And what does Heather do when she is not servicing (an unfortunate choice of words, but there you have it) her clients in the sex trade? Well, oddly enough, she’s writing a book. It’s for children and it’s called Ballerina Mouse, about a mouse who, more than anything else in the world, wants to be a ballerina, and this little mouse really, really tries, she does. She practices day and night, hardly taking any time to eat or sleep, but the bad thing is that one of her hind feet — feet being the most important thing to a good ballerina — is deformed, twisted around so badly that Ballerina Mouse can barely walk, let alone jeté or entrechat. So the sad part, the genuinely fucked-up part (and Heather is sorry to use such a word as “fucked-up,” but her work vocabulary keeps intruding into the rest of her life, which is why she needs to quit this job) is that Ballerina Mouse will never, ever, be the dancer she wants to be, no matter how hard she tries. And of course, everybody who meets her knows this instantly, but none of them can bring themselves to speak the truth.
And it’s exactly because this, or something similar, happens to a lot of people that Heather thinks it would be a good thing for children to read about while they are still young — so they can get used to disappointment — because, truly, hardly anyone gets to be what he or she wants to be. They also should learn that sometimes people lie.
So how’s the writing coming?
Well, it’s practically writing itself, she thinks, except for the ending, which she’s having a hard time with because of what she needs to do, which is to make sure the kids 1) don’t miss the message that life is kind of disappointing, but 2) still make the ending happy enough that those kids who finish won’t slit their tiny wrists, and that’s the hard part. Nonetheless, she’s getting close; she’s sure of it, and then, when she finds just the right conclusion, maybe she’ll get lucky and sell Ballerina Mouse for a lot of money, and become a famous author, or at least a famous children’s author. Then she’ll be able to give up this phone sex business, unless, for some reason, she starts to miss it, which she honestly does not think will happen. Though if it does, then she’ll only do it when she feels like it.
Not that Viktor has anything against Raymond personally. Sometimes, true, when Raymond passes him in the hall Viktor will let out a little quack, but it’s just a small one and it’s only a joke, and most of the time Raymond will even quack back at him, like it’s their private language. Duck Man may be (well, he is) screwed up, Viktor thinks, but he’s basically all right. At least he’s got a sense of humor. And Viktor doesn’t begrudge Raymond his former fling with Madeline at all. If something’s being offered to you, why not take it?
He does.
In Raymond’s dream, Madeline and Viktor are dressed in black and seated on two giant chairs made out of gray concrete blocks stacked (without mortar) one on top of another. Though there are red pillows on the seats, the chairs don’t look very comfortable and when, in his dream, Raymond enters the room, Madeline and Viktor remain seated, but raise their arms in the same gesture made by aliens in old sci-fi movies to acknowledge the presence of an earthling. Something like, “Hail, Earthling,” or “Welcome to Thoz.”
Then Madeline nods once, as if she’s saying that Raymond should approach the matching thrones, but at the same moment Viktor shakes his head, as if he’s saying, “Raymond, don’t listen to her. You stay right where you are and don’t move.”
So should Raymond approach or not? It’s a hard question, and for the rest of the night he just lies in bed, tossing, looking at the dark spectral shapes of ducks along his wall, trying to make up his mind.
Tammy, Junior’s therapist, fingers her ankh-shaped pendant as she speaks in what Junior regards as her low, sexy voice. “It’s been a long, hard process for you, Junior, but I think the worst of it is over.”
Junior likes Tammy. She’s positive thinking, for one thing, and pretty, for another. She has short brown hair and wears flower-patterned skirts that show off her legs. She smells good, too — something like vanilla mixed with fresh-cut grass, and when he comes in for a session the first thing she does is make him a cup of chamomile tea — to calm him down, she says. Only after he’s had a couple of sips will she let him talk.
Because it has been one motherfucking hard journey for Junior ever since Mellow Valley went down in flames and he went from being a star (well, a rising star) right back to being nothing at all, as some (many) people had said he was in the first place. True, he was only a kid when he did the show, but needless to say that just made it worse because he didn’t have any examples of what things were supposed to be like, information that kids who have fathers would be taught. So instead of knowing that life is all about disappointments and overcoming them, Junior thought the good times would keep going on even though, come to think of it, Mellow Valley wasn’t all that good of a time. In many ways, in fact, it was a nightmare. So by this point in his therapy Junior has told Tammy everything: how he hates his stupid name left to him by his Scandinavian sea captain father, the foster homes, and then the series of arrests and being institutionalized, as Tammy calls it, at least four times. But now he’s out (obviously) and with a little help from the government, Junior lives quietly in his furnished room with not much else besides the stuff the place came with — only a few books, paperbacks, a change or two of clothing, a hot plate, a plate, a sink to rinse his plate, and Old Stag Killer.
“I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but I think you are on the road to health at last,” Tammy tells him, giving him a tiny hug in the form of her two small hands, grasping each of his upper arms and giving them a single squeeze. “Just keep taking your medication and remember to keep active. What was that sport you said you were doing. . archery?”
It’s afternoon in the Burrow, and Madeline and Viktor are lying around his apartment. They have just finished making love and Viktor, unusually for him, is taking a break from the stock market. What the hell, Viktor figures, he may as well ask. “What was it about Raymond?” he says. “What did you ever see in him?”
Madeline looks at him for a minute — a long one. “Oh,” she says, “Raymond has his ways.” And suddenly Viktor is sorry he asked.
“Do you hear that noise?” Jeffery says to Heather as they pass in the hall late one night. Heather looks a little jumpy, as usual, but Jeffery thinks maybe it might be a good time to start a conversation, maybe get to know her better.
“What noise?” asks Heather.
“I don’t know. A grinding sound, maybe. It’s not that loud, but I can hear it.”
“No,” Heather says, “I haven’t heard it, but then for my job I’m on the phone quite a bit, so I might not notice.”
“What kind of job do you have?” asks Jeffery.
“Oh,” she says, “just a job.” And she darts back inside her apartment, quiet as a mouse.