Read Online This Cake is for the Party by Sarah Selecky - Free Book Online
Authors: Sarah Selecky
Ads: Link
S. showed up at her door dressed only in his towel. He was so tall, his head grazed the light fixture that hung from the hall ceiling. He brought two bottles of grape drink and two bendable straws. Carolyn reached up to take the bottle he offered her.
Thank you, she said politely. His naked chest was the size of a warehouse, but it was smooth and delicately glazed with sweat. He used his free hand to adjust the fold of his towel. The shape of his fingernails reminded her of butterscotch candies.
Do you feel it? asked Mark S.
A deep pulse slithered down Carolynâs throat and detonated in her stomach. I feel it, said Carolyn.
She let him inside her room. Mark S. lifted the single mattress off the bed frame and placed it on the floor. As he bent down to smooth the duvet below, Carolyn saw, with a specific and inexplicable flash of intuition, what they were going to do to each other next. She saw her naked hips in his large hands. Mark S. stripped Carolynâs clothing from her body slowly, and he draped each piece onto the bed frame. In his fingers, her pink blouse looked like a creased strip of sushi ginger. He placed his palms on her hips, just as sheâd envisioned. Her sexual premonitions escalated as they moved together, and the montage in her head made her nerve endings thick and hot. She slid into the collapse between present and future. Her skin cells widened to absorb more from his touch. She felt Mark S. in her thymus and her eardrums, in the arches of her feet and through her spinal fluid. When he left her room, only a few hours before breakfast would be served, she tried to say good night to him, but her words were only compressed air.
On Friday evening, six days into the study, while the group was watching an episode of The X Files , Larissa told them that she thought her heart was beating too fast. What sheâd actually said: My heart is beating super fast. The NuPres doctors would have heard her say it, of course. But they didnât come until it was too late. When Larissa collapsed, her head hit the arm of the sofa and knocked the remote control onto the floor. The plastic panel broke off and two AA batteries rolled out in opposite directions. Dr. Brown had two interns carry Larissa out of the room, and that was the last anyone heard of her. The next day, the final day of the study, Carolyn and the others walked up to the television to turn it on and off manually; nobody bothered to look for those lost batteries.
None of the other test subjects experienced any severe heart palpitations.
They confiscated Carolynâs film at the end of the week and developed it in the NuPres lab, but they wouldnât let her see the pictures. Dr. Brown told her that it was a breach of privacy for the project, as well as for the other test subjects. That if sheâd read her waiver carefully, it would have been clear: no media was allowed to know about the project.
But why did you wait until this morning to take it away from me? Carolyn asked. You must have known I was shooting film all week.
Dr. Brown wore large glasses with bright red frames that were out of fashion. The white lab coat was also too big for her. She rolled her cuffs several times to keep the sleeves from flopping over her hands. Iâm sorry, she said. But we wanted to see how you would react to the stimuli. As a photographer.
I think I took a few good ones, said Carolyn.
Theyâre out of focus, said Dr. Brown.
Carolyn received her cheque on Saturday afternoon and took the public transit back to her apartment. She deposited the cheque, paid her landlord, found a job at the campus bookstore, and finished her degree. Some of her landscape shots were published alongside an article about RRSP contributions in a local magazine, which made her think of pursuing a career in photojournalism. Eventually, after a few months of unpaid work and rejection letters, Carolyn applied for a year of teacherâs college instead. She accepted a
Thank you, she said politely. His naked chest was the size of a warehouse, but it was smooth and delicately glazed with sweat. He used his free hand to adjust the fold of his towel. The shape of his fingernails reminded her of butterscotch candies.
Do you feel it? asked Mark S.
A deep pulse slithered down Carolynâs throat and detonated in her stomach. I feel it, said Carolyn.
She let him inside her room. Mark S. lifted the single mattress off the bed frame and placed it on the floor. As he bent down to smooth the duvet below, Carolyn saw, with a specific and inexplicable flash of intuition, what they were going to do to each other next. She saw her naked hips in his large hands. Mark S. stripped Carolynâs clothing from her body slowly, and he draped each piece onto the bed frame. In his fingers, her pink blouse looked like a creased strip of sushi ginger. He placed his palms on her hips, just as sheâd envisioned. Her sexual premonitions escalated as they moved together, and the montage in her head made her nerve endings thick and hot. She slid into the collapse between present and future. Her skin cells widened to absorb more from his touch. She felt Mark S. in her thymus and her eardrums, in the arches of her feet and through her spinal fluid. When he left her room, only a few hours before breakfast would be served, she tried to say good night to him, but her words were only compressed air.
On Friday evening, six days into the study, while the group was watching an episode of The X Files , Larissa told them that she thought her heart was beating too fast. What sheâd actually said: My heart is beating super fast. The NuPres doctors would have heard her say it, of course. But they didnât come until it was too late. When Larissa collapsed, her head hit the arm of the sofa and knocked the remote control onto the floor. The plastic panel broke off and two AA batteries rolled out in opposite directions. Dr. Brown had two interns carry Larissa out of the room, and that was the last anyone heard of her. The next day, the final day of the study, Carolyn and the others walked up to the television to turn it on and off manually; nobody bothered to look for those lost batteries.
None of the other test subjects experienced any severe heart palpitations.
They confiscated Carolynâs film at the end of the week and developed it in the NuPres lab, but they wouldnât let her see the pictures. Dr. Brown told her that it was a breach of privacy for the project, as well as for the other test subjects. That if sheâd read her waiver carefully, it would have been clear: no media was allowed to know about the project.
But why did you wait until this morning to take it away from me? Carolyn asked. You must have known I was shooting film all week.
Dr. Brown wore large glasses with bright red frames that were out of fashion. The white lab coat was also too big for her. She rolled her cuffs several times to keep the sleeves from flopping over her hands. Iâm sorry, she said. But we wanted to see how you would react to the stimuli. As a photographer.
I think I took a few good ones, said Carolyn.
Theyâre out of focus, said Dr. Brown.
Carolyn received her cheque on Saturday afternoon and took the public transit back to her apartment. She deposited the cheque, paid her landlord, found a job at the campus bookstore, and finished her degree. Some of her landscape shots were published alongside an article about RRSP contributions in a local magazine, which made her think of pursuing a career in photojournalism. Eventually, after a few months of unpaid work and rejection letters, Carolyn applied for a year of teacherâs college instead. She accepted a
Similar Books
