Saturday's Storyteller: " 'The Prestige has a really creepy human fax machine.' 'Oh, kind of like Bartleby the Scrivener?' "

by Belinda Roddie

"The Prestige has a really creepy human fax machine."

"Oh, kind of like Bartleby the Scrivener?"

Natalie shrugged. "I always considered him to be more of a zombie."

"No, no, no," retorted Norman. "We are not making Bartleby into a remnant of 'The Walking Dead.' Not ever. Stick to the legitimate interpretations of the books, will you?"

We were having what Norman had christened a "Bowtie Party," where all of us wore the damned things as the host himself also donned a top hat and what was meant to be a full-blown mustache but was really just a sad collection of stubble on his upper lip. He had collected six bowties from his father and his uncle and had all of us wear one, whether it was black or blue or even green. I settled for the strict tuxedo one, sipping the dry wine that I had brought and no one else was consuming. They were too focused on their own bottles.

"I don't know why we have to act snobby just because it's a 'high class' party," Ryan suddenly complained as he scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, I adore the Brie, don't get me wrong, but can't we talk about comic books or the latest blockbuster or that really hot girl I saw yesterday?"

"No," Norman argued. "We gotta stick to the formula. My party, my rules."

"If I can't debate that Moby Dick was an encyclopedic replica of sadism or how Neil Gaiman is classier than Poe," Charlie cut in, "then I'm just going to swallow this gigantic chunk of white cheddar and call it a night."

"You can't say that about Poe," snapped Amy, who was nestled under Charlie's arm and drinking from a bottle of White Zinfandel. "Nobody can beat the Poe."

"No one is going to bicker about Gaiman versus Poe, and no one is going to say Moby Dick was anything less than an example of how fiction can be revolutionary," growled Norman. "Someone pass me the Gouda, please."

"You gotta be fair, Norman," I decided to jump in. "I'm okay with the whole dress-up thing, and this wine and cheese idea was awesome, but I have to agree with Ryan. I don't read much, so I'd rather hear about the hot girl."

"She was so hot," smirked Ryan.

"She was staying at the hotel you worked at, right?"

"Yeah. I brought her the room service. She was sitting on her bed watching 'Law and Order.' Her shirt was cut super low."

"Okay," snarled Norman. "Fuck it. Give me back my bowties. You guys can go drink and eat and talk about incessant bullshit somewhere else. I'm going to turn on Season Two of 'Downton Abbey' and you can all leave me the fuck alone."

He always did this when he didn't get his way. He was like a megalomaniacal six-year-old in a college professor's body. Natalie sneered and didn't lose the opportunity to taunt him.

"Please, Norman. Everyone knows you're just going to jerk off to Maggie Smith, anyway. She's a looker, isn't she?"

"Fuck you!"

"I think the proper way to say that is, 'My good madam, kindly take a poker to your orifices and penetrate them thoroughly,'" I insisted.

Norman stormed out of the living room, slamming the door of his bedroom behind him. We couldn't do much. Things had been rough with him after getting his hours cut and his girlfriend shipped away to South Korea to teach English. We all unclipped our bowties and left them on the coffee table, sticking the Moscato and Havarti into the refrigerator for the poor fancy-minded man to feast on while living in his debonair little world.

***

"C'mon," Natalie told me as we headed down the stairs from Norman's apartment. "I'll drive you home."

Good idea. Natalie was allergic to most alcoholic beverages, and there was enough Riesling and Pinot Grigio in my belly to sink a ship. I followed the raven-haired girl to her red car, which she had named the Crimson Jalopy, and heard the sweet sonata of Charlie and Amy making out behind one of the oak trees growing in front of the complex's swimming pool.

"God, those girls," I laughed as I flopped into the passenger's seat like a struggling fish and Natalie rummaged for her keys. "They make me and Kate look sloppy."

"You're just jealous. They're so cute together."

I unbuttoned the collar of my sky-blue shirt as we lurched out of the cul-de-sac, the sweat making the exposed nape of my neck sticky as I swept a hand through my shaggy hair. A few strands were beginning to tickle my jawline, reminding me that I needed a cut. Kate was pretty handy with scissors, even though she had never wanted to work in a salon.

Natalie must have thought that I was mentally griping about Norman because she just started talking.

"Don't worry about him. He just always wants his things his way. Like he said, his party, his rules. But he can't program us like Victorian droids from a steampunk novel. I mean, Christ."

"I wasn't thinking about him."

"Oh." Natalie blinked. "Well, good. He's not worth the wasted brain cells."

I nodded with a long, over-the-top sigh just to get Natalie to giggle. The vinyl of the seat never felt so comfortable against the back of my head. We spun onto Main Boulevard and headed south, and Natalie flicked on the radio and let the tinny sound of a smooth jazz pianist settle into the background.

"You never told me why Kate couldn't come," she said calmly, eyes dead set on the wobbly road.

"She's still in Little Man. It's Leslie's birthday today."

"Well, isn't that nice. Happy Birthday to her cousin."

"I'm sure she'd say thanks if she were here."

"What about Aaron and John?" Natalie was grinning. "You'd think that John would be all over the free alcohol."

"No, John's in Fresno, Aaron's with family. Their apartment's empty."

"When do you think they're going to join our gay posse?"

"Better be sooner rather than later. I'm getting impatient for them to breach the gates of their closet."

Kate's and my townhouse was caught between the run-down taquería and the manic spiderwebs of shopping centers and cramped cottages that couldn't seem to find middle ground in terms of territory. As Natalie pulled up in front of the gate, I fiddled with the silver chain at my throat where a sapphire ring pushed against my cleavage. A gift from Kate, as a symbol of commitment for the past four years. We had been the epitome of high school sweethearts. Now it seemed as if that phase would never end.

I let out a loud yawn and stretched cartoonishly, my back arching and popping as my vertebrate shifted back into their rightful spots. Natalie watched me as I contorted and re-assembled anatomically, her blue fingernails dancing along her lower lip.

"So when am I going to see you next?"

I exhaled. "Dunno," I replied. "Depends on when the next shindig is."

"Heh. Shindig."

"I like that word."

"I know. But still. Shindig. Hee, hee."

I locked my gaze with hers. I was still pretty tipsy, but my vision was clear, and she stood out to me like this exotic specimen, her face surrounded by black foliage. I shook my head. I nodded my head. I pointed at the parking spaces beyond us.

"Get a guest spot," I told her. "I'll get you something to drink."

She stared at me. "You know I can't - "

"Not wine. Cider. Water. Milk. Whatever." I folded my hands as I spoke, looking at the plush floor of the car. "Please."

"Um...okay."

***

I popped open a bottle of sparkling cider that Kate and I hadn't gotten through yet. We drank the stuff like it was nectar when we were together, even though we were both officially legal drinkers and could buy all the beer and wine we ever wanted. But for now, I let the sweetness bubble and spit against the fluted glass as the froth hissed along the lips.

"Thank you."

She said that before I even passed her the glass. I pretended to drink from it, and Natalie looked ready to push me. But she got the drink unscathed.

"When will Kate be back?" she asked after a long swallow.

"Three days." I poured myself a glass of cider and started pawing at my cupboards for snack food. I was woozy and wanted something to eat to counter the booze in my stomach.

"How long has she been gone?"

"A week?" I found a box of wheat crackers. Perfect. "She's been traveling a lot. Her family's either south or east."

"And you miss her, right?"

I could feel the heat of Natalie's eyes against my back. I buried my teeth into a cracker and watched as flecks of the stuff drifted from my mouth to the floor. I turned to look at my guest, dousing the half-chewed clot of carbohydrates with cider.

"I've been pretty damn lonely," I said. "And it's been getting more frequent. It's like college all over again."

It really was. Like long distance set on repeat. The desire to hold her after only a few exchanged texts. The temptation to jump into a car or plane and just tackle her from behind without her expecting it. I got that she wanted to visit people, but where was I in all of this? And furthermore, why did she never invite me to come?

Some things just hadn't changed since that night in senior year. The night I challenged her to kiss me. And everything after that, or so I thought, just jolted upward in an endless crescendo.

I started on a second cracker and didn't mind the silence. But Natalie did. She stayed frozen on the stool at the counter, but she was pretty vocal.

"Why did you tell me to stay?"

I swallowed the cracker after one bite and started on a third. My cider was growing warm as my hand got sweaty against the glass. "Because you're my friend?"

"Yeah?" She pressed further. "And you're lonely? And you want company?"

"Yeah?"

"And you want someone to kiss you?"

"What? No. I..."

She stood up from her stool and started walking toward me.

"No. Natalie. Wait. Nat."

"You just want a friend," she was whispering, the air hot against my face as she neared me. "Or maybe someone closer."

"No."

"Shhhh." Her tongue almost touched my cheek. "Kate doesn't have to know."

I stumbled. My glass fell to the floor and split into two pieces, the cider going one way and the dismembered stem going the other. Natalie kissed me passionately...on the cheek. The wetness remained there like an unwanted tattoo against my face.

"C'mon, Emily," she teased. "I was fucking with you. Can I have some more cider? This is really good."

I didn't bother. I almost tripped over the shattered mess on the floor, staggering upstairs, finding a toilet to vomit into.

This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.