Free Glimmering by Elizabeth Hand Page A

Trip—”
    She turned to him. The rubber mask muffled her voice. “It’s been great talking to you.” Her hand when he shook it was small and fine boned. She lifted the mask so that he could see her smile. For the first time, Trip realized that the heavy makeup covered a network of scars, gashes that began beneath her eyes and extended to her jaw. Petra virus. Embarrassed and slightly horrified, he looked away as Nellie went on. “I’ll touch base with you tomorrow. And Marz—right back.”
    Immediately he slid into her empty chair, the one nearest to the girl.
    “Hey,” he said.
    The girl smiled tentatively. “Hi.”
    “So.” Trip cleared his throat. “She’s, like, your mother?”
    The girl stared at the empty glass in front of her. Her expression clouded, and she brought a hand to her mouth, started nibbling at her thumb. After a moment she spoke, in a sullen tone. “Yeah. She’s okay, I guess.” Her voice was heavily accented; it made his skin break out in goose bumps. “I am supposed to be dead, you know.”
    “Oh,” said Trip.
    He was close enough that he could smell the sweetish fragrance that clung to the fine white hair brushing the nape of her neck. Without thinking he took one of her hands. The other remained at her mouth, where she continued to chew her thumbnail. In the room around them Trip could hear soft voices and the sleepy twittering of caged finches, the plink of water in the fountain. He thought that probably he should say something but had no idea what. He had practically no experience whatsoever with girls, except those heavily chaperoned at church outings; a big deal had been made of his signing a vow of celibacy along with his morality contract. Virginal as a nun at twenty-two, Trip Marlowe had never really understood what the big deal was all about.
    Until now.
    He squeezed the girl’s hand. She didn’t squeeze it back, but smiled at him with devastating sweetness. Her skin was the bluish white of skim milk, the hollow of her throat lavender-gray. When she tilted her head her eyes caught the light and glowed violet. “So,” Trip coughed self-consciously. “Marz. Your real name is Marzana? Is that, uh, Polish?”
    She shook her head. “They called me the hyacinth girl.” Her voice was raspy, with a slight lisp. “So—just Marz. Okay?”
    “Sure. Listen—” He took her other hand, the thumb still damp, and held it tightly on the tabletop. “Could you—you want to do something? Like see a movie or something?”
    Marz laughed. “It’s kind of late—”
    “I mean tomorrow. I could meet you somewhere, pick you up. John Drinkwater could come with us, from my church. So you can tell her—Nellie, your mother—”
    “I don’t know.” The girl slipped her hands from his. She looked away, very deliberately. “Plus I just met you. I like your video, though. But yeah, okay.”
    He met her the next afternoon in the city, in Nellie Candry’s office at Agrippa Music. He told himself he couldn’t believe it was so easy. In fact it was almost the hardest thing he’d ever done. He lied to John Drinkwater and Jerry and Lucius, telling them he wanted to go to the city to visit one of the museums, the one with the dinosaurs. John was surprised but not suspicious, and instantly said no.
    “By yourself? You crazy, Trip? You never been in the city by yourself.”
    “I won’t walk—I’ll take taxis everywhere,” Trip protested, trying not to sound desperate. He’d been up all night, figuring out what he’d say. Now his heart was beating so hard he was afraid John would hear it; he was afraid John would know he’d jerked off three times already, thinking of her. “Or get me a driver like we did in Austin—”
    “You want to go to the city?” Lucius raised his eyebrows. “By yourself?”
    The manager looked over at John Drinkwater and shrugged. “Hey, there’s always a first time, right? I turned Alabaster Jar loose in San Francisco once, turned out okay. And Trip’s