It was the sort of track sung by a girl who might possibly have been discovered on the Disney Channel. #51 | | |
When I stepped in, the airconditioning hit me like a punch. #52 | | |
I could feel every single one of my nerves tensing and considering their shape and species. #53 | | |
This was going to be a thing here. #54 | | |
It had been a very long time since I had been a wolf. And it had always taken a lot to convince my body to shift — a precipitous drop in temperature, an interesting chemical cocktail, a persuasive kick to my hypothalamus. The temperature difference now wasn’t enough to do it, but it was enough to shock my body into the seductive memory of shifting. #55 | | |
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That would be a good song. #57 | | |
Inside, the ceiling soared up above the concrete floor, all the way up to the exposed ductwork. There were four pieces of furniture. #58 | | |
In the middle of them, Baby North stood bent over an iPad. I recognized her more from gossip blogs than our brief meeting years before. Her brown hair was cut in a heavy fringe over her deep-set eyes like a ’70s model. She wore scrunchy leggings and some kind of smocky-tunic thing made out of canvas or linen or something monklike. She was short and pretty in a disconcerting way — a way to look at, not to touch. I had no idea how old she was. #59 | | |
I pointed toward one of the speakers overhead. The singer was chirruping something about how we should all call her and do something before it was too late. It was relentlessly catchy. #60 | | |
“You know this stuff will make you go blind, right?” #61 | | |
When Baby turned to me, her smile was huge and genuine and world-eating. She tapped something on the iPad, and the music died instantly. #62 | | |
“Cole St. Clair,” she said. #63 | | |
Though I was sure that she wouldn’t break me, I felt a twinge. It was the way she said my name. Like it was a triumph that I was standing here. #64 | | |
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She clasped her hands to her chest, enraptured. “God, your voice.” #66 | | |
A review of NARKOTIKA’s last album had summed it up like so: #67 | | |
The title track of Either One/Or the Other begins with twenty seconds of spoken words. The boys of NARKOTIKA are well aware that even without Victor Baranova’s insistent drums and Jeremy Shutt’s inspired bass guitar riffs, Cole St. Clair’s voice would lure listeners to an ecstatic death. #68 | | |
Baby said, “This is the best idea I ever had.” #69 | | |
My heart stuttered hard, just once, like an engine turning over. It had been a long time since I’d been on tour. Since I’d been out in public as a musician. Now, with my pulse faster, I couldn’t believe that I’d thought I might give it up for good. It felt intentional, powerful, purposeful. I’d been in stasis for a year and now I was back on solid ground. #70 | | |
| | |
Isabel was going to dinner with me. #72 | | |
I had been taken apart and put back together again, and this version of me was unbreakable. #73 | | |
Baby set her iPad on one of the four pieces of furniture — a birch ottoman or house pet or something — and circled me, hands still curled up on her breastbone. I had seen this posture before. It was a guy circling a car on the auction block. She had acquired me with a not-insignificant amount of effort, and she wanted to know if it was worth it. #74 | | |
I waited until she’d circled once. #75 | | |
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“I just can’t believe you’re real. You were dead.” #77 | | |
I grinned at her. Not my real smile. My NARKOTIKA smile. One sly side of my mouth working wider than the other. #78 | | |
It was coming back to me. #79 | | |
“That smile,” Baby said. She repeated, “This is the best idea I’ve ever had. Have you been to the house yet?” #80 | | |
Of course I had not. I had been haunting Isabel in Santa Monica. #81 | | |
“Well, you’ll see it soon enough,” she said. “The rest of the band moves in tomorrow. You want something to drink?” #82 | | |
I wanted to ask her about the band she’d assembled for me, but I thought it would sound like I was nervous. Instead, I asked, “You got a Coke?” #83 | | |
The kitchen was big and spare. Nothing looked particularly residential or even human. The cabinets were all thin slats of pale wood, and the walls were covered with exposed PVC pipes headed to the upstairs. The fridge looked like a surprise, like it ought to have been a vat of some commercial fluid instead. I needed no one to tell me Baby lived alone. #84 | | |
She handed me a Coke. One of those glass bottles, satisfyingly cold in your hand before you even cracked the cap. Baby watched me tip my head back to drink before she put hers to her lips. She was still appraising me. Looking at my throat and my hands. #85 | | |
She thought she knew me. #86 | | |
“Oh, I have —” She used just her pinky to pull open a drawer, and she withdrew a notepad. One of those tiny ones, palm-sized, that urged you to be brief. “This is what you wanted?” #87 | | |
I was pleased she remembered, but I just nodded coolly as I accepted the pad. I slid it into my back pocket. #88 | | |
“Look, kid,” she said, “this is going to be hard.” #89 | | |
My eyebrows twitched at “kid.” #90 | | |
“I want you to know that I’m here whenever you need me. #91 | | |
If the pressure gets to be too much, I’m just a phone call away. #92 | | |
Or if you want to come over, that’s fine, too. The house is only a mile from here.” Her concern looked genuine, which surprised me. From her body of work, I’d expected an infant-devouring monster. #93 | | |
“Right,” I said. “You told me. See, I already have your number programmed.” #94 | | |
I flipped my phone around so that she could see her number and above it, in the name field, Nervous Breakdown/Death. #95 | | |
Baby laughed out loud, absolutely delighted. #96 | | |
“But I am serious. You’d be surprised how the cameras can get to you,” she added. “I mean, they won’t be on you all the time, of course. Mostly just for the episodes. A little bit in the house, you and the band. You pretty much tell them where and when you need them. But, you know, the viewers can be pretty cruel. And with your background . . .” #97 | | |
I just flashed my NARKOTIKA smile at her again. I’ve seen it, this smile of mine. In magazines and on blogs and in liner notes and in the ever-fond gaze of the mirror. I’ve heard it takes more muscles to frown than smile, and I’m sure it’s true when it comes to this particular expression. It’s just a twitch of the lips, really, just a narrowing of the eyes. Without a single word, it tells the other person that not only have I got them figured out, but I also have it figured out, where it stands for the world. #98 | | |
I mostly use it when I can’t think of anything clever to say. #99 | | |
“It’s been a bit much for others,” Baby admitted, as if we didn’t both know the fate of her previous television subjects. #100 | | |
