Girl in the Arena - Lise Haines [37]
13
I glare at Allison.
UBER stands on the other side of the threshold with the media at his heels. They hurl questions. Camera lights pelt me, soak my skin.
I’m reminded of just how tall Uber is, and wide as a freezer unit through the chest and shoulders, the man I hate. He smiles dumbly at me. In the crook of his right arm he cradles two dozen black and blue roses and a new Lionel car for Thad. Laced in his fingers are the handles of a Virgin Records bag.
Though he is standing just three feet away, Allison calls, —Come in, Uber. You are welcome.
Allison’s pretty good at doing an Imperial Rome impression. She has a way of throwing her voice so the last meager reporter on the sidewalk can hear. But at the moment they’re all in a crush, pushing toward the door, shouting questions.
—How do you feel about Lyn marrying Uber?
—Will they live here with you?
All Allison will give them is a pale smile until she’s ready for the full interview. She looks at Uber and asks him to help with the door. He hands Allison his Virgin bag.
—Lyn, Lyn, what do you think of Uber?
—Any honeymoon plans yet?
—Allison! What would Tommy say about this alliance?
There’s some kind of commotion in the crowd, though I can’t really see what’s going on from my angle, and the media rush the door hard now. Uber draws a switchblade from his pocket. The roses still tucked under his arm appear to bloom from his chest though not as perfectly as they did with that actress in American Beauty. When he touches the button his blade telescopes into a sword—you can buy these knives everywhere in Tokyo now—and the paparazzi love this gesture. They try harder to blind him with their flash equipment as Uber pushes against the door to shut it. He has it nearly closed only to realize a man’s hand is pinned between the door and the jamb. The guy screams, —I LOVE YOU, LYN! and Uber, putting his sword up, opens the door wide enough to push the guy in the chest, sending him back against the photographers. A roar of laughter rises as Uber bolts the door.
—They’re pretty bold today, Allison says. —Come the back way next time.
—Next time? I ask.
They turn to look at me but no one says anything. Allison coughs politely. Uber weaves around the buckets of hyacinths and gladiolas, the vases overcrowded with bird of paradise and mums, in order to stand near me.
—We’ve been a little overwhelmed with tributes, Allison says.
—Of course, Uber says.
—Of course? I say.
—I spoke out of turn, he says, looking toward the rug.
He begins to hand the roses to me, perhaps to put things on better footing. But seeing my reaction, he looks confused or guilty or both, and lays them in Allison’s arms. She rocks back on one heel from this small attention and thanks him.
Uber is wearing traditional courting clothes, which look like a tuxedo with vertical razor cuts down the length of the jacket and matching tunic, and sandals that lace up to his knees. I guess he always has a slight imprint of his helmet on his face. Either that or he got up early to work out in full gear. I look at the slices Tommy made in his legs, each one about an inch apart. Like ladders they travel up Uber’s calves and thighs, and I hope the sandal straps are rubbing the man raw.
I realize he and I look like members of a wedding. I unwind the train of my dress from around my ankles where it’s bunched again, and take the flowers from Allison’s arms and arrange them in a vase. It’s a lot easier than making small talk or eye contact. She asks Uber to head into the living room, and she says she’ll be right there. Then Allison leans into me and says, —Nothing to worry about, if you were thinking he might be married. He’s not. And he only just turned twenty.
—Look at my face. Do you see any worry here about Uber’s marital status?
—We’re going to get on the other side of this, she says vaguely.
Seeming to think this over, she adds, —I think less cynicism would help to get us there faster.
I tell her, —My bad.
But she has already headed back into the living room and I’m not sure if she even heard me. Much as I