Brightness Falls Read Online Free Page A
Author: Jay McInerney
thinking of Casey, the same age as she.
A few minutes later Jeff was passed out on the couch. Strange, Corrine thought. He usually drank everybody under the table. Then she giggled aloud, remembering what Russell had said about under the table. She was recumbent in an armchair, gathering her strength, when the doorman rang. Wearily she picked up the house phone.
"Black guy down here's trying to carry a VCR out the door. Says he's going to repair it. You want me to call the cops?"
"That must be Ace," Corrine said. "Just ask him to leave it with you, Roger. Tell him we changed our minds about the repair." Then she realized she hadn't paid him and asked the doorman to give him a twenty and not to mention anything to Russell.
What's-her-name, Jeff's date, breasts in tow, emerged from the bathroom, a trifle sheepish, and a moment later so did Washington. Uh-oh. Guilty of something. Elsa, who watched as Russell cleared up the broken glass, said, "Where's David?" then began pounding the bedroom door, which had gotten closed and locked somehow. Finally Nancy Tanner popped out of the room. Elsa started screaming at Whitlock. It sounded like a real scuffle in there. "London Calling," high volume, made Corrine think briefly about the financial markets; also, fleetingly, about the neighbors. But no, she didn't care to think about the markets right now, thank you very much, and the neighbors would have to speak for themselves. How can you like the Clash, punk-socialist band, and sell corporate equity at the same time? That was the inexplicable mystery of being Corrine Calloway at the age of thirty-one.
Russell wandered over and put his arm around her. "Another successful party," he said.
* * *
"Where's the jelly," Russell asked, groping in the drawer of the nightstand.
"Hell with the jelly," Corrine said, rolling him onto his back. "Don't you think it's kind of a sexy idea, doing it without protection? Wouldn't it be sort of incredibly sexy to make me pregnant?"
He stopped moving. "No."
"No, really."
"Yes, really. Are you nuts?"
"Nuts?" She rose to her knees and looked down on him. "Nuts? What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means crazy. As in, not in your right mind. Not in your sane self."
"How dare you," she said, punching the side of his head with a half-clenched fist, hurting her knuckles. She stood up, tore the quilt off the bed and retreated to the living room.
"Corrine, I'm too tired to argue," he called after her.
"Good," he heard faintly.
He meant to go out and get her, but woke a few hours later, at seven, with a bad case of cottonmouth and a vast headache, feeling more or less like a porcupine turned inside out. When he turned to look for Corrine, she wasn't there. It took him several minutes to remember it was a weekend, and to figure out where his wife was. Walking out to the living room, he couldn't remember what they'd fought about, but there she was, on the couch amid the debris of her secret birthday party, pictures askew, dead soldiers standing at attention. Corrine curled into a ball under a corner of the quilt. It was not often Russell saw his wife in repose. Usually still talking when he fell asleep, and awake at some hour, like this one, which he preferred not to hear about.
He picked her up and carried her back to bed. "Where were you?" she murmured, as he bumped down the hall with her. "I was lost in this crowd, a big party, and I kept calling you and you weren't there. It was so real. It started out this wonderful party, all our friends and all these interesting new people, and then we lost our friends and I lost you and the party became ugly and sad."
"I'm here," he said, laying her down in bed, where she immediately returned to sleep.
2
"You don't think it's news that the administration's been running drugs? What do you call news over there?"
"We just think there's nothing real new in the story, Russ. These allegations have surfaced before."
"Don't tell me about allegations. I'm talking
A few minutes later Jeff was passed out on the couch. Strange, Corrine thought. He usually drank everybody under the table. Then she giggled aloud, remembering what Russell had said about under the table. She was recumbent in an armchair, gathering her strength, when the doorman rang. Wearily she picked up the house phone.
"Black guy down here's trying to carry a VCR out the door. Says he's going to repair it. You want me to call the cops?"
"That must be Ace," Corrine said. "Just ask him to leave it with you, Roger. Tell him we changed our minds about the repair." Then she realized she hadn't paid him and asked the doorman to give him a twenty and not to mention anything to Russell.
What's-her-name, Jeff's date, breasts in tow, emerged from the bathroom, a trifle sheepish, and a moment later so did Washington. Uh-oh. Guilty of something. Elsa, who watched as Russell cleared up the broken glass, said, "Where's David?" then began pounding the bedroom door, which had gotten closed and locked somehow. Finally Nancy Tanner popped out of the room. Elsa started screaming at Whitlock. It sounded like a real scuffle in there. "London Calling," high volume, made Corrine think briefly about the financial markets; also, fleetingly, about the neighbors. But no, she didn't care to think about the markets right now, thank you very much, and the neighbors would have to speak for themselves. How can you like the Clash, punk-socialist band, and sell corporate equity at the same time? That was the inexplicable mystery of being Corrine Calloway at the age of thirty-one.
Russell wandered over and put his arm around her. "Another successful party," he said.
* * *
"Where's the jelly," Russell asked, groping in the drawer of the nightstand.
"Hell with the jelly," Corrine said, rolling him onto his back. "Don't you think it's kind of a sexy idea, doing it without protection? Wouldn't it be sort of incredibly sexy to make me pregnant?"
He stopped moving. "No."
"No, really."
"Yes, really. Are you nuts?"
"Nuts?" She rose to her knees and looked down on him. "Nuts? What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means crazy. As in, not in your right mind. Not in your sane self."
"How dare you," she said, punching the side of his head with a half-clenched fist, hurting her knuckles. She stood up, tore the quilt off the bed and retreated to the living room.
"Corrine, I'm too tired to argue," he called after her.
"Good," he heard faintly.
He meant to go out and get her, but woke a few hours later, at seven, with a bad case of cottonmouth and a vast headache, feeling more or less like a porcupine turned inside out. When he turned to look for Corrine, she wasn't there. It took him several minutes to remember it was a weekend, and to figure out where his wife was. Walking out to the living room, he couldn't remember what they'd fought about, but there she was, on the couch amid the debris of her secret birthday party, pictures askew, dead soldiers standing at attention. Corrine curled into a ball under a corner of the quilt. It was not often Russell saw his wife in repose. Usually still talking when he fell asleep, and awake at some hour, like this one, which he preferred not to hear about.
He picked her up and carried her back to bed. "Where were you?" she murmured, as he bumped down the hall with her. "I was lost in this crowd, a big party, and I kept calling you and you weren't there. It was so real. It started out this wonderful party, all our friends and all these interesting new people, and then we lost our friends and I lost you and the party became ugly and sad."
"I'm here," he said, laying her down in bed, where she immediately returned to sleep.
2
"You don't think it's news that the administration's been running drugs? What do you call news over there?"
"We just think there's nothing real new in the story, Russ. These allegations have surfaced before."
"Don't tell me about allegations. I'm talking
Readers choose
Tanya Huff
E. L. Irwin
Thomas King
Linda Lael Miller
Lisa Renée Jones
S. E. Lund
James Patterson
John Buttrick
Pamela Christie
Michael Broad