Blue Field(8)

Marilyn’s ears burned and buzzed. Her thigh throbbed and she massaged Jane’s instep in hopes of preventing further bodily harm while Rand scoured the tines of his fork over his plate. That noise. Marilyn resisted the urge to screech at him.

So you did something, he said. Or tried to. Good for you.

Jane removed her leg from Marilyn’s and shifted toward him. So what about you? she said. Lord of the Underworld and all that. All for personal thrills and chills?

Marilyn yanked at the cake plate and dolloped some frosting onto her finger, which she then wagged. Another slice, kiddos? she said warningly. Jane, small?

Unlikely, Jane said, though she did appear no bigger than a girl in Marilyn’s borrowed tee and jeans.

By the way, I see how this is going, he said, smirking.

How is this going? Jane said.

Marilyn swept the hair from her neck and shook it. Kind of hot in here, she said.

Do not, Jane said, still facing him down. Leave me alone with him. Ever. Unless you’re going for more booze.

The candle flames from the votives lining the table guttered low. Jane’s mums emitted coppery cones of light. The rain had let up and the room seemed even more echoey and vast. Blame her recent ear infection, Marilyn thought, which seemed to clear only after a course of potent off-label antibiotics she’d purchased at a storefront down the street.

Crunch diving, Jane was saying, and her voice seemed to come from a long way off. I like the lingo. So what’s it like in the really small caves?

His big head appeared to bobble slightly on his neck. Like diving for hours inside a coffin, he allowed.

Jane set aside the tangerine peel she’d been playing with and snorted. If it’s so bad, why do it? she said.

To know you can. To push your limits. Feel more alive.

Jane gazed at the ceiling, lightly tapped her fingers on the table. What about her? she finally said. For starters, tell me she’s not going to solo dive like you.

Okay, he said. Here’s how it works. Contrary to what you might have heard, the buddy system’s just an excuse for being poorly trained. Think somebody else will be there to bail you out? That’s just wishful thinking that the other person will be more competent than you. And that’s no better than leaving things to chance. To luck. Which should have nothing to do with it. Even Marilyn here, with just a baby course and one dive under her belt, should tell the buddy system to piss off.

Huh, Jane said. Quite the speech, guy.

He pushed back from the table, folded his arms over his chest, smiled.

Baby? Marilyn swallowed more drink. She’d forgotten what a blowhard he could be in class. But this was next-level bullshit.

Anyway, isn’t not having a buddy against rules? Jane said.

There’s a higher set of rules.

Who makes those? Who gets to decide?

Those who do. The ones who have the know-how. Not the ones who like to police what they know nothing about.

I’ve heard this kind of thing before, Jane said.

Marilyn poured herself another big one. She felt blurry and fierce and f*cked with. Fuck him. So why are you teaching the babies? she said, enunciating with care. Like me. Why lower yourself?

He unfolded one of his shirtsleeves and buttoned the cuff. What I just said, he said after a pause. People at all levels should be better trained. Self-sufficient. Besides, I’m not advocating technical diving for everyone.

She took another slug and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. You mean, for me, she said. Really? Because?

Really, he said. Because the stakes are pretty f*cking high.

She polished off her drink. Not that she harboured any real ambitions for the kind of diving he was talking about—not that she held any idea about it at all. But why limit herself? Why should he limit her? What stakes? she said.

He worked on his other shirtsleeve even more slowly than the first as if to suggest a tensile economy earned at some expense, the need to make his showboat words sound like an understatement. Only when he was done did he flip her a brief, unreadable look. For a second, blue teased at his temples. I’ve lost people, he said. Friends. That answer your question?

She’d lost people too, she knew all about that. Okay, she said sharply. I guess I hear you.

Don’t get me wrong, he said, holding his hands palm up then dropping them. You’re doing good. You don’t panic. You wait and think through the situation. That’s a skill to bank on. It’s what first impressed me about you.

She picked the bottle off the table. Empty. She put it back and downed her water instead. Maybe she was what he saw. Or maybe she could become that.

To Marilyn doing more good, Jane said and raised her glass. Rand joined her. Marilyn did too, though she had nothing left to swallow.





8


The rain had let up and the slick streets thrummed with lights from cars and jumbled storefronts. Goblins and celebrity hosts and former dictators jostled by in the river air porous with the smells of garbage and fried food and grilled meats. A driver blammed on the horn and fists shook. A squad of taxis loosened and eased away. She launched into the breach after one. A bike flotilla loomed. Bells and curses rang. Easy, Jane said and with a squeeze to the scruff of the neck righted Marilyn onto the sidewalk.

She shook herself off. I am only trying to get you home, she said very slowly. Since you refused his ride.

Marilyn, I stayed because I, unlike a certain someone, wanted to make sure you were okay. Okay? And you don’t have to shout.