Diamond-Wood leaned in, wobbling on his crutches.
Closer, the Mayor whispered, closer, and once his face was near enough to kiss, she plucked the ducktape off the dessert cart, slapped it onto his mouth, smeared it flat, and announced: Ta-da.
GENTLEMEN, said Raven from the backseat, if I could request a detour.
It’s gone eight already, said Starx, wheeling out of the Grand Saloon’s driveway and south on Orchard Parkway. We’re supposed to be at the studios at half-past —
A brief detour. If you could take me to the bridge. Just to see it.
We’re heading south, said Starx. Bridge is north. Road’s closed anyway.
Ah, but my understanding is that it’s your people who have blocked off, what is it? Raven flipped through the CityGuide in his lap. The Topside Drive? And it seems that one can turn around at the bottom of this street, and really it’s not far from here at all.
Starx’s eyes moved between the road, steady with traffic, and the rearview. Olpert, Starx’s XXL shirt billowing around his body, checked the mirror: the illustrationist reclined in a pose both sanguine and erotic, one knee up, hands behind his head, grinning.
Might no one, he said, have more authority to traverse these blockades than us?
At the bottom of Orchard Parkway Starx merged onto the roundabout at Cathedral Circus, but didn’t exit onto Lakeside Drive, just went looping back around. Another Citywagon slid in ahead of them, peeled off toward Bay Junction.
Mr. Starx? said Raven.
Fine, but let’s keep it brief, said Starx, and from the drinkholder scooped the walkie-talkie, told Griggs what was happening.
Olpert’s hangover had found its way into his temples, where it thudded and stabbed. With each surge came flashes of the previous evening, shameful razory nicks — nevermind the great gaping wound of how he’d ended his night. As Starx turned onto Topside Olpert cracked the window, pointed his face into the breeze like a pet.
At the Guardian Bridge exit the Helpers ushered them through the barricades. Starx nodded officiously, pulled onto the shoulder, and killed the engine. The bridge arced toward the mainland. Beneath it the Narrows swept briskly to the east, twinkling in the sunshine.
Well here we are, said Starx, turning to the backseat. What can we tell him, Bailie?
IFC Stadium, where the Lady Y’s play — it’s just back that way.
He’s a fan, said Starx.
Olpert shrugged shyly.
Fine, fine, said Raven. Now, gentlemen? If you’ll give me a minute.
He swung out of the car, glided up onto the bridge.
Starx watched. What do you think he’s after? Wait, why’s he lying down?
Shhh, said Olpert.
You think he can hear us?
Starx, come on.
Look at him, what’s he doing? Is he smelling the road? Bailie? Can you tell?
I don’t know what he’s doing.
Oh shet.
From his knees, Raven was summoning them from the car. Gentlemen, he hollered. Please, I need your assistance and expertise.
Reluctantly they joined him.
Mr. Bailie! Mr. Starx! Tell me about this structure.
This. . bridge? said Starx. Sure. Well it’s called Guardian Bridge —
Delightful! Why?
Um. Bailie?
I don’t know, said Olpert. That’s just its name.
That’s just its name, enthused Raven. Fabulous, Mr. Bailie! What else?
Well, said Starx, it’s the only way on or off the island. Except by boat, or I guess plane.
Or helicopter, added Olpert.
They’ve been talking about building a second one from Whitehall for ages, but. . it’s not really happening. Whitehall’s sort of a disaster anyway.
Raven shaded his eyes with both hands, looked west. A disaster?
Yeah. It’s fugged up out there. People living underground, running amok. We do what we can to keep them in line. Isn’t that right, Bailie?
But Olpert was watching the illustrationist. He lay on his belly, stroked the pavement, licked his fingertips, nodded.
Yes, said Raven. Yes, yes, yes.
III
DINE WOKE TO the sound she’d fallen asleep to, or in spite of, or had kept her up all night, she wasn’t sure: Pop’s snoring. Despite Debbie having closed and Adine then locking the bedroom door, his snores drifted into their bedroom from the den in a phlegmy, spectral mist. It wasn’t yet seven a.m., her pillow was hot on both sides. Had she slept? Maybe she’d just dreamed of sleep, in some inchoate, semi-conscious state of dreaming. Though if she had slept, Pop’s snoring had found its way into her dreams too.
Overnight, Adine had learned this snoring like a song: the in-breath a gravelly scrape, a pause, a gleek and rattle, and the exhale contained a groan, a sputter, a cough, or a jammy smacking of lips, sometimes even the pasty slop of his tongue — and had at some point he cried out, Please, yes, oh? Adine hoped with all her heart she’d been dreaming.
She lay there in her shorts and T-shirt and blackout goggles, covers long flung off in a prickly fit. Beside her Debbie slept, she could sleep through anything, her breath swished in, out, in, steady as waves. Upon Adine’s feet she could feel Jeremiah, his little body rising and falling. It felt conspiratorial, the two of them slumbering so peacefully, while Adine had lain awake half the night, or all the night.
She dug an elbow into Debbie’s back until it elicited moans.
Ow, what are you doing, what time is it.
He’s out there, said Adine.
So?
I can’t see, remember. What if I trip on him or something. When’s he leaving?
Debbie pulled the covers over her face, said something muffled. Adine yanked them away. Do something with him, Deb. I had to listen to him snoring all night and —
Hi, said Debbie. Good morning. Are you going to ask me how my night was?
Oh. Do you want me to ask?
Yes.
Oh. How was it?
Thanks for asking. It was fine. We drank too much. I feel sort of ugh.
And. . your old colleague?
Teammate. Pearl.
Pearl.
Pearl is, I don’t know. The same but different. Or maybe it’s me who’s different. I mean, I know I’m different, but. .
What?
Pearl seemed tired.
Tired.
Like tired from her life. Not of her life — from it.
Her marriage. Her kids.
Maybe.
I don’t tire you, said Adine, do I?
Debbie smiled. No, you wake me up. Sometimes with violence.
Are you going to kick that guy out of here so I can go pee?
No, wait. That’s a good point. That’s the difference, right? Don’t you always want someone who wakes you up? Like even when things are lousy you’d rather be up, awake, than too tired to even. .
Adine’s eyebrows did a provocative bounce — up, out of the goggles, then back down.
No, not just that. A stimulant life, not a sedative life — isn’t that what you want?
I guess. I mean, once you guys head out I’m probably going to take a nap. .
Debbie shook her head, laughed, flicked the lenses of Adine’s goggles. I miss your eyes, she said. When’s this project going to be done?
Adine shrieked, Never! and with both feet pushed Debbie out of bed.
What are you doing today, said Debbie, pulling on her housecoat. You want to come down to the memorial protest, or?
Work.
Right, said Debbie.
Pop’s snoring intensified as the door opened — and faded as it closed. Adine scooped Jeremiah off her feet and hoisted him onto Debbie’s pillow, tried to find his face with her nose, felt a whisk of tail, and realized she was nuzzling the wrong end.