Rouge(24)

They look like they don’t understand my words.

“Get?”

“Back?”

“I actually live in Canada. Montreal. I’m really just here for the next few days. To settle her affairs. Then I fly home.” Home. When I say it, it feels like such an empty word. What does it signify? A one-room apartment, the walls lined with bottles and jars. A narrow bed where I lie each night curled around my laptop like it’s a fire, like it could actually warm me. Watching Marva’s face talk to me about my own face until my eyes close. And then? A dreamless sleep until my eyes open to the sight of her white face once more. Smiling kindly. Patiently. Like she was waiting for me the whole time.

I glance down at all the beautiful people glowing redly under the chandelier. There’s a man in a hat standing a little apart from the crowd. Staring up at me, it looks like. Do I know him?

“Home,” the woman in red repeats, calling me back. A flash of something like anger in her face. Anger or hunger? But it quickly retreats. “Of course. Daughter has her worldly obligations.” The twins drop their cool silk hands from my face. Terrible. It feels terrible.

“I really wish I could stay,” I say. “This seems like such a lovely…” Is it a spa? Suddenly, looking into their pale eyes, I’m not so sure anymore. They smile widely.

“Well. It’ll all work out, I’m sure.”

“Sure it will,” the twins say at the same time.

“Although you know, Daughter,” the woman in red says, suddenly stepping in closer to me. Suddenly inches from my face. “Sometimes you gotta say what the fuck. Make your move.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Risky Business, isn’t it?”

I flash to the shoebox full of Tom Cruise clippings. The torn movie poster. “What?” My skin grows cold under her smiling eyes.

“I must say you’re looking a little pale, Daughter,” she murmurs, still inches from my face.

“Am I?” I do feel very funny suddenly. Perhaps those red stars are really beginning to hit.

“In need of some rejuvenation. Perhaps a visit to the Depths is called for.”

“Oh yes, you must see the Depths,” the female twin says.

“The Depths?”

“I’ll take you down,” the male twin says.

“I’ll take you down,” says the female twin.

I notice the lights have dimmed. They’re leading me down the stairs, each taking an arm. Such a gentle grip. I can feel their finger pads through the silk gloves, caressing my arms. “We hope you’ll come back and see us, Daughter,” they’re whispering into my ears as we glide down the hall. Are they whispering that? The words are only a bit louder than silence. We move quickly across the hall, through the glittering crowd, like we’re floating. They stay close to me, whispering to me. Causing a chill down the sides of my neck. “We really hope you will,” they say.



* * *




And then? They’ve left me. Their lips no longer at my ear. Their scent of bergamot and rose and oud hovering faintly in the air. I’m standing in a large crowd before some ceiling-to-floor red curtains. They surround what looks like a grand circular stage in the middle of the hall. Was this here before? The curtains are lovely. Heavy, velvety. So red. What’s behind them, the Depths? Must be the Depths, because all around me people murmur excitedly, like they’re waiting for a show. Like I used to when I was a child watching Mother perform onstage. Little independent theaters. Experimental plays. Mother bowing before a small audience of mostly men. All of them clapping fiercely when she came out from behind the curtain, as though their hands might break. To my child’s ear it sounded like a roar. It would ring in my ears hours later in my bedroom full of spiders. But I clapped too in the audience, surrounded by those violently applauding men. I clapped slowly, quietly, my little rebellion. Mother didn’t see me though. She could see only the light on her own face. She could hear only the roaring approval of the dark. I watched her bow humbly as bouquet after bouquet was thrown at her feet. Beaming in the spotlight like she was a plant performing photosynthesis, all the petals of her unfurling. Now I look at the red curtains, almost waiting for Mother to emerge from behind them. I hold my breath, afraid. But when the curtains are pulled back, no Mother. Not even a stage. A vast aquarium tank, ceiling to floor like the curtains. Bell-shaped, like a downward-facing flower. The glass walls aren’t smooth, they’re warped and convoluted, causing distortions. A dancing golden light like sunlight through the blue-green water. The tank is filled with what looks like giant red jellyfish. They glow redly in the water, swelling and undulating as they pass the uneven magnification of the glass. Everyone around me claps and makes sounds of delight.

“Merveilleux!” I hear under someone’s breath.

“Bigger than last time!”

“Too beautiful,” someone whispers right beside me.

I stare at the red jellyfish, their bell-shaped heads pulsing in the bright aqua water. It looks like another time, another world, behind the glass. Mesmerizing to watch them undulate and float, trailing all those tangly tentacles. I can’t seem to stop staring. Beautiful up close, I’m up close now. Somehow I’ve walked myself right up to the tank without realizing. I’m inches from the glass, staring deeply into the blue-green of this small sea. The light is what draws me. How it reflects me back to myself in the warped glass. And what I see there. Me as I’ve never seen myself before. Glowing skin. My features sharp as Mother’s. I’m smiling. I don’t feel like I’m smiling, but there I am, smiling in the glass. Gone are the folds around my mouth; the scar on my forehead; my misery lines; the sad, slack jaw and the puffy, dark-ringed eyes. All is sharp and taut. All sparkles. Brightly. Whitely. Beautiful. I look beautiful. Like a film heroine from the forties. Better than even my dream of myself. A red jellyfish swims through my reflection, but I still appear to smile as the tentacles move across my face. Wider, like it pleases me. Tears glisten behind my shining eyes.