The door flung open. They both gasped. Riley wasn't sure what he was seeing, and reached for his cell to call EMS.
What do you want? Virgil looked like a ghost. His face, neck, chest, arms, and hands were covered in a coating of fine white powder. His eyes seemed to pop from his colorless face, pink-rimmed and crazed.
Kat turned to Riley and said matter-of-factly, Marble dust.
Riley put his phone away.
Well? Virgil looked at each of them like they were strangers. I'm on lunch break. I'm busy. What the hell is it?
I wanted to talk to you for a minute, Kat said. Ever hear of calling in advance?
Riley noticed that Virgil's hands shook and he was unsteady on his feet.
Would you have answered? Kat asked.
Fuck, no.
Riley knew that if Virgil had decided to pick up the bottle again after twenty years of sobriety, he'd be a human grenade with the pin already pulled. Not only did he get violent when he drank; he also was on a laundry list of meds that would lose their efficacy when combined with alcohol, if not create a toxic soup in his bloodstream. His third heart attack would be just around the corner.
Did you ever stop drinking, Dad? Kat asked the question with such innocent disappointment that it broke Riley's heart.
Virgil grunted. He wrapped his white claw around the door and stepped outside, then took a wobbly step toward Kat. I don't know. Did you ever stop being a whore?
Riley was a nanosecond from kicking the old man's feeble ass when Kat quietly moved closer to her father and reached for his hand. Riley hadn't known what to expect, but what Kat did was the last thing in the world he would have imaginedshe leaned in and kissed Virgil's cheek. He was as stunned as Riley was.
I was really hoping we could talk some things through, Kat continued. I have some questions I wanted to ask you about what happened when I was a kid. I even thought Her eyes flashed to Riley as if to warn him that she was pulling out the big guns. I thought if the talk went well, and if you felt up to it, you could join us for Thanksgiving dinner.
Oh yeah? he asked. Well, a fine howdy-do to you, too, Mother Teresa, but I think I'll pass.
Kat sighed. She turned toward Riley, her face a mask of sadness, and he reached out for her hand. Let's go, she said.
You fucking bitch! Without warning, Virgil threw the door wide and lunged for Kat. Riley got between them and grabbed Virgil firmly around both of his thin upper arms, pushing him back against the side of the house. He felt as light and hollow as a bird.
Virgil, get hold of yourself. This is not what you want to do right now.
Riley made sure Virgil was focusing on him and not Kat. You're going inside to sleep it off. If you don't, I'll get the ambulance here and they'll take you back to Davis and I'll admit you.
Fuck you, you fucking /Bohland/.
Let's go. Kat tugged on Riley's sleeve.
Stay and fight like a man! Virgil screamed, the spit flying everywhere.
Riley guided him back inside the kitchen door, then shut it.
The walk back to Kat's was much slower. It was also completely silent except for the phone call Riley made to Rita, informing her that her brother was in a drunken rage and needed to be taken to the hospital.
When they reached Kat's place, she took Riley by the hand and headed upstairs. She led him to the bed, peeled off his coat and then her own, and brought him down to lie next to her. Please hold me, she said.
He did. They fell asleep in their clothes. /Grinding, grinding, sanding, sanding…/ the faces of women were emerging from the stone now, women who'd pleasured him, women he'd controlled, women he wanted to control, women who pissed him off or turned him on, women who got him so angry they deserved to be pushed out of windows, women who made him feel lucky to be a man.
To most sculptors, this part of the process was the least enjoyableall the work, hours and hours of dipping silicon carbide sandpaper in water, slowly working your way from the coarser to the finer grits, wearing down the marble in an imitation of the ways of nature, the millions of years of rain and wind and dust and light and heat and cold it would have taken to get the same gloss. But Virgil loved it. He loved the physicality of it. He loved how he got to be God in human form, how the baseness of his efforthunched over and pushing, pushing, pushing the sandpaper over the rockresulted in such beauty. /Grind, grind, sand, sand…/ the women exposing themselves to him, just as he knew they would. And they were exquisite, every one of them.
Good Lord, that's the most hideously ugly thing I've ever seen in my life.
Virgil didn't even bother looking up. Then stay away from mirrors, Rita.
He hoped that if he just kept working, she'd go away, but instead he sensed her moving closer.
There should be a limit to how many heads can go on a single sculpture.
Get out.
Riley called me, she said.
So what?
He said you were in a drunken rage and needed to go to the hospital. So I'm here to take you.
Do I look full of rage?
You look very ill, Virgil. You've just had a heart procedure. And obviously, you've been drinking.
Fuck you. Fuck the procedure. Fuck Bohland. Fuck /everyone./ For some inexplicable reason, Rita decided that that was her invitation to sit down on the sculpting stool and cross her varicose-veined legs like she was getting settled in for a nice long visit. Virgil ignored her. He dipped. He hunched. He sanded.
Did Kat say anything to you today?
Yeah. She invited me to Thanksgiving dinner, if you can believe that.
Rita was quiet. Virgil looked out of the corner of his eye to see her staring in disbelief. Finally, she said, I'm sure she was crushed to hear that your dance card was full.
I told her to fuck off.
At least you're consistent.
Go away.
What I meant was… Rita's voice trailed off. Well, I was wondering if Kat said anything about her childhood, you know, anything about BettyAnn or you.
Virgil threw the 150-grit sandpaper sheet onto the studio floor, right at Rita's feet. I am working. I don't want you here. I don't want to discuss my dead wife. Now, get out.
It's just that Riley's office has been badgering me, Rita persisted.
They said you really need to get back to the cardiologist.
I don't want to go to that foreigner! Leave me alone!
You're killing yourself, she said, like she was his principal, the principal of the world.
If I die, I die. He was growing really tired of this conversation. And up until that moment, I'd like to work in solitude.
Rita groaned.
This is my masterpiece.
It's a piece of something, all right, she said.
Virgil tried to stand up tall, but his body began to sway. Rita, he said, pointing at her with a wavering arm, you're an ugly old-maid schoolmarm who couldn't get laid if her life depended on it, and forgive me if I don't see the value in your critique, but you don't know shit about art or life or passion or… He staggered, catching himself on the edge of the worktable. Anyway, you're ugly. Get out.
With a deep sigh, Rita stood up from the work stool. Her lips were pursed, and Virgil noticed how old she looked. When did that happen?
I hate you, she said flatly. I always have. I don't know why I ever moved to this town to be near you. You may have been my only living relative, but you are a waste of humanity. I'm sorry for every kind thing I ever did for you, because you deserved nothing. Then she turned her back on him and headed for the door.
Not as much as I hate you, you wrinkled old cow.
By the way, she said, clearly about ready to deliver her parting shot.
That's no masterpieceit's a freak show. I hope you rot in hell.