Brightness Falls Read Online Free

crystal stemware.
    House phone to his ear, Russell asked, "Do you know somebody named Ace? The doorman says he says you know him."
    "It's okay, send him up," Corrine said, blushing. Ace was a homeless man she knew from the soup kitchen where she was a volunteer; buying mixers for the party at Food Emporium in the afternoon, she'd met him redeeming cans and bottles from a noisy garbage bag, the assistant manager looking weary and pissed off as he helped count them into a cardboard box; Ace explained his appearance in her neighborhood by saying that he liked to spread his business around. "Having a party," Ace asked, seeing her purchases. On a sudden guilty inspiration she asked him if he wanted a job helping with the cleanup. And here he was. She was pleased with herself and with Ace for taking her at her word, but Russell made fun of what he called her Mother Teresa complex. In this case he didn't particularly notice or remark on Ace's arrival, though he was hardly inconspicuous—an unwashed black man in a Mets cap and unlaced Nike high-tops, asking the guests if they were finished with their beer bottles. Corrine saw him drink off the residue of a bottle he had liberated from Jeff.
    "Used to be," Russell was declaiming, "you'd read a good short story somewhere, call up the author in his hovel, you'd offer him a couple thou' for a collection and a novel, and he'd dedicate his books to you, offer you his mistress, Eskimo style, promise you his firstborn. Now you've got to transfer a six-figure advance to a numbered Swiss bank account just to get a first look at some creative writing student's senior thesis. And his agent's still all over your back."
    "Used to be," said Jeff, "only dweebs, dorks and geeks went into publishing. Second sons and Sarah Lawrence grads. I'm sorry to report that this is still the case."
    Each with glass in hand, they clenched in an ambiguous bear hug. Corrine watched as the two friends drifted southward across the carpet, this migrating arc finally intersecting the sideboard, Russell's butt glancing it, unbalancing and toppling a blue-and-white Oriental vase, which fell to the floor, narrowly missing the edge of the rug, and shattered on the parquet floor.
    Russell's face betrayed his knowledge of this object's dynastic label and long association with Corrine's family—a wedding present. But Corrine rushed in to say it was nothing, she'd get the dustpan, watch out for the pieces.
    "Crash Calloway," Jeff said, using the nickname Russell had borne almost since he could walk, fall or knock things over.
    At the time of night when guests become disk jockeys, sifting through the library of records and tapes, the stereo becomes a time machine, stuck in reverse. Neil Young's "After the Gold Rush" blasted abruptly from the speakers. Washington was dancing with Jeff's date, and Ace swayed on his feet like a sailor in a six-foot sea, his hand on Zac Solomon's reluctant shoulder, talking about his plans to cut a rap demo.
    Casey Reynes drew Corrine aside on her way out and announced she was pregnant. "It's a secret, Tom doesn't want me telling anyone yet."
    Corrine embraced her. "I'm so happy for you," she said, though her happiness was tinged unexpectedly with envy.
    Elsa, the Brazilian with the Italian connection, was tugging at Corrine's sleeve. Had she seen David Whitlock, her date?
    "How far can he get?" Russell called over. "There's only three rooms."
    "I'll call you tomorrow," Corrine said to Casey.
    Jeff's date was also missing, according to the insistent Elsa.
    "He's probably feeding the dog," Russell said.
    "What dog," Elsa asked.
    "Check the bathroom," said Jeff. "Until recently, the bathroom was always the center of any good party, as the homely kitchen had been in earlier cultures."
    Soon Elsa was pounding on the locked door of the bathroom. When she hurled her glass against it, Russell wobbled over to calm her.
    "Broom and dustpan are right inside the closet," Corrine called out to Russell,