines agreed, it was like feeding a Gremlin. “You’re not even doing that much, are you? My mom said you just go around saying everything’s okay with you.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m not enough of a sosh for you,” Milla said and surprised herself by beginning to cry. She felt like a character in The Outsiders . Not like a specific character, but like all of them combined: The Outsider .
“What’s all this?” he said, and it was hard for Milla not to tell him. He was her sami rodnoy , her closest person. Instead, she listened as he said, “What’s going on?” and, “Milla,” and then, as she calmed down, “This is just wedding stuff, right?” and still later, “You think I want a socialist?”
Katya
Katya was living with a guy named Matt, or maybe a couple of guys, she wasn’t sure because his friends came over a lot. You have to know what your energy is about. You have to know what your energy is about. Say it fifty times as you breathe out. She breathed out onto the half-open window. There was a time when she would have drawn something in the condensation, an anarchy sign, the mark of the beast, a tulip, but now she looked at it and
Similar Books
