The Fainting Room Read Online Free Page A

I want you to know that if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here. As a friend.”
    “Marseille, have you seen Ray around?” Evelyn knew she was being rude; she didn’t care.
    “He’s in the living room—” Marseille let a pause settle—“with the rest of the guests. Let’s go join them, shall we?”
    Feeling like a child caught playing hooky, Evelyn allowed herself to be led along her own hallway. Marseille kept her hand on Evelyn’s arm, as if Evelyn were standing on the ledge of a building, threatening to jump. Evelyn’s tattoos, hidden by the thinnest of cotton blouses, threatened to burst into flame beneath Marseille’s cool palm.
     
    11:00, 11:30, and at last the crowd in the living room thinned. Wine glasses were abandoned, and Ray went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee for the few remaining guests. Evelyn followed, thinking this was something the hostess ought to do, not the host.
    Ray looked up from the fridge. “Where’s the cream?”
    It was gone, and there was no milk, either: Evelyn had used them both up in the second batch of vichyssoise.
    “We’re out,” she said, “I’m sorry.” Her face was flushing, her throat tightened. It was not the verge of tears, it was something worse than that, something ballooning inside her, threatening to break open.
    “Doesn’t matter,” said Ray, oblivious, “just get me a lemon, will you, and we’ll do an Italian espresso thing with lemon peel instead.”
    It was too much: he was good at everything ; she was good at nothing.
    “I’m such an idiot,” she said, aloud this time.
    “Just pass me a lemon, would you?”
    If she moved from the kitchen stool, she would scream.
    “What’s wrong with you?” Ray asked, clearly annoyed now and getting the lemon himself.
    She shook her head and watched him shave off yellow curls of peel, arrange them on the coffee tray with the cups and take it all out through the swinging door, leaving her sitting in the kitchen.
    And then, finally, the last good–bye. She and Ray side by side at the entryway, waving, her hand going side-to-side like some kind of mechanical doll. Finally, it was over.
    “An utter success,” Ray said. He plucked a last clump of lettuce from the salad bowl and popped it into his mouth. He smiled at his wife. “See? You had nothing to worry about.”
    And just like that, as if he’d stuck a pin in her, she felt a balloon pop inside her, and what it contained, what was exploding all over her guts, was the full force of the shame and fury that had been building all night. Nothing to worry about? How dare he—he had no idea what she’d had to worry about tonight. Her face was burning, her chest was burning. It was the same feeling she used to get when Joe, stinking of beer, plunked himself down beside her on the Airstream’s tiny sofette and gave her a certain mean grin: if she didn’t get outside, get away from him that instant, something terrible would happen.
    She took a step backward. “I’m going out to get more milk,” she said.
    As soon as she said it, this seemed like the only thing that would save her: get out of the house, get in the car. Drive to a place where everything was lined up neatly on the shelves with prices on it. Where you could see exactly what you were getting and how much it would cost you.
    “You don’t mean now,” Ray said. “It’s almost midnight.”
    “I’ll go to the Star; they’re open all night.” There was no way she could explain. Ray, who tried so hard to be understanding, would not understand this at all.
    “That’s so far away. Sweetheart, that’s crazy. Get the milk in the morning.”
    “I’m not tired, and I want a glass of milk now,” she said. If she could undo just one of her mistakes this evening, she felt she would be all right.
    “Are you out of your mind?” he called as she headed for the door.
    She whirled on him. “That’s what you think of me, isn’t it?”
    It was a childish thing to say, she knew,