Hanging Time

15

Camille had the dress on but couldn’t manage the buttons. The front was open. Her hair was tangled and wild. The doorbell rang again. She touched the dress fabric, trying to find a name for it. It was very thin, transparent, turquoise in color, printed with a pattern. Camille felt as if she were under water, was drowning a lot of the time. She liked to cover herself with sea colors, seaweed. This dress had shells on it. She tried to button a button.

Bouck sat in the dark and wouldn’t go open the door. He said Milicia was Camille’s devil, the cause of all her troubles.

She heard a raspy noise. Her breath was coming too fast. The doorbell rang over and over even though she talked on the intercom, said she was coming. She couldn’t make the sound stop. The sound caused the panic to rise again.

“I’m coming,” she cried. She was panting heavily now as she negotiated the stairs from their bedroom. If she moved too fast, she got dizzy and fell down. Bouck told her he found her at the bottom of the stairs once. He said she’d fallen and hit her head.

Now she stepped carefully, moving one heavy foot in front of the other, stepping over the bugs she thought were in the way as she painfully choreographed her path down the stairs and finally crossed the green living room with its collection of ill-matched furniture. She headed toward the door, dodging a table and a chair.

Bouck owned the whole building. They lived on the second and third floors. The shop was on the first floor, the workshop in the basement. Camille had been buying antique furniture for Bouck. He said she knew more about antiques than anybody.

She liked to buy good pieces and then cram them in so that they formed an obstacle course, hard to get through. She liked how Bouck let her do whatever she wanted. She hadn’t finished the place. It was still in the colors of green Bouck had it painted years earlier. She couldn’t have the walls glazed the way she liked them because she couldn’t stand men working in the apartment. The kitchen was still primitive, always would be. She never went in there.

The bell rang again. It was a harsh, grating sound, not like a bell at all. Camille didn’t know why Milicia kept buzzing. All it did was make Puppy dash down the stairs and paw at the door, barking wildly.

“Shh, Puppy,” Camille cajoled. She got to the door and rested her head against it, forgetting for a moment why she was there.

“Camille.” Milicia’s voice came at her through the door. “Open up. It’s me.”

Slowly Camille’s breath began to even out. She opened the door. Milicia rushed in before she could close it again.

“Are you all right? What took you so long? I got scared.” Milicia’s red skirt and blouse clashed with her hair. Her makeup looked to Camille as if it had been spread on her face with a trowel. She reached out, but Camille backed away. The dog was at Milicia’s feet, jumping all over her and nipping at her ankles.

“Hi, cutie.” Milicia hunkered down to pet her.

“Don’t—” Camille screamed. “Don’t touch my baby.”

Milicia stood up, frowning. “You kept me waiting out there for twenty minutes. You scare me to death, Camille. I almost never get to see you. I worry about you all the time, living with that”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—”madman. I call you. No one answers the phone. When he answers the phone, I know he doesn’t tell you I called.” She paused. “I didn’t touch your damn dog.”

Her face changed again when she registered what Camille was wearing. Camille’s see-through dress hung open all the way down, revealing the black lace bra and panties, the black garter belt and white stockings. No shoes on her feet.

“Oh, God, Camille, what are you into now?” Milicia looked around. “Where is he?”

Camille shook her head. She was feeling tired. Milicia’s voice came from a long way away.

“Where is he?”

Camille shrugged. Who was she talking about?

“Oh, baby—it’s so dark in here.” Milicia reached for the light. “Can I turn on the light?”

Camille shrugged again. Milicia hit the light switch with her palm. The chandelier in the center of the ceiling blazed into a fireworks of glittering light. Camille flinched.

“What’s the matter?” Milicia moved toward her, making a gesture toward the dress. “Let me button you up.”

Camille shook her head. “No.” She and her sister were almost the same size, but Milicia still seemed huge to her. She’d start screaming if Milicia touched her.

“Camille.” Milicia studied her. “What did you take?”

Camille shook her head back and forth. Forth and back.

“I want to help you.”

Back and forth, forth and back.

“What’s going on? Can you speak?” Milicia moved another step forward. “This is not the place for you. You’re getting worse, can’t you tell? Can’t you feel it?”

Camille picked up her puppy and held it tight. Milicia wouldn’t take this puppy from her. No way.

“Don’t touch my puppy,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to touch your puppy. Camille, you can’t go on like this. You have to get some help. Don’t you want to get better?”

Camille saw the words come marching out of Milicia’s mouth like little soldiers on a parade ground. Milicia was looking around nervously as she spoke. Looking for Bouck, who said he’d kill her. Camille let out a little giggle. Bouck was in the chair upstairs. He could come down if he wanted to.

They stood by the door on the edge of the living room. Camille giggled again. For the first time in her life she lived in a place where Milicia was afraid to come in.

“I met someone who can help you get better. Camille, can you hear me?”

Camille shook her head. Couldn’t hear a thing. She saw Milicia’s big red mouth moving, saw the words marching out, wanted to stop them once and for all.

“Will you come with me and meet this man? He knows how to help people like you. Please, Camille. I have a bad feeling. I have this really bad feeling something’s going to happen that can’t be fixed. You don’t want anything to happen, do you?”

Camille looked at Milicia and backed away. “What?”

“What? What?”

“What?”

“You mean, what’s going to happen—I don’t know, Camille. Only you can know,” Milicia said wildly.

Camille saw the tears in Milicia’s eyes, shook her head, holding the puppy tight. Don’t touch.

“You know. Please, I can’t deal with this by myself. You have to help me.”

The stairs creaked. Milicia started. “Oh, God, this place is so creepy. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

Camille had flinched, too.

“I know you’ve taken something. I can see it in your eyes. He gives it to you, doesn’t he? You’re scared of him, aren’t you? You can’t help it. I know it’s not your fault, Camille. Whatever is happening with you, I know it’s not your fault.”

Camille stopped seeing the words come out of Milicia’s big red mouth. Her eyes felt very heavy. She was holding Puppy, leaning against the back of a chair. Stiffly, she moved around to the other side of it and crumpled into the chair, closing her eyes. Puppy stretched out across Camille’s lap and put her head down.