ammonia pockets cut her knuckle. She grabbed it hard, and tucked it inside her skirt pocket like a secret. When she returned to Jayne, she was crying. Little sniffles and hitches in this cavernous, terrifying apartment. “I screwed up,” she said.
Jayne scooted in her chair (Screetch! Screetch! Jiggle!), then leaned over and rubbed Audrey’s back with the heel of her hand. The gesture was comforting enough to allow her to release and cry harder.
“I screw up, like, twice a day. My dad says I’m a bigger disappointment than his dog, which is dead, by the way. A dead pit bull named Pudge, and I’m the disappointment.”
Audrey laughed a little, while still crying.
“Everybody screws up unless they’re boring,” Jayne said.
“Have you ever screwed up, and it was because you loved them so much?” Audrey asked.
Jayne leaned to the other side of her chair, reached down, and took a quick slug of wine. Then she returned. “No man wants to get to know me that well unless he’s related. I never get that far.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I’m not jealous,” Jayne said. “Everybody’s different. I gave up jealous a long time ago because I’m not good at anything except comedy.”
“That’s not true,” Audrey said.
Jayne shrugged. “I sound like a Sad Sally, don’t I? Who cares. How did you screw up?”
Audrey sniffled. “He proposed, and I said yes. But then I got scared, because I have this problem, we both have problems, so I said no, and I moved out,” she explained.
“The OCD?”
Audrey heaved her breath one last time, then brought herself under control. “I guess. I’m coming unhinged lately. This apartment—I might really be crazy.”
“That’s too bad,” Jayne said. Then she leaned to her side, refilled both glasses, and handed one to Audrey. The act was natural, and Audrey wondered if it came from growing up surrounded by family.
“I hope you don’t mind that we just met, and I’m telling you my problems,” she said.
Jayne shrugged. “I’m in the market for more friends. Eight brothers and sisters, and I’m the only one still single. Oh, hey! I know what’ll cheer you up! A game!” Jayne leaned back and scratched her knee. It was a real raspberry of hurt: her fingers came away glistening red.
Without thinking about it, Audrey folded a take-out napkin to its clean side, and handed it to her. “Stop picking at yourself,” she said.
Jayne nodded, like she’d heard the line a thousand times before, and it no longer registered. She dabbed the napkin against the broken clot. “What’s the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you?” she asked.
Audrey shook her head. “Thinking about something like that does not make me feel better Jayne, just so you know.”
“It will. It always works. Trust me. Normally I’d throw out some stock bullshit for a laugh, but I’ll give you something real. I’ll give you my tenth most embarrassing thing.” She leaned back, and giggled. The sound was pure delight.
“Tenth? You count?”
Her reply was serious. “It’s very important, the stuff you find shameful. Funny should come close to hurting, or it’s just slapstick. I’ve studied funny.” The lights of the city reflected in her green eyes and she stretched out the silence to make sure she had Audrey’s full attention. Showmanship. It made Audrey curious about her act.
“Okay,” Jayne finally said. “This happened a lifetime ago. I’d just run away to New York, and I was going crazy because it was so free, and different from Salt Lake. My hair was purple, if you can picture that. Superpunk. I was waiting tables at the old Howard Johnson on Broadway, and living in that girls’ dormitory on the Upper West Side. I used to walk the city and watch people when I had time off. I’d look at them and think, they don’t know, but one day I’ll be famous.”
“Anyway, I was a real baby face, so I had to use a fake ID to get into the comedy clubs. The laminated kind you used to buy in Times Square that said, ‘OFFICIAL IDENTIFICATION CARD’—you probably don’t remember them, but they were about as real as three-dollar bills. Anyway, this one night I went to Caroline’s Comedy Club, and met this guy who’d been on Letterman. Twice! It was like talking to a famous person. So I went home with him.”
Audrey sat up, shocked. “How old were you?”
Jayne smiled like a sphinx. “Fifteen.”
Audrey paled. She had a hard time imagining being in this city at such a tender age. The metaphor it brought