Girl in the Arena - Lise Haines [84]
Then I ask him to give me a moment.
I touch the case and tell Tommy that I don’t want him to worry about Thad.
After a while LeRoy takes out his handkerchief and wipes my fingerprints away. He tells me we are to take the stairs down to the ninth floor. From there we will both take the elevator down to the street and then he’ll travel back up to the office. He tells me where I need to walk to catch a taxi and wishes me Godspeed.
It’s good that I take the last train back. It’s dark and quiet now and I’ll get home to Thad soon. At the speed of the Acela, I get out the superheroes catalog. It’s so much easier to think of oneself in a comic book.
The costumes are broken down into eight basic types: graphic, patriotic, virile, paradoxical, armored, aerodynamic, mutant, and postmodern. Although some might consider me paradoxical, or even a little armored, I think postmodern will suit my time in the arena. Adorned with skulls, hellfire, and other symbols of mortality, they embody . . . the postmodern body of both fiction and fashion and the darker terrors of our contemporary world.
I don’t know what comes after postmodern, which is already turning old when five-year-old girls can go into local department stores and buy tights with skull and crossbones all over them. Maybe the next phase is to crank up the particle accelerators, rev up the nuclear reactors, peel the ozone away, spew oil from the offshore platforms, take Russia or China on. But I would like to imagine something else. I don’t know. Something.
CHAPTER
29
Thad waits for the first pancake off Julie’s griddle, his jaw tipped open. She’s made it the size of his face and plans to decorate it with Thad’s basic features.
I see he’s wearing a new gladiator costume. The work is so good it looks almost like one of Tommy’s outfits. His wooden sword and shield, painted bronze, rest next to his chair as if he’s going into battle as soon as breakfast is over. They’ve even purchased a new pair of sandals for him with the right number of straps. I know there’s no discouraging Julie in this kind of gift, and God help me if I try and take it away from Thad now.
—Would you like tiny marshmallows or little bits of butter for the mouth? Julie asks.
Thad furrows his brow. —Lyn’s going to lose everyone, he says in his point-blank way.
—He really missed you. I think that’s all it is, Julie says, but she looks away, clearly worried.
Just once I wish my Thad would say I’m going to win something or take a pleasant trip or meet an interesting stranger.
Now Julie steps away from the stove long enough to kiss me on the forehead. Then Mark leans into me with that look like I need a distraction. One eye on his computer, he starts to whisper to me about just how bad things have gotten in Myanmar, about the things they do to albinos in Tanzania.
—I was only gone for a day, and I read those articles online, and I’m really getting this, that the world is going to hell.
—Sorry, he says, rubbing his goatee.
—I’m just tired, I say.
Lloyd, who’s probably only caught a little of our conversation, begins to shake his head, his eyes fixed on the sports section. —A lot can happen in a day, he says vaguely, more to himself than us.
I want to tell him that it already has. I got the call last night from LeRoy as soon as I got in. Caesar’s is sending signed copies of the contract today.
—Jesus, since when did the army get into Ultimate Fighting? Lloyd says, smacking the paper.
—Since they figured they could make a buck airing it on primetime, Mark says.
—No shit.
—Lloyd, Julie scolds, nodding toward Thad.
—Sorry. Cute pancake, Thaddy, he says. —Looks just like you.
—I’m the most famous person you’ll ever meet.
In a low tone I say, —Tommy used to compare ultimate fighting to cockfighting.
Lloyd folds the newspaper back. —Listen to this from some Major Crigger.
—Crigger or Trigger? Mark asks.
—I quote: The Ultimate Fighting Championship provides a great venue to get the Army name into