Henry's Sisters. Cathy Lamb

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СКАЧАТЬ phone before I really get pissed.”

      I loved Cecilia. She did not deserve, no one deserved, what had come down the pike for her last year with that psycho-freak pig/husband of hers. My year had not been beautiful, either, but hers was worse.

      “Isabelle!” Cecilia/Cruella shouted, waiting for me to pick up. “Fine, Isabelle. Fine . Buck up and call me when you get out of bed and the man’s gone.”

      I flipped my head up. She knew! So often she knew about the men. She told me once, “Think of it this way: I don’t get the fun of the sex you have, but I sometimes know it’s happened by the vague smell of a cigarette.”

      See? Freaky.

      “I’m already out of bed, so quit nagging,” I muttered.

      “Is,” she whispered, the machine hardly picking up her voice. “Don’t leave me alone here.”

      “Cecilia hardly ever whispers,” I whispered to myself. “She is beyond desperate.” I ignored the tidal wave of guilt.

      “You have to help me. You have to help us ,” she said.

      No, I don’t have to help. I do not have to help you, or her.

      “I can’t do it without you. I will go right over the edge, like a fat rhino leaping over a cliff.” She hung up.

      I am going to live my own life as sanely as possible. My answer, then, has to be no. No, no, no, Cecilia.

      I conked my head against the counter, then tilted the Kahlúa bottle sideways into my mouth. I rarely drink, but Kahlúa for breakfast is delicious. I licked a few droplets right off the counter when they splattered, my beads clicking on the granite.

      The man in my bed stirred. I raised my head from the counter, mildly interested as to what he’d do next.

      I couldn’t remember his name. Did he have a name? I flipped over and stared at the open silver piping on my ceiling. Certainly he had a name. Because I couldn’t remember it didn’t mean he had no name.

      The man turned over. Nice chest!

      Surely this man’s mother gave him a name.

      For a wee flash of time, I let myself feel terrible. Cheap and dirty for yet another one-night stand.

      “Ha,” I declared. “Ha. This night must end right now.”

      I rolled off my counter, grabbed a pan from my cupboard, and filled it with cold water.

      When it was filled to the brim, I balanced it on my head, still clutching the Kahlúa bottle with two fingers, and teetered like a graceless acrobat on a wire to the man with no known name. “Good-bye to the night, hello to the incineration of my blue-and-white lacy bra.”

      I ignored the three- by-four-foot framed black-and-white photographs I’d taken hanging on my wall. Everyone in them was traumatized and I didn’t need to stare at their eyes today. They were people. They were kids. That bothered me. That’s why I hung them in my loft. So they would never, ever stop bothering me.

      That nagging question popped up: Would I ever shoot photos again after what happened?

      The man in my bed had been impressed when he’d found out who I was. I am not impressed with myself. I was not impressed with him.

      I put the pan down, tore my white fluffy comforter away from the man, then dumped the cold water over his head. It hit him square between the eyes and he shot out of bed like a bullet and landed on his feet within a millisecond, his fists up. Military training, I presumed.

      “That was fast,” I told him, dropping the pan to the floor and swilling another swig of Kahlúa.

       “What the hell?” He was coughing and sputtering and completely confused. “What the hell?”

      “I said, that was fast. Most men don’t jump up as fast as you did. You’re quick. Quick and agile.”

      He ran his hand over his face and swore. “What did you do that for? Are you insane?”

      “One, yes, I am. Insane. I’m still sensitive about that particular issue so let’s not discuss it, and two, I did it because I need you up and at ’em.” I sat down in my curving, chrome chair and crossed my legs. The chrome chilled my butt. “You can go now.”

      I did not miss the hurt expression in his eyes, but I dismissed it as fast as I could.

      “What do you mean, I can go?” he spat out, flicking water away from his hair.

      “I mean, you can go. Out the door. We had one night. We don’t need another one. We don’t need to chitchat. Chitchat makes me nauseated. I can’t stand superficiality. I’m done. Thanks for your time and efforts.”

      I watched his mouth drop open in shock. Nice lips!

      “Out you go.” See, this is the part of me that I despise. I truly do.

      He shook his head, water flicking off like a sprinkler. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

      “Nope. No joke. None.” I got up and went to the front door and opened it. “Good-bye. Tra la la, good-bye.”

      He stood, flabbergasted, naked and musclely and wet, then snatched up his shirt and yanked it over his head. “I thought…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I like you…we had fun…”

      “I don’t do fun.” No, I was past fun with men. That died when he couldn’t control his nightmares followed by the rake and fertilizer incident.

      “You don’t do fun?”

      He was befuddled, I knew that—completely befuddled. I love that word.

      I felt a stab of guilt but squished it down as hard as I could so it could live with all my other guilt.

      “Tootie scootie,” I drawled at him. “Scoot scoot.”

      He wiped trickles of water off his face.

      For long seconds, I didn’t think he was going to do what I told him to do. He did not appear to be the type of man who took orders from others well. He appeared to be the type that gave the orders.

      But not here.

      I took another swig of Kahlúa. Yum. “Don’t mess with me.”

      “I’m not going to mess with you. I thought I’d take you to breakfast—”

      “No. Out.” Out. Out of my life. Out of my head.

      He shook his head in total exasperation, water dripping from his ears. “Fine. I’m outta here. Where are my pants?”

      I nodded toward a crammed bookshelf where they’d been thrown. He yanked them on, his eyes searching my loft.

      “My jacket?”

      I nodded toward the wood table my friend Cassandra had carved. We had met in strange circumstances СКАЧАТЬ