The last scenes of Fantasia flashed before him, lumbering Technicolor giants on their doomed exhausted search for water, heedless of the tiny bright mammalian eyes that watched them from the shadows…
Leaning from his window out into the December air, Jack stared up into the cold whirling sky, and heard lemurs and shrews and megazostrodons rustling in the night.
Christmas Day was muted, as it had been for several years now. Rachel Gardino had been killed by a drunken driver on Christmas Eve, and the holiday had been poisoned by that, for Jack and his family as well as for Jule and Emma. There were a few makeshift presents exchanged: some baby clothes Mrs. Iverson dredged up from the attic and cleaned; gingersnaps hard and aromatic as amber; the copy of The King in Yellow, which Jack presented to his grandmother in its elaborate cloth wrapping. They ate by candlelight, bean soup and flatbread and dried fruit; then sang a few rounds of the more melancholy carols, “O Holy Night” and “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” and went to bed early.
Four days after this, very early in the morning Jack heard the familiar groaning roar of the Range Rover. He groaned, slid from his bed, and trudged across the hall to look out the window. Down Hudson Terrace crept Jule’s old car, dodging potholes and piles of refuse like a tipsy dowager, a loose strand of barbed wire trailing in its wake.
At the head of the drive it stopped. Jack watched as his friend emerged, an imposingly tall if unsteady figure in navy overcoat and fedora, brandishing a very large black umbrella. Jule walked over to the gate, regarded it balefully before starting to poke at the LED readout with the tip of his umbrella. Jule had always been intimidated by the security system, all the more so since he was one of the few people granted knowledge of the code that granted access (Leonard had paid one of his hacker minions to break it for him). Ever since the glimmering began, when Lazyland’s power came and went as casually as socialites once had, Jule’s anxiety had become outright phobic: he was terrified he would be electrocuted by the gate. Jack sat, elbows propped on the sill, and observed as Jule tried unsuccessfully to gain entry.
After five minutes he couldn’t stand it anymore. He shoved the window open. “For Christ’s sake, Jule! There’s no power! Just get in the car and drive through!”
Jule looked up. “But what if it comes back on?”
“It won’t come back!”
“But what if it does?”
“Just drive through.”
Jule got back into his car. Clouds of blue exhaust engulfed the end of the drive as the car nudged at the gate, until slowly it swung open. A minute later the Range Rover shuddered to a halt in front of the house. Jule got out, removing his fedora and mopping his head with a white handkerchief.
“Now go back up and close the gate,” Jack yelled down. Jule shot him an angry look. He reached back into the car, emerging with his umbrella and a pair of bright yellow electrician’s gloves, and plodded up the drive to shut the gate. When he returned to the house, Jack was on the front porch.
“You know, Jule, very few security gates were originally designed actually to kill people.”
“You’re wrong, Jackie, you’re wrong. Somebody was just telling me about this thing he saw up at Pocantico Hills, this sort of electrified moat—”
Jack ushered Jule toward the front door. “Well, our system hasn’t killed anyone yet. C’mon, it’s freezing—”
“Yeah, but you guys could actually use something like that here.” Jule looked worriedly back at the Range Rover. “My car gonna be safe?”
“Yes, your car is going to be safe. What, you leave Emma at home and fall apart? Jesus, just relax for five minutes, okay? You drive up to Poughkeepsie in your sleep, go into the city, and have a picnic on the fucking Major Deegan Expressway, but every time you come to my house you have a goddamn heart attack.”
“Emma’s not feeling so good these days. And electricity makes me nervous,” Jule said meekly.
“Then you should be very, very happy, because you will find no electricity at Lazyland today.”
Inside there was the flurry of footsteps in the hallway, the scent of Chanel Number 19; and Jule was bending to hug first Keeley and then Mrs. Iverson.
“Jule dear! What a surprise!”
“I know, Grandmother, I’m sorry. Sort of unexpected, gotta do something in the city…”
“Of course, dear, we’re just so happy to see you! How is Emma?”
“Oh, she’s okay, just great—” He stared over their heads to Jack, who felt a bump of fear at his friend’s haunted expression. “Uh, listen, I can’t stay today, I just needed to, uh—well, I wanted to borrow Jackie.”
Keeley’s gaze softened. “Borrow Jackie! Why, of course you can borrow him!”
“ What?” Jack eased himself between Jule and his grandmother. “What’re you talking about, Jule?”
“I, uh, got an errand in the city. I, well, I didn’t want to—”
“The city.” Keeley glanced at the old grandfather clock. “Well! Do you still go down there, Jule?”
“Sometimes.” He pulled at his collar. “Jackie?”
Jack shook his head. He was close enough to Jule that he could smell whiskey, not just on his breath but everywhere, as though he’d doused himself with it. He had a flickering vision, the Range Rover careening through the flooded canals that had been the Merritt Parkway, a bottle tucked between Jule’s legs.
“Jule, dear, would you like some tea?”
“No thanks, Mrs. Iverson.” Jule’s big hands twisted his fedora. His hazel eyes were moist with supplication. “Jackie?”
No thanks, Mr. Gardino, thought Jack. But then the chorus began shrilling in his head. What, you jumped off all those bridges for Leonard Thrope, now you can’t get into a car with your best friend?
But he’s drunk. He’s—
“Go ahead, dear,” said Keeley. She turned to Jule. “But you’ll have him back by tonight?”
Jack swore under his breath; as though he were still fifteen fucking years old. “I’ll be back by tonight, Grandmother,” he said. His eyes sought Jule’s. “This better be good, Julie.”
“Mary Anne is asleep.” Mrs. Iverson looked plaintively at Jule. “Don’t you think Emma could come down to help her have the baby?”
Jule smiled. “That would be nice, huh? I know she’d like to…”
“Well.” Keeley smiled bravely. “You’d better go, if you’re going to be back by dark.”
Jack stood, trying to think of some last-minute excuse. “It’s just a few hours,” pleaded Jule.
“Oh, all right,” Jack said, crossly. “Just let me get a few things, okay?”
He went upstairs, fighting all the fears that assailed him—Jule’s obvious distress and the thought of leaving his grandmother alone, not to mention the girl, she could have the baby any minute—but also feeling something he hadn’t felt in years. He was going to the city with his friend. They would have an adventure. He grabbed the Fusax from his nightstand, did a quick blast from his inhaler—it was empty, he was sure of it, but prayed there might be a few bronchio-dilating atoms left to fight their way into his lungs—pulled his grandfather’s old Burberry raincoat from the closet, and went back down. On the second floor he paused to glance into Marz’s bedroom, her leviathan form beneath the blankets, white-blond hair across the pillow.
“’Bye,” he whispered, and shut the door.
They made their farewells to Keeley and Mrs. Iverson.