Paulina & Fran (17 page)

Authors: Rachel B. Glaser

Paulina adjusted her breasts in her bra. There was food from Zabar’s they could eat tomorrow, or she could easily get a table at L’Apicio by calling ten minutes before they left. The weather report showed possible rain for Saturday. They could
just stay in. They’d have so much to catch up on. But afterward they’d pull themselves together and greet the world. Paulina could see them leaving her apartment, the pavement newly wet from rain, the leaves trembling in the breeze. They could go to an art museum, if Fran was still into art. Or Royce had a pretty wild collection in his apartment, if Fran wanted to lick a Warhol or something. Plus her own apartment had some good pieces. The Peter Halley painting in the bathroom had warped—whoops! Whatever. Luca said it couldn’t be fixed. What, would they indict her for it? The skinny, old art people. Would they drag her to the gallows?

Paulina wondered if Fran still painted. She’d searched the Internet for both Frances and Francesca Hixon, finding mostly obituaries of ancient widows. Maybe she’d been painting her ass off. Maybe she’d want to stay for a while. Paulina would let her use the sunroom as a studio. It had great light and ventilation. But she was getting ahead of herself again. Fran was probably lying on Julian’s chest in that stuffy Pittsburgh apartment. Fran lacked guts. Sometimes she was full of life and longing, but other times Paulina had found her as hollow as a decorative egg.

It was well past midnight, but Paulina didn’t know the trains, how long it would take Fran to get there from whatever landfill she clung to in the Midwest. From what Julian said, it sounded like the poor thing worked in a factory all day. On
screen, two men struggled past the camera carrying a bureau. Eugene led them to the service elevator and pushed the button for them. Paulina knew Eugene well by now. She’d watched him pass his hand over his face when he was tired, and she knew the neck stretches he did every hour. He always spoke to the cleaning crew. He knew all the tenants. She’d seen the way he chatted with his replacements—a younger, trimmer man that worked mornings, and the large woman that worked the graveyard shift, who once kept Luca waiting until Paulina picked up her phone and vouched for him.

The second time would be more nuanced. They’d be high off each other by then. Paulina would show off all she could do. The third time, Fran would surprise her. Fran would learn quickly. She’d laugh in Paulina’s arms. They’d eat between sessions and leave a huge mess in Paulina’s kitchen. One that would never truly get cleaned up.

A woman caught her eye on the television. She was about Fran’s size, but had long, straight hair. Paulina’s phone vibrated with a text from the Curl Club. She turned back to the television and watched the woman wait near the elevators. Paulina couldn’t make out her face. She stared at the woman’s low-cut dress. Paulina was so prepared for a guest, so ready for adventure, that she considered going down to the lobby to meet the woman, or asking Eugene to send her up. Paulina imagined the woman lounging around her apartment. After
hours of sex, an intimacy would form. Maybe they would even fall in love. But this was nonsense. If the last decade had taught her anything, it was that no other person would do. Besides, Fran was probably walking out of the subway this very minute. The woman hesitated by the elevators and seemed to change her mind, or maybe she had forgotten something. It was impossible to tell. Paulina watched the woman as she turned and walked past the doorman’s table, through the revolving doors, to where Paulina could no longer see her.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to my Mom & Dad, and to all of my family, Buck’s Rock, Flying Object, my editor Cal Morgan, my agent Claudia Ballard, Harper Perennial, Granta Books, Anne Meadows,
McSweeney’s
and the Amanda Davis Highwire Fiction Award, Joanna Howard, Sandy Florian, Meredith Steinbach, Mairead Byrne, Karen Rile, Noy Holland & Sam Michel, Chris Bachelder, Peter Gizzi, Lynn Bailey, John Maradik, Adam Robinson, Blake Butler, Giancarlo Ditrapano, Barbara Galletly, Mojo Lorwin, Paradise Copies, Veronika, Erin, Brent, Asher, the Xperimental People, C. S. Ward, my FO classes, my Jersey friends, and the wonderful readers: Ahrum, Anita, Anna, Arda, Carla, Cat, Chain, Chelley, Chelotti, Deweese, Edward, Ehu, Eliza, EP, ES, Ezra, Guy, Halie, Heather, Ivan, Jacob, Jono, Julio, Landman, Lauren, Leidner, Luke, Madeline, Max, Mike, Nat, Noah, Phoebe, Sarah, Shannon, Susan, and Ted.

About the Author

RACHEL B. GLASER
is the author of the story collection
Pee On Water
and the poetry collection
MOODS
. She is a recipient of the
McSweeney’s
Amanda Davis Fiction Award, and her work has appeared in the anthologies
30 Under 30
and
New American Stories. Nylon
has cited her as one of the “Coolest Female Poets to Know Right Now.” She lives in Northampton, Massachusetts.

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Also by Rachel B. Glaser

MOODS

Pee On Water

Credits

Cover illustration by Kaethe Butcher

Cover typography by Nina LoSchiavo

Copyright

PAULINA & FRAN.
Copyright © 2015 by Rachel B. Glaser. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

FIRST EDITION

ISBN 978-0-06-237734-0

EPub Edition September 2015 ISBN 9780062377357

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