"What the **** is this? WHAT THE **** IS THIS?!"
It was supposed to be the Last Supper. Eddie would have his final peaceful evening with his two best friends. Underdone fettuccine Alfredo with overdone chicken, good conversation, maybe one last rewatch of The Count of Monte Cristo.
Instead, Mickey was shoving her phone under his chin in one pudgy palm.
"What am I meant to be looking at?"
"You tell me! You emailed it to me and Mari! How fucking dare you, Eddie?!"
He glanced down at the email.
'Dear friends:
By the time you read this, I may be incarcerated or worse. As my confidantes, I believe you have a right to know what happened to me. You see, it all begins with my infatuation with Bombshell…'
He could read no more.
"All this time!" screamed Mickey. "It's all been about your own, selfish--!"
"I didn't write that!"
"ARE YOU FUCKING SURE?!"
"Baby? I'll handle him. It's okay. You want to lay down in the other room?" Marion cut in, in a rare display of authority.
"Fine," snapped Mickey, lumbering off. "He's your problem now."
Her girlfriend gone, Marion smirked. “Get your jetpack,” she said, “we're going somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Surprise!”
“Thanks,” Eddie sighed, “but I've had enough surprises lately.”
“This will be different. Hurry, there's not much time.”
After a few minutes flying in circles as Marion insisted on seeing so many of the city's landmarks from Eddie’s aerial perspective, she at last guided him to their destination and asked him to descend. He laid her down gently on the thick, foam-like grass, and with a kiss of his hand she thanked him, before beginning to stare wistfully into the distance. Waves rolled softly beneath the clifftop, a cool sea breeze whistled as it caressed Eddie’s face, but Marion stayed silent. Confused, Eddie sat down cross-legged beside her.
“So why are we here?” he asked.
“Just wait,” she replied briskly.
Slowly, the sky began to turn to a gentle orange, the sea sparkling beneath its splendor.
"Very pretty," said Eddie, sardonically.
Marion sighed.
"Isn't it just?" She paused, and raised a finger as the sky grew brighter. "I unhooked her bra right about… now."
The sky began to grow hazier, surreally serene, and Marion dropped her finger, smirking.
"When was this?" Eddie asked.
"The first time. We'd been going out for a few weeks but I was pretty prudish back then. Until that evening. She was sprawled out on a blanket, all the plastic packaging from our picnic scattered around her like some sort of aura, and her tummy… God, it was so tiny back then but I stuffed it real good, I fed her so many chips and pastries and little sausages until it turned tight, at once so firm and so fragile, and she looked up at me with big brown eyes and whimpered... ‘man, I've really overdone it…’"
Marion swooned.
“See?”, she continued, gazing into the horizon. “That's love. They were wrong about communism, about queers, but by god did Hollywood get love right. A sunset here, a brass orchestra there; if you've ever expected less you're underestimating yourself. It's sex, and it's soul, constantly clashing, swords always sparking, glowing with ravenous heat… I'd never known that until me and Mickey came here. And I knew right away I needed it, whatever the cost, and I destroyed my life trying to get it. I lost my money, my home, my family, everything. And I still miss all of that. But the thing is, that life… that wasn't me. That was my parents' daughter: their dream, not mine. Nowadays, I'm broke, I live in a **** hole and I can't even walk anymore, but I'm myself, so it's all been worth it. I tore my life down and rebuilt it from scratch, and Mickey was my muse. Every bit of blubber we added to her body was a brick, a step towards my dream and a step towards hers. And she must have, what, a billion bricks now? All our bricks, and ours alone. Nobody else's.” She had begun to cry, but quickly wiped her eyes across her sleeve. "Don't panic. I know you panic. But these are happy tears."
Her spiel over, Marion looked somewhat smug, if red in the face, whilst Eddie was left merely confused.
“So you're telling me to go ahead with the hostage,” he asked, hesitantly.
“I'm telling you that what you're after isn't love.”
“I know that.”
“You think you do. If all you cared about was the orgasm you'd just jerk yourself off. What you want is the ultimate orgasm, the orgasm to end all orgasms: your last.”
“What?” ****.
“Don't lie to me. You left a note. Everyone knows why people leave notes."
"Look, I don't know who sent that to you, but it wasn't me.".
“I know you, okay? I know that look in your eyes. That hollowness. That's the look of a zombie, right there.”
As he gazed upon Marion’s face he saw the girl’s ever-present aura of glamor for the first time fade away, leaving a greyed glare Eddie instantly understood the meaning of.
“Fine,” he swallowed, finally. “I swear I didn't write the note. But I want her to--to--”
Silence inevitably followed as the sun sank completely beneath the waves, leaving behind an inky black void.
“I didn't want to tell you.”
“Which is absolutely fine.” Marion paused. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
It was a while before Eddie could move his lips; they felt so dry, and so stiff.
“Mom, she...she told me I was a genius.”
“Clearly she was deluded,” Marion chuckled, “God knows you're a dumbass.”
“Yeah… she told me I could do anything. Everything. And she kept telling me. Again and again. She kept telling me what everything was.”
“And it was always right around the corner.”
“Because I had so much more going for me than she did.”
“Because of all she'd sacrificed.”
“I didn't realize you would…”
Marion shook her head.
“I don't. Nobody can but you. And that's all I know for sure.”
“But you--”
“Once I wanted release too, but I found something better: freedom. And that can be yours, I promise.” She moved to wrap her arm around Eddie, but he brushed it away.
“Please don't stop me,” he said, gravely.
“I can't. Whatever happens, that moment is going to come between you and Bombshell. What I'm worried about is, what are you going to make of it?"
It was supposed to be the Last Supper. Eddie would have his final peaceful evening with his two best friends. Underdone fettuccine Alfredo with overdone chicken, good conversation, maybe one last rewatch of The Count of Monte Cristo.
Instead, Mickey was shoving her phone under his chin in one pudgy palm.
"What am I meant to be looking at?"
"You tell me! You emailed it to me and Mari! How fucking dare you, Eddie?!"
He glanced down at the email.
'Dear friends:
By the time you read this, I may be incarcerated or worse. As my confidantes, I believe you have a right to know what happened to me. You see, it all begins with my infatuation with Bombshell…'
He could read no more.
"All this time!" screamed Mickey. "It's all been about your own, selfish--!"
"I didn't write that!"
"ARE YOU FUCKING SURE?!"
"Baby? I'll handle him. It's okay. You want to lay down in the other room?" Marion cut in, in a rare display of authority.
"Fine," snapped Mickey, lumbering off. "He's your problem now."
Her girlfriend gone, Marion smirked. “Get your jetpack,” she said, “we're going somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Surprise!”
“Thanks,” Eddie sighed, “but I've had enough surprises lately.”
“This will be different. Hurry, there's not much time.”
After a few minutes flying in circles as Marion insisted on seeing so many of the city's landmarks from Eddie’s aerial perspective, she at last guided him to their destination and asked him to descend. He laid her down gently on the thick, foam-like grass, and with a kiss of his hand she thanked him, before beginning to stare wistfully into the distance. Waves rolled softly beneath the clifftop, a cool sea breeze whistled as it caressed Eddie’s face, but Marion stayed silent. Confused, Eddie sat down cross-legged beside her.
“So why are we here?” he asked.
“Just wait,” she replied briskly.
Slowly, the sky began to turn to a gentle orange, the sea sparkling beneath its splendor.
"Very pretty," said Eddie, sardonically.
Marion sighed.
"Isn't it just?" She paused, and raised a finger as the sky grew brighter. "I unhooked her bra right about… now."
The sky began to grow hazier, surreally serene, and Marion dropped her finger, smirking.
"When was this?" Eddie asked.
"The first time. We'd been going out for a few weeks but I was pretty prudish back then. Until that evening. She was sprawled out on a blanket, all the plastic packaging from our picnic scattered around her like some sort of aura, and her tummy… God, it was so tiny back then but I stuffed it real good, I fed her so many chips and pastries and little sausages until it turned tight, at once so firm and so fragile, and she looked up at me with big brown eyes and whimpered... ‘man, I've really overdone it…’"
Marion swooned.
“See?”, she continued, gazing into the horizon. “That's love. They were wrong about communism, about queers, but by god did Hollywood get love right. A sunset here, a brass orchestra there; if you've ever expected less you're underestimating yourself. It's sex, and it's soul, constantly clashing, swords always sparking, glowing with ravenous heat… I'd never known that until me and Mickey came here. And I knew right away I needed it, whatever the cost, and I destroyed my life trying to get it. I lost my money, my home, my family, everything. And I still miss all of that. But the thing is, that life… that wasn't me. That was my parents' daughter: their dream, not mine. Nowadays, I'm broke, I live in a **** hole and I can't even walk anymore, but I'm myself, so it's all been worth it. I tore my life down and rebuilt it from scratch, and Mickey was my muse. Every bit of blubber we added to her body was a brick, a step towards my dream and a step towards hers. And she must have, what, a billion bricks now? All our bricks, and ours alone. Nobody else's.” She had begun to cry, but quickly wiped her eyes across her sleeve. "Don't panic. I know you panic. But these are happy tears."
Her spiel over, Marion looked somewhat smug, if red in the face, whilst Eddie was left merely confused.
“So you're telling me to go ahead with the hostage,” he asked, hesitantly.
“I'm telling you that what you're after isn't love.”
“I know that.”
“You think you do. If all you cared about was the orgasm you'd just jerk yourself off. What you want is the ultimate orgasm, the orgasm to end all orgasms: your last.”
“What?” ****.
“Don't lie to me. You left a note. Everyone knows why people leave notes."
"Look, I don't know who sent that to you, but it wasn't me.".
“I know you, okay? I know that look in your eyes. That hollowness. That's the look of a zombie, right there.”
As he gazed upon Marion’s face he saw the girl’s ever-present aura of glamor for the first time fade away, leaving a greyed glare Eddie instantly understood the meaning of.
“Fine,” he swallowed, finally. “I swear I didn't write the note. But I want her to--to--”
Silence inevitably followed as the sun sank completely beneath the waves, leaving behind an inky black void.
“I didn't want to tell you.”
“Which is absolutely fine.” Marion paused. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
It was a while before Eddie could move his lips; they felt so dry, and so stiff.
“Mom, she...she told me I was a genius.”
“Clearly she was deluded,” Marion chuckled, “God knows you're a dumbass.”
“Yeah… she told me I could do anything. Everything. And she kept telling me. Again and again. She kept telling me what everything was.”
“And it was always right around the corner.”
“Because I had so much more going for me than she did.”
“Because of all she'd sacrificed.”
“I didn't realize you would…”
Marion shook her head.
“I don't. Nobody can but you. And that's all I know for sure.”
“But you--”
“Once I wanted release too, but I found something better: freedom. And that can be yours, I promise.” She moved to wrap her arm around Eddie, but he brushed it away.
“Please don't stop me,” he said, gravely.
“I can't. Whatever happens, that moment is going to come between you and Bombshell. What I'm worried about is, what are you going to make of it?"