First You Try Everything by Jane Mccafferty Page B

happening. Inside
his room, she stood in the middle of the floor, hands on hips, singing. Then
stopped herself. In an almost eerily odd voice, a voice that recalled The Wizard of Oz , like a mix between the good and bad
witches, she said, “What have we here?”
    â€œEvvie! What the fuck are you doing!”
    For a moment he believed she really was crazy and had come to kill him. She breathed
heavily, stood looking at him. Did she have a gun in the coat? Was he really
asking himself this?
    â€œThis is not a dream, my friend,” she said,
whispering, as if someone might be overhearing all this. “This is not just the
glory of love.” Then she took off her coat, dropped it to the floor. “This is,
how you say? Real life.” She spoke in a Russian accent of sorts. She took off
her pajama top and stood topless, hands back on hips. A laugh escaped her.
    â€œI have not come to collect money,” she said, and
now the accent changed. “Because you do not have it een you to care for the neeglected ones standing at the door of
death. Indeed, they remain numbers to you. Perhaps the universe can forgeev us
all thees how you say? Thees lack of under-stand-ing.”
    She paused, breathing. She crossed her arms over
her breasts.
    â€œThis is called breaking and entering,” he said. “I
think you should climb back out now.”
    â€œHa! In fact it’s pitiable that you’ve turned your heart into a piece of black ice.”
Now the accent was as Australian as that crocodile guy’s on TV she didn’t like,
but some of the words were slurred.
    â€œBlack ice being the most dangerous sort, the kind
a person can’t see on the road. The killer ice, it’s been called.”
    Was she drunk? He thought he could smell alcohol on
her. She could never handle drinking. But always it had unleashed the performer
in her. She took off the flannel pajama pants, kicking them high in the air,
laughing a little. “Introducing. My first striptease.” She had lost so much
weight she looked ill. Ribs. The endless limbs. Finally she removed his football
helmet. Then stood naked, stepping into a streak of light from a streetlamp. She
made a microphone with her fist and spoke into it in yet another accent.
    â€œIss so good to be here wiz you! I know you’re
awake, Meester Benjameen. And I know you want to laugh, so laugh, laugh!”
    For one moment his heart ached for her.
    â€œJesus, Ev. I wish you could see—”
    She was walking toward him, and kneeling down by
his mattress, her cold, trembling hand stroking his head. He didn’t move. “Ben,
I can’t do this,” she said, a penitent with a
desperate prayer. “You don’t understand. I can’t do this anymore. You can’t just disappear like this.
You’re not a monster, Ben. Move over—I’ll sleep beside you.”
    He sat up. She sat down next to him, and he held
her. “Ev, this is beyond crazy now. You need to get ahold of yourself. I keep
telling you! I sound like a broken record but you’re not listening. I really
want you to reach out to people who can help.”
    He was shocked at how unfamiliar her body felt, how
Lauren’s body had rendered Evvie’s the strange one. She kissed his cheek, and
thanked him.
    â€œDon’t thank me. Evvie. I’d be glad to—”
    â€œI love you.”
    â€œBut if you love me, you shouldn’t have broken into
my place!” he said, anger obliterating pity for a moment.
    â€œShhh, you’re too loud. Let’s just be quiet,” she
said, nuzzling into his chest.
    â€œPlease get dressed, Evvie. And please, get out.
Immediately.” He let go of her and stood up.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œGet dressed and get out,” he said. “I really need
you to do that. This is called breaking and entering. I’m trying here to
establish—”
    â€œSo who is it, Ben? Your new secretary?”