The Singing Bone (28 page)

She hadn't expected Allegra to leave the play. The play was becoming a mystery because the actors kept changing. Alice couldn't remember if she was an actor or in the audience. Even though he was the director, Mr. Wyck was in the play. Lee was in the play. Stover had been in the play last night, but she and Molly were in the audience, watching. That's right.

Alice was alone in the house with Molly and Stover. She wondered if Lee and Mr. Wyck were looking for Trina, but Trina was supposed to come back because of the magic. Alice got up and went to find Stover. He was still sleeping. She got in bed next to him. “We have to make Trina come back,” she whispered, but she couldn't wake him up. She sat up. She thought about taking a shower. Or eating. Instead, she lit one of Stover's cigarettes and stared at the wall. She began to sing the song Molly had sung in the bus last night:
There were two sisters, Night and Death
—but then she stopped. She didn't like the song. It had a stupid ending. For a while she sat there smoking and thinking. She picked at her nails, wondering how the song should end.

She got up and put on one of Stover's shirts. She found a pair of clean boxer shorts, and taking Stover's pack of cigarettes with her, she went into the room where they used to record. She pulled a page from one of the scale books and sat down with Mr. Wyck's guitar. Though Alice didn't really play, she could pluck out a few things. In an hour she'd gotten the song's simple guitar chords and in another, she'd written part of the song she wanted to sing on a scrap of paper. By evening, she was singing into the tape recorder.

Molly came in with a plate of spaghetti and handed it to Alice. “Where is everybody?” she said. Alice shrugged.

Stover leaned against the doorframe, rubbing his eyes. “Is T. back?”

Alice shook her head. “I don't think it's time yet.”

Stover left and came back with another plate of pasta. After he ate, he took a blue pill and handed one to Molly.

“What is it?” Molly asked.

Stover shook his head. He drank a beer. “No clue,” he said. “Maybe it's a diuretic.”

“A what?” Molly said, laughing.

“Something that makes you pee,” Alice said.

Stover grinned. “Have you seen my cigarettes?”

Alice pushed the near-empty pack towards him.

“You smoked almost all of them,” Stover said, shaking one loose and lighting it. “I'll ask Allegra for one.”

“She's not here.” Alice looked at the words she'd written. Did they make sense? “I saw her go out this morning.”

“Where did she go?” Molly sat in the corner of the room with her knees in front of her. She gestured at the pack of cigarettes and Stover pushed them over to her.

“Anything?” he asked. “Do you feel anything yet?”

Alice realized the play was starting again.

“No,” Molly said. “Nothing. So where did Allegra go?”

“How should I know? I just saw her leave. Then Mr. Wyck and Lee left. They were looking for someone.”

“T.?”

“This play is getting boring,” Alice said. She put down the guitar and stood and stretched.

“What play?” Stover asked. Molly motioned for him to be quiet.

Alice picked up the bottle that had the blue pills in it and shook two out. “I feel bloated,” she said. She thought of a woman's stomach pushing at the elastic band of a pair of polyester pants. She stuck out her stomach. “So what is this?” she asked Stover, but he was not paying attention to her. Alice turned and looked at the doorway. Trina stood there. “Commencement of the denouement,” Alice said. “Welcome the fuck back.”

The handgun is black, small. Alice thinks it looks fake.

“This is the best gun on the market for self-protection,” the clerk says. He doesn't look old enough to be behind the counter in a gun shop.
Ask me!
his nametag says. Underneath, he's written
Tom.

Alice thinks handguns should look more dangerous. They should come with a warning label, like cigarettes.
Warning: When fired into the human body, firearms can maim, paralyze, and cause death.
She turns it over. She doesn't aim or hold the gun the way a gun is normally held. She holds it in her palm as if it were a piece of fruit. “It's light,” she says.

“Best gun on the market,” Tom says again. “You can rent one at the range and try it out.”

She thinks of the photographs the police showed her of the guns they found in Mr. Wyck's basement. He kept them in three battered army lockers. Jack Wyck said the police planted the guns, but Alice doubts it. Alice doubts anything Jack Wyck says. The only thing she believes is that he's out to get her, maybe to kill her. But she won't let him. No. She'll buy this if she has to.

“It's popular with women.”

Alice raises her eyebrows but doesn't say anything. She's turning the gun over in her hands. “How much?” When he tells her, she's surprised that a gun doesn't cost more. “That's all?”

“Is that too low?”

She puts the gun back down on the counter between them. “I guess the cost comes in firing it.”

Though Alice hasn't made a joke, Tom laughs. “It's up to you,” he says. “But it's the best on the market.”

“I'll try it at the shooting range first.” She buys a canister of mace instead. She wants to ask about gun laws and juvenile records, but she can't bring herself to. Tom puts the mace in a small brown paper bag and hands it to Alice, giving her the range's hours.

“If you decide against a gun,” he tells her, “we have self-defense classes.” He hands her a brochure. On the cover, there's a black-and-white drawing of a woman elbowing a man in the throat. Alice smiles. She can think of someone she'd like to elbow in the throat, kick in the groin. Disable. Maim.

“Thanks,” she says. She lifts her hand in a backwards wave as she pushes the door open. Outside, she doesn't bother looking around for the hobgoblin. Let him follow her here, to a gun shop. Let him see her leave with a purchase.
She has a gun
, he'll think. Let him.

Stuart wakes up thinking of the woman with the long black hair who got him out of Jack Wyck's house—Allegra. He wonders what happened to her after the day he saw her get off the train. It was right before his sister died. Allegra didn't see him. It was so cold he'd put on his knitted Spider- Man balaclava. He was coming out from buying candy and he rolled his hat down when he saw her. First he saw her hair. It was blowing straight out behind her. When he realized who it was, he got on his bike and rode in circles for a while, watching her. She was wearing a green wool coat and carrying a little brown purse. She looked like everyone else, but he'd know her anywhere.

She waved at someone and got into a car, but Stu couldn't see who was in it. He watched the car disappear. He rode around in circles, trying to decide if he should go out to the house, but he didn't feel like it, so he pedaled home instead.

  •  •  •  

Stuart tries to remember if he told anyone about seeing Allegra again. He can't remember that anyone even asked him about Allegra—and why would he have told the police that story? Kate is still asleep next to him. She stirs and he rolls into her, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. She's sweating a little and her hair gives off a slight animal smell. It's snowing outside. Violet jumps off the bed from where she's likely been all night—curled behind Kate's knees. As she goes, she meows a little in complaint. Stuart looks at the clock, but the room is still dark. Stuart puts his head back on the pillow. “I love you,” he says into Kate's hair. “Never leave me.” He closes his eyes. Kate makes a sound, though Stuart knows she's still really asleep. It's a
Shh, shh
sound—an
It's all right now
sound.

Stuart still has nightmares.

Did he ever tell the police he saw Allegra? he wonders again. He closes his eyes and sees her with a finger to her lips:
Don't let him see you.
Stuart dreams that he is back in Jack Wyck's basement. He's hiding inside of a wooden barrel. The sides of the barrel are rough with splinters. There's a hole in the wood and through it he can see Jack Wyck pacing back and forth. Wyck is muttering to himself as he walks. The dream is like a film where the sound and action are not properly aligned. Jack Wyck's mouth moves, but Stuart only hears the words afterwards.
I know where you're hiding
. His voice is hoarse and low. The scrape of his feet along the basement floor is loud.

When Stuart wakes again, the room is filled with light, Kate is gone from the bed, and the world outside is filled with sunshine and snow.

They all needed warmer costumes. Costumes were Allegra's department, but Allegra was gone. Mr. Wyck raged around the house. Alice thought the play was going in a bad direction. You couldn't break everything on set and then moan when you couldn't find a cup to drink out of. It showed that the director lacked foresight. She thought he might be losing control of the production. Allegra had stolen money. A lot. And some of the recordings they'd made were missing. “Those are going to be worth a lot of money someday,” Mr. Wyck said. “I had an agent interested. You just can't trust women.”

Alice and Stover were standing in the hall outside of the recording room, listening. “I swear,” Alice said. “If I have to do the scene where I walk over broken glass with bare feet one more time, I am going to call my union rep.”

“Stoner.” Stover tapped Alice lightly on the forehead and walked away, trailing a cloud of cigarette smoke behind him. Alice heard something hit the wall and break in the next room. She rolled her eyes. Alice looked down at her bare feet. They were long and pale. For a moment, Alice wondered whose feet they were, whose bony ankles, whose bruised shins. She walked to the end of the hallway and closed the window. It was Halloween and she was still wearing a sundress with a parka over it.

“I think it's authentic to have a fire on set,” she told Trina when she sat down next to her in front of the fireplace. “We should have a pot of tea.”

“You stink, Alice,” Trina said. “When was the last time you took a shower?”

“For your information,” Alice replied “those aren't real showers.”

Trina stared at her. “You've got a shutter loose,” she said. “Don't you?” She pulled Alice's face close to her own. “Did you take something? Are you high? Please tell me you're high.”

“I'm working,” Alice said. “I can't get high while I'm at work.” Trina held Alice's chin in her hand and looked into her eyes. “You're hurting me,” Alice protested, and Trina let her go. Alice stared into the flames.

Trina looked back at her tarot deck. “Tell me about the play,” she said. The cards belonged to Allegra, but she'd left them behind, so now they were Trina's. Alice watched Trina's long fingers as she turned the cards over one by one. The Sun. Failure. The princess of disks.

“What does it mean?” Alice leaned over to see better.

“The cards?”

“Yeah.”

“I don't know yet. I'm still learning. Tell me about the play,” she said again.

Alice sat back. She put her bare feet on the table next to the cards. “Are you watching the play or are you in it?”

“Oh, I'm in it.”

“You are a main?”

“A main?”

“A main character.”

“Yes.” Trina reshuffled the cards and lit a cigarette. She sank back into the couch and blew the smoke towards the ceiling.

“First of all,” Alice said, holding up a finger. “We need warmer costumes.”

“I think Allegra took all the costumes with her when she left.”

“I'm sure she did. The costume closet is practically empty. I was sitting in there yesterday—”

“What are you talking about?” Molly sat down on the other side of Trina. She looked at the tarot cards. “Do me,” she said. “Tell me the future.”

“You were sitting in the closet?” Trina asked.

“Thinking. Second of all,” Alice said, “this one.” She pointed at Molly, but she couldn't think of anything to say. Alice's finger followed as Molly picked up a bong made from an Aunt Jemima bottle and looked around for some weed. When she couldn't find any, she set it back down and took one of Trina's cigarettes instead. “This one is a duplicate,” Alice finally said.

“Me?” Molly looked at Alice. “It's true.”

Molly was a copy of Molly. Molly was a lame trick monkey. Alice imagined a giant hand coming out of the forest and picking Molly up, whisking her away. Stage left action. Alice pictured an inch-high Molly hiding behind the Aunt Jemima bong, peeking out. Molly was tiny. Molly was almost invisible. Molly was evaporating into the white powder she shot into her veins. She kept her works out in the open now. No one gave a shit. No one but Alice. Alice thought it was bad for Molly's career. She knew about actresses who did drugs. They didn't last long. She looked at Molly's arms. “Hollywood will use you up and spit you out.” She snapped her fingers in Molly's face.

“What the fuck is she talking about?” Molly said to Trina.

“It's that thing she does with the play.”

Molly nodded, yawning. She put her head on Trina's shoulder and closed her eyes.

“You're either in the play or you're not in the play. You better decide right now.” Alice was angry. Why couldn't anyone keep their shit straight? She liked it when they went to the Smiths. At least there they were all in the play and they knew they were in the play, but everyone said she couldn't talk about the play at the Smiths
or
at Big John's mother's house, which made Alice itchy and claustrophobic. She liked to review the action and sometimes she took Trina aside to check in with her.