9.
Though I've tried, I've fallen...
I have sunk so low
I messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here
And tell me I told you so...
We all begin with good intent
Love was raw and young
We believed that we could change ourselves
The past could be undone
But we carry on our backs the burden
Time always reveals
In the lonely light of morning
In the wound that would not heal
It's the bitter taste of losing everything
That I've held so dear.
I've fallen...
I have sunk so low
I messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here
And tell me I told you so...
Heaven bend to take my hand
Nowhere left to turn
I'm lost to those I thought were friends
To everyone I know
Oh they turn their heads embarassed
Pretend that they don't see
But it's one missed step
One slip before you know it
And there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed
Though I've tried, I've fallen...
I have sunk so low
I messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here
And tell me I told you so...
- Sarah McLachlan, "Fallen"
Jeff stared across the table at me. "You want me to what?" he asked. I think his voice went up a full octave, he was thathorrified.
"Oh, come on, Jeff," I scoffed. "You're the most bloodthirsty shark I know. What are you afraid of?"
"Harpoons. Big, pointy, gigantic freakin' harpoons." He shook his head and pushed his plate away. "Listen, hon, I'd love to help, but your stepmother's got your dad's lawyers on her side-"
"So?"
"So if I don't want my head stuffed and mounted and hung next to the heads of all of the other lawyers who were stupid enough to take on the Blumenthal attack squad, I'm gonna have to take a pass on this one."
I had my checkbook with me, but I couldn't access my accounts. I'd tried before coming here. Chances were that any check I wrote would bounce right back, and Jeff was a cash-only kind of guy, anyway. Plastic wouldn't fly with him, either – it was too easy to trace. I drummed my fingernails on the table.
Then I thought of my mother's jewelry. "How much would it take to change your mind?"
He looked at me. "How much does a miracle cost?" he asked.
I felt sick. "So you're not going to help me."
He looked away. "It's not that, it's…" He fiddled with his straw and trailed off uncomfortably. "Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors, anyway?" he asked, as if to cover the awkward silence.
I gave him my best no-comment stare. "Are you in any way legally required to know the answer to that question?"
"No."
"Then I'm not answering it." I laid down my napkin. "Well, it's been fun, but I think I can see where this is going," I announced. "I'm leaving. If you change your mind, let me know. If not, I'm sure I can find someone else who actually has the balls to help me."
I wanted to claw that pitying look right off of his face. "I'll pick up the tab," he said quietly. "You just take care of yourself, all right?"
"Thanks. Will do." I pushed my chair back from the table and left.
**********************************************************************
The bartender poured me another tequila.
It was a good one. Anejo. Pale amber. Smooth, with just a hint of the clean sweetness of the agave behind the oak.
I tossed the tequila back in one gulp, slammed the glass back down on the bar counter, and wondered how I could ever have been so goddamned stupid as to let things come to this.
Everything was in dad's name. He'd opened the accounts when I'd turned eighteen. He'd left his name on them so that he could manage my investments and transfer money over at will. All I'd ever had to do was tell my employers where to deposit my paycheck. He'd taken care of the rest.
He'd given me the apartment. The furniture. The sound system. Even the artwork on the walls had belonged to him.
All I had was my jewelry, and while that would tide me over for a while, it wouldn't last.
Besides, that wasn't the point.
Dad had loved Lois. He hadn't seen her for what she was.
But I had.
I had, and yet I'd left it all wide open for her to take.
Why had I done that? How could I have been such an idiot?
Because daddy always took care of everything for me,I thought hollowly. I didn't even question it. I just let him do his thing and didn't worry my pretty little head about it.
It hadn't occurred to me that he would die so suddenly and leave everything in a tangle. It should have been obvious. He'd had his first heart attack at forty-six. The next one had only been a matter of time.
I stared at my empty glass. Then I ordered another.
The bartender looked at me. His hands didn't move. "It's late," he said gently. "Shouldn't you be getting home?"
I blinked at him. "Why?" I asked blankly.
He sighed. "Sister, have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately?"
There was a mirror behind the bar. I peered at it until it swam into focus.
A stranger peered back at me.
Her cheeks were gaunt, her skin was pale, and her long dark hair had gone past curly and straight to 'medusa'.
Worst of all were her eyes. They were ringed with dark circles, and looking into them was like looking into a pair of bloodshot, Nietzschean pits.
I looked away. "Shut up and give me another," I said wearily. "It's not as if I've got anywhere else to go tonight."
I'd talked to more lawyers after Jeff had shot me down. No one would agree to take my case.
It had been nice to have a legal team that struck the fear of god into opposing counsel. I'd gotten accustomed to having it at my more or less instantaneous disposal, and I hadn't given it any more thought than that.
It had never occurred to me how it felt to be the opposing counsel. Or the opposing anything, for that matter. It was as if there was a steamroller headed my way, and I didn't have the foggiest idea what to do about it. Part of me just wanted to lie down and let it roll over me – and the more I drank, the bigger that part became.
I tried to focus on the bartender. "It used t'be so easy," I said blearily. "What the hell went wrong?"
"Things'll look better in the morning," he said. I didn't look the look of pity in his eyes any more than I'd liked the same look in Jeff's. "Drink some water and get some sleep, sugar. You'll see."
I looked at him and smiled. He was cute, with his caramel skin, neat dreadlocks, and easy smile. "I could take you home with me, instead," I suggested coyly. I frowned. "'Cept I don't have a home right now," I added. "Guess it'll have t'be your place. Y'all right with that?"
He cleared the empty glasses away, save for the one I was still clutching in my grubby little fist. "Sorry, sister," he said. "I'm sure you'll be a knockout once you clean yourself up a little, but I bat for the other team."
"Oh. That's a shame."
He grinned. "Not from my angle, it isn't," he said. He wiped the bar. "Tell you what," he said after a while. "I'll do you one better. I'll get you a room at a hotel, call you a cab, and you can sleep tight without worrying about a thing until noon tomorrow. I'll even put it on your tab and you can take care of it next time you come in. How about it?"
I huffed a bitter laugh. "I can't sleep," I said.
"Don't worry about that, sugar. With the amount of liquor you've got in you, you'll be off to sleepyland in no time."
"No," I said. "You don't understand. I can'tsleep." I looked down at the bar. It was made of brushed metal and dark wood, and it blurred together in my vision. "There was a…was this guy…"
He sighed. "There always is," he murmured, rolling his eyes. "What did he do to you, girl?"
I giggled. "His feet didn't touch the ground," I mumbled. I rubbed my eyes. "Then he vanished. Poof. Gone. Walked into a, a picture frame and left me with a, with a mess."
Now the bartender was looking at me really strangely. "That's it," he said. "I'm cutting you off."
"I think he cursed me. Or something," I rambled on, ignoring him. "I wish I could find him. I'd…" What would I do? "I'd ask him what the fuck he was thinking, messing with my head like that. I'd make him…" My fingers tightened around my glass. "Make him tell me what he did." I thought about it. "Make him pay."
The bartender laid his hand over mine. "I'm calling you a cab now," he repeated clearly and evenly. "And you're going to bed. Okay?"
I jerked my hand away. "No!" I exclaimed, and slammed my fist down on the counter. I heard a tinkle of glass and felt a strange hot sensation in my hand. "Damn it, I tol' you! I can't sleep! I can't-" I looked down at my hand. Broken glass glittered. Bright red blood welled up from my palm and started snaking down my wrist. "Oh," I said.
The bartender took one look. "Shit," he said, and grabbed a bar towel. He wrapped it around my hand. "Shit, shit, shit. Hold still. Keep pressure on it, okay, honey? I'll call an ambulance."
I picked up a shard of the broken shot glass and stared at it, wide-eyed. There was blood on it, but I didn't really notice that.
"To enter the portal, hold a shard of broken glass in your left hand and a blade of grass in your right,"whispered a fractured memory, reflected in the broken glass.
It hadn't worked. I'd tried to walk through the picture frame and vanish, just as the cloaked man had done, but it hadn't worked.
I'd thought it was because I was just nuts. Picture frames didn't turn into doorways to other places. Strange men didn't pop into existence just to fuck up people's lives. To think otherwise was a sign of serious derangement.
"When you are ready, you will find me on the other side."
I turned the broken glass over in my bloodied fingers.
What if I wasn't nuts?
What if I'd just been going about things the wrong way?
I looked up. The bartender had his back turned while he called the paramedics.
I wrapped the shard of glass in a cocktail napkin and slipped it into my purse.
Then I waited, because by then the bartender was watching me like a hawk and I'd hate it if anyone thought I was crazy.
