She walked to her dressing table, picked up her powder compact and hurled it at the wall. It exploded upon impact and powder flew everywhere, creating a white mist in the room. Rose disappeared for a moment. But then she stepped out of the cloud, her finger pointed right at Fabio.
“You know, it’s because he’s onstage that this type of girl is attracted to him. That’s what happens when you’re an entertainer. Stupid, fucking shit. This isn’t real life. It’s not my cup of tea. I was forced to dance in front of rich people when I was a little girl. But let me tell you, I’m not going to do it anymore.”
“Well, you’ve already expressed your desire to no longer be a performer.”
“You don’t roam around sleeping with random women, do you?”
Rose just looked at him, desperate for some sort of answer that he could give her to stop the emotions that were coming.
“I haven’t had a hard-on in two years.”
Rose stopped short for a second, having no idea how to respond to that statement. Then she flung her arms toward him violently, as though she were trying to throw her hands away.
“Well, we’re leaving New York without Pierrot.”
“Of course. I’m ready to go. We’ve all been ready to go. If we had left as soon as we handed over the moon, we might have avoided this scenario altogether.”
Rose just grabbed her hair in two fists and screamed, “Ahhhh!”
She threw the envelope at Fabio and then collapsed on the bed.
Fabio reached down to the ground to retrieve the fallen envelope. He couldn’t help himself, and he opened it to peek at the amorous photos inside. His sigh was so loud it was almost a cry. Pierrot looked so lost in the photographs. He knew Pierrot didn’t have the stomach for where the plan was going. He knew this was Pierrot’s way of cutting them all loose. He had always known that Pierrot was altruistic. Pierrot had had so much patience with everybody. There were tears in Fabio’s eyes because of Pierrot’s sacrifice. Because Fabio believed in love again.
? ? ?
THE MAID FROM the Honeymoon Hotel was standing in front of Jimmy’s desk. The state she was in—out of breath and with the buttons of her coat in the wrong holes—indicated that she had rushed over. Jimmy listened to the maid telling him that Pierrot had betrayed Rose. She had opened the envelope and had seen the photos herself. Pierrot had also disappeared, not bothering to take anything with him. According to the girl, Rose was presently in a state of hysteria.
Jimmy had a sudden urge to have the maid killed. It wasn’t her knowing what she knew that bothered him. It was that she knew how much he wanted to hear this news. She had hurried over to tell him before anyone else had the chance, because it was exciting to her to be part of this big moment in his life.
But Jimmy was inscrutable when he wanted to be inscrutable, which was most of the time. He stared at the maid blankly, not letting on how the news affected him. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to her.
“Good. Continue to bring me interesting information.”
She walked out, tucking the money into her pocket and looking mildly disappointed. When she was gone, Jimmy looked over at Caspar, who was sitting in an armchair by the door.
“How do you think this affects things?”
“Not at all. She’s the brains behind the operation.”
“I meant . . . never mind.”
What in the world was he supposed to do now? Go over to her hotel room with a white rose and ask her out to dinner? He hadn’t a clue how long it took someone to get over heartache, as he himself had never really been heartbroken. He was frightened, for the first time ever, that he might be rejected by a girl.
65
THE TITANIC SAILS AT NOON
Rose hadn’t left her hotel room since learning about Pierrot. She had had trouble sleeping. She dozed off in the late afternoon. She dreamed that she was in a pair of black boots and her underwear. She was up in front of an audience. A strange man came up onto the stage. He made her get down on her hands and knees. He unbuckled his pants—the audience broke into applause. She woke up and walked to the bathroom. It was only nine o’clock.
She couldn’t be alone in her room anymore. She threw on her coat and wandered out of the room and down to the small bar next to the lobby. Everybody else was already down at the bar, drinking to the end of a successful run and the abrupt ending of their show. The bartender lined up a row of shot glasses. He poured the brandy in right up to the lip of a glass. She swallowed it. And it burned. It lit up her heart as if it were a candlewick. She just needed to let the candle burn down through the night.
She threw off her coat. She was only wearing a black satin slip, as she hadn’t bothered to get dressed. She drank longer than anybody else. For a couple of seconds, the booze lifted her up. It made her feel as though everything was as it should be in the world—that everything was fine.
She stood up. She held her glass up in the air. It wavered back and forth. Little drops of alcohol dripped onto her, like splashes of holy water.
“This is to Pierrot! My husband!”