Free Women and Children First by Francine Prose

wrong with these people, how could Gary sit there and joke with these assholes who had almost let him drown, who were too selfish and lazy to even find out if he had been drowning, and maybe for a little while, at dinner, knew they’d done something wrong, but seeing it on video had freed them, had let them pretend it was just something else on TV.
    Nasir didn’t answer. Instead he very gently placed his hand on the back of Valerie’s neck. Valerie felt slightly queasy with lust, felt literally slightly sick. The warmth of his hand drew everything to the back of her neck, but everything was confused—sex, anger, exhaustion, fear, the kavakava which suddenly tasted awful. She said, “Christ. I need air.”
    She went out onto the lawn which sloped down to the Sound. It was a clear night and in the distance she could make out the lights of Block Island. After a while she heard people outside, near the door, getting the mountain of wood needed to make a fire in that cavernous fireplace.
    When they’d gone in, and smoke was coming from the chimney, she went to the woodpile and got the smallest pieces and began to stack them near the far end of the lawn. She made many trips, adding on branches which had fallen during a rainstorm last week and still lay around on the grass. When she had enough for a sizable bonfire, she sneaked back into the house. Everyone was watching the fireplace, or reruns of SCTV. She ducked into the kitchen and got newspapers and a bottle of brandy.
    The fire flared up so fast she jumped back. It went up in two stages, first it rose to two feet, then to about fifteen feet and stayed there, burning. Valerie stood with her back to the house, as near to the fire as she could. The fire didn’t seem hot enough; she kept hugging herself and shivering. She imagined people up at the house, looking out the windows, laughing, maybe even applauding Valerie’s latest crazy stunt. Then they would go back to the TV, or the bigger, nearer fire of their own.
    Valerie really did feel crazed as she began to pace, slinking back and forth by the fire, like something out of Cat People. She gazed into the flames, putting herself in a kind of a trance which it took her some time to snap out of when Nasir came up beside her. “Great fire,” he said.
    “Thanks,” said Valerie.
    Then he said, “Give them a break, okay? They’re scared too. Are you one hundred percent certain that you would have jumped in and saved him?”
    Valerie was ninety-nine percent certain that she would at least have made sure someone did. But Nasir’s words made her stop and think about the group in the house, about the terrible power of politeness, the desire that things remain civilized and well-mannered, the awful paralysis of the grateful guest. She looked back at the house and thought: No one lives there, no one has stakes there. They’re all one another’s guests.
    It made her treasure Nasir even more, for quieting that part of her which was usually so harsh and quick to condemn. She thought: With Nasir, she would be a better person. She looked up into his face. They began to kiss, sweetly at first, then harder. After a while Nasir tipped his head back and as Valerie kissed his neck, he said, in a husky voice, “What about Suzanne?”
    “What about Suzanne?” said Valerie.
    “You two are friends, right?” he said. “Good friends. You can get her to come out here…the three of us…”
    Valerie said, “No way.”
    Nasir laughed and hugged her. “All right,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.” He kissed her a couple more times. But really, it mattered a lot, it beamed like a laser straight to the part of her brain that governed desire. It cut that part right out. All Valerie could see was herself and Suzanne and Nasir, like some sleazy cameraman might see them, pale blond Suzanne, dark Valerie, Nasir darker still. It amazed her that what you’d hoped was the start of your life could turn out to be a scene in someone else’s