Jessie tried, but the pads of her fingers only slid along the stick wet surface of the glass. There was nothing to grab, it seemed, and she couldn’t get quite enough finger-surface on the thricedamned thing to grip. Water sloshed onto her hand, and now she sensed that even if the shelf held, the glass would soon tip over.
Imagination, toots-just the old idea that a sad little Punkin likeyou can never do anything right.
That wasn’t far from the mark-it was certainly too close for comfort-but it wasn’t on the mark, not this time. The glass was getting ready to tip over, it really was, and she didn’t have the slightest idea of what she could do to prevent that from happening, Why did she have to have such short, stubby, ugly fingers? Why? If only she could get them a little farther around the glass…
A nightmare image from some old TV commercial occurred to her: a smiling woman in a fifties hairdo with a pair of blue rubber gloves on her hands. So flexible you can pick up a dime! the woman was screaming through her smile. Too bad you don’t have a pair,little Punkin or Goodwife or whoever the hell you are! Maybe you couldget that fucking glass before everything on the goddam shelf takes theexpress elevator!
Jessie suddenly realized the smiling, screaming woman in the Playtex rubber gloves was her mother, and a dry sob escaped her.
Don’t give up, Jessie! Ruth yellecl. Not yet! You’re close! I swearyou are!
She exerted the last tiny scrap of her strength on the left side of the shelf, praying incoherently that it wouldn’t slide-not yet, Oh please God or whoever You are, please don’t let it slide, not now, notyet.
The board did slide… but only a little. Then it held again, perhaps temporarily snagged on a splinter or balked by a warp in the wood. The glass slid a little farther into her hand, and now crazier and crazier-it seemed to be talking, too, the goddam glass. It sounded like one of those grizzled big-city cab-drivers who have a perpetual hard-on against the world: Jesus, lady, whatelse ya want me to do? Grow myself a goddam handle and turn into afuckin pitcher forya? A fresh trickle of water fell on Jessie’s straining right hand. Now the glass would fall; now it was inevitable. In her mind she could already feel the freeze as icewater doused the back of her neck.
“No!”
She twisted her right shoulder a little farther, opened her fingers a little wider, let the glass slide a tiny bit deeper into the straining pocket of her hand. The cuff was digging into the back of that hand, sending jabs of pain all the way up to her elbow, but Jessie ignored them. The muscles of her left arm were twanging wildly now, and the shakes were communicating themselves to the tilted, unstable shelf. Another tube of makeup tumbled to the floor. The last few slivers of ice chimed faintly. Above the shelf, she could see the shadow of the glass on the wall. In the long sunset light it looked like a grain silo blown atilt by a strong prairie wind.
More… just a little bit more…
There IS no more!
There better be, There’s got to be.
She stretched her right hand to its absolute tendon-creaking limit and felt the glass slide a tiny bit farther down the shelf. Then she closed her fingers again, praying it would finally be enough, because now there really was no more-she had pushed her resources to their absolute limit. It almost wasn’t; she could still feel the wet glass trying to squirm away. It had begun to seem like a live thing to her, a sentient being with a mean streak as wide as a turnpike passing lane. Its goal was to keep flirting toward her and then squirming away until her sanity broke and she lay here in the shadows of twilight, handcuffed and raving.
Don’t let it get away Jessie don’t you dare DON’T YOU DARE LETTHAT FUCKING GLASS GET AWAY-
And although there was no more, not a single foot-pound of pressure, not a single quarter-inch of stretch, she managed a little more anyway, turning her right wrist one final bit in toward the board. And this time when she curved her fingers around the glass, it remained motionless.
I think maybe I’ve got it. Not for sure, but maybe. Maybe.
Or maybe it was just that she had finally gotten to the wishful-thinking part. She didn’t care. Maybe this and maybe that and none of the maybes mattered anymore and that was actually a relief. The certainty was this-she couldn’t hold the shelf any longer. She had only tilted it three or four inches anyway, five at the most, but it felt as if she had bent down and picked up the whole house by one corner. That was the certainty.
She thought, Everything in perspective… and the voices that describethe world to you, I suppose. They matter. The voices inside your head.
With an incoherent prayer that the glass would remain in her hand when the shelf was no longer there to support it, she let go with her left hand. The shelf banged back onto its brackets, only slightly askew and shifted only an inch or two down to the left. The glass did stay in her hand, and now she could see the coaster. It clung to the bottom of the glass like a flying saucer.
Please God don’t let me drop it now. Don’t let me dr-
A cramp knotted her left arm, making her jerk back against the headboard. Her face knotted as well, pinching inward until the lips were a white scar and the eyes were agonized slits.
Wait, it will pass…it will pass…
Yes, of course it would. She’d had enough muscle cramps in her life to know that, but in the meantime oh God it hurt. If she had been able to touch the biceps of her left arm with her right hand, she knew, the skin there would have felt as if it had been stretched over a number of small smooth stones and then sewn up again with cunning invisible thread. It didn’t feel like a Charley horse; it felt like rigor-fucking-mortis.
No, just a Charley horse, Jessie. Like the one you had earlier. Wait itout, that’s all. Wait it out and for Christ’s sweet sake don’t drop thatglass of water.
She waited, and after an eternity or two, the muscles in her arm began to relax and the pain began to ease. Jessie breathed out a long harsh sigh of relief, then prepared to drink her reward. Drink, yes, Goody thought, but I think you owe yourself a little morethan just a nice cool drink, my dear, Enjoy your reward…but enjoyit with dignity. No piggy gulping!
Goody, you never change, she thought, but when she raised the glass, she did so with the stately calm of a guest at a court dinner, ignoring the alkali dryness along the roof of her mouth and the bitter pulse of thirst in her throat. Because you could put Goody down all you wanted-she practically begged for it sometimes but behaving with a little dignity under these circumstances (especially under these circumstances) wasn’t such a bad idea. She had worked for the water; why not take the time to honor herself by enjoying it? That first cold sip sliding over her lips and coiling across the hot rug of her tongue was going to taste like victory… and after the run of lousy luck she’d just been through, that would indeed be a taste to savor.
Jessie brought the glass toward her mouth, concentrating on the wet sweetness just ahead, the drenching downpour. Her tastebuds cramped with anticipation, her toes curled, and she could feel a furious pulse beating beneath the angle of her jaw. She realized her nipples had hardened, as they sometimes did when she was turned on. Secrets of female sexuality you never dreamed of, Gerald, shethought. Handcuff me to the bedposts and nothing happens. Show me aglass of water, though, and I turn into a raving nympho.