I SIT DOWN ON THE CHROME LOVESEAT beside Molly, who wears just a thin white bra and panties. Her feet are stained, red. I have a gun in one hand and her crumpled sundress in the other. I offer the dress to her and she takes it, holding it in both hands as if she doesn’t quite recognize it. I look around the room and Jude is at the bar, mixing drinks. Her hair falls shadowy around her face. The muscles jump in her brown arms and I can see that she’s glowing.
Jude loves this shit.
Miller is bent over the coffee table, making notes on the script. I look over his shoulder and my eye catches on a random line of dialogue, attributed to me: Who is the shadow that walks beside you? It sounds like something I might say when drunk. It seems like this should disturb me but I don’t much care. Daphne has opened a window and now sits on the ledge, smoking a joint.
Will somebody please tell me what’s happening?
Miller peers at me, confused. Jude brings me a margarita on the rocks.
I would like some of that weed, says Molly.
You might want to get dressed, says Jude.
Oh, says Molly. You’re right.
When did you change the furniture? I say.
Molly touches my thigh. While we were out, this morning.
Do you like it? says Miller. I think it makes for a nice set.
Molly gets up and pulls her dress over her head and buttons it slowly, her bra and panties exposed in flashes. The monologue, I think. She got a charge out of Jude’s psycho monologue. Molly reaches back and pulls her ponytail apart, shakes her hair as if wet. She glides across the room and takes the joint from Daphne. They whisper to each other briefly, like two thieves. Daphne yawns and stretches lazily and announces that she wants to take a dinner break.
Okay, says Miller. But don’t be long. We’ll be shooting tonight.
Daphne nods. Do you mind if I take one of the cars?
Take the Mustang, says Molly. The keys are in the kitchen.
Daphne exits, pausing to pluck a dead yellow flower from a vase.
I take it you know her, I say.
Molly nods. Daphne goes to school with me.
I can’t trust you, can I?
Why do you say that?
Did you fake that seizure today?
No, she says. No.
Please, I say. Button your fucking dress.
Molly looks at me, hurt.
I’m sorry. I’m an asshole, I say.
This is breaking my heart, says Jude.
You love this, I say. Don’t you.
What do you mean?
I mean you’re a compulsive liar.
Everybody shut the fuck up, says Miller. We need to talk.
The whine of a power saw from downstairs.
Hammering, grinding. I wonder what the hell Huck and Jeremy are up to. Molly comes over and hands me the joint. I take a long, grateful drag. I stare at Jude, who lounges on the edge of the couch, stroking herself like she wants to fuck somebody.
The boy, I say. I want to know about the boy.
You’re wondering how he will fare in the film, says Miller.
Exactly.
The fundamentals of The Velvet are simple, he says. One of us in this room will die. That has not changed. But relationships can be tedious, I think. This is not a comedy, after all. It’s a postmodern horror. And so now we are making a film about four people who have kidnapped a small boy to finance an independent film about four people who have kidnapped a small boy. Or something like that. The boy will be the focal point of the conflict between these four characters. The sexual relationships will be secondary.
You like to throw that word around, I say. Postmodern. You realize it doesn’t mean anything?
Miller shrugs. I like the way it sounds.
Where is the boy?
Upstairs, says Jude. Downstairs. In a secret room.
Did you know about this? I say to Molly.
No, she says. Of course not.
I want to see him.
Jude shrugs. And if I say no?
Don’t fuck with me, Jude.
She lays one hand flat on her stomach and thrusts her hips once, twice. But it’s so much fun, she says.
I know this is a bad idea but I walk toward her, my hands out wide to show her that I am unarmed. I shuffle my feet, as if I want to dance with her. Jude raises her arms over her head and pumps her hips faster now, fucking the air. I am a terrible dancer but I’m not shy and I drift close to her, shaking my ass like a fool. I close my eyes for a moment and I see her in a Mexico City motel room, an electric bone saw dripping blood in one hand and a pint of vodka in the other. Her raincoat is covered in blood and she sways back and forth, slowly grinding her pelvis against mine. I look down and her boots are slick with blood, she’s dancing in blood and now I open my eyes and throw my right fist at Jude’s head, a short compact swing that should knock her flat on her ass but she vanishes, she ducks under my fist and when she rematerializes she is to my left and slightly behind me and she hits me with a jab in the side of the throat, then casually sweeps my feet out from under me. I go down like a sack of fertilizer and now Jude is squatting on my chest with a scowl on her face. I am having difficulty breathing and I will be eating nothing but ice cream for a while. I take shallow, gasping breaths, my hands at my throat and I have a feeling she pulled that punch, that she could have crushed my fucking esophagus, that she could have killed me if only she wanted to.
Wow, says Miller. I wish we’d got that on tape.
Are you okay? says Jude.
I see a dark and thorny bramble of emotions in her face. Worried that she has really hurt me, scared but angry as well. Jude bends to kiss me softly on the side of the mouth and I know she loves me, she hates me.
Don’t speak, she says. It’s going to hurt for a while.
Get away from him.
This comes from Molly, who stands a few feet away, a baseball bat in her hands. She has a nice, relaxed grip on it and I believe she knows how to use it. But she doesn’t know Jude very well.
I’m serious, says Molly.
Jude sighs. Honey, I could take that away from you with my eyes closed. I could make you suck it.
Easy, baby, says Miller.
The word baby rings in my head like hammer on stone.
But I won’t, says Jude. I’m done fighting for the moment. I’m tired and I have to pee.
She heaves a theatrical sigh and stands up. She stands over me for a moment and I get a nice view of her crotch. The velvet pants fit her perfectly and her package looks like a ripe red plum. Jude looks good from this angle and she knows it. Now she walks away and Molly bends over me.
Are you okay?
No, not really. My voice is gone, a ragged whisper. I sound like I have laryngitis.
Why did you do that?
I try to smile. I want to tell her it’s complicated. Molly helps me up and I don’t really mean to, but I push her away. I don’t want her to touch me, or something. I don’t want her to help me, to be tender with me. And I like Molly. I think I’m falling for her but right now I need to go talk to Jude. I glance at Miller and by the expression on
