thought. Keep driving. Drive us to wherever it is from whence you came. I would like to see the sun rise over the wet streets of Delhi.
Jinkha hung a hard left, a hard right. They moved into the East Village. They had to slow down for the bar goers who leaped from curbs and crossed Ninth Street in pairs, holding hands as they walked or ran in front of the cab. One skinny-looking girl slapped the hood as she moved past it, the sleeve of her sweater so long it obscured her hand and furled upward like a ribbon before coming down again. She wore a leather choker and mouthed something at Jinkha through the windshield. At a stoplight, Charlotte rolled down her window, laid her head against the seat, and turned away from him. He watched air brush against her hair and clothes as the cab started moving again and taunted himself with the impossibility of reaching out to touch the hollow place where her throat met her collarbone. He liked it that she didn’t need to speak, felt proud that he didn’t seem to, either.
They reached Avenue A, at which point Jinkha screamed into his phone, snapped it shut, hit the brakes, and turned around in his seat.
“Kitty cat?” he barked. From behind the shield he sounded as if he were speaking to them from under a layer of water. Bruce stared at him. He wanted nothing but to keep moving through space. He had no idea how to respond to the bit of nonsense that had just emerged from Jinkha’s mouth.
“This is it,” Charlotte said. “Thanks.” She produced a worn change purse from her coat pocket, unzipped it, and began to fumble inside it. She held it close to her face, trying to see its contents by the light of the neon sign outside.
“Oh,” Bruce said. “The Kitty Kat Lounge.”
Charlotte turned to him. “I don’t have any cash. I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh,” said Bruce. “No. This is mine.” He reached for his wallet, glad for the chance to feel necessary.
“You’re going to think I used you for cab fare,” she said, half frowning, half smiling, as she opened the car door, bathing them in harsh yellow light.
“Never,” Bruce said, pushing ones at Jinkha through a metal slot. He felt good. He felt great—more naturally himself on this block, with this girl, than he felt in his own life, at his office, with his friends, walking west on Bank Street toward his apartment. Why was that? He wouldn’t question it. He would only take Charlotte’s hand, let himself be lifted onto the curb and through a door. A waifish guy working the club entrance nodded at Charlotte and waved them both past his change table. They pushed through a velvet curtain, into the dark. Into people, smoke, hard music, sweat, ammoniacal wafts of alcohol, and the beery grit under everyone’s feet. Charlotte led him to a chest-high table by the stage, told him to wait there. She disappeared back into the crowd. Bruce stood against the wall, watching the redhead on the stage twist at the hem of her baby-doll dress as she bleated lyrics into a standing mike, then turned away from it dramatically, as if it had hurt her feelings. She did this over and over, then began to jump in place while the lead guitarist built up chords one by one. At last the chorus exploded, and the redhead launched into a spooky dance, her arms rising above her head. Bruce thought of wings.
Charlotte reappeared, holding a beer in one hand and what looked like a glass of water in the other. She set both on the table.
“There’s the drink you wanted from me earlier,” she said. Then: “You’re carrying this off rather well.” She grinned, gesturing at him.
Bruce looked down. He had forgotten he was wearing a tuxedo.
“Did you need me to pay for the beer? I thought you didn’t have money,” he said, looking up.
“No. I used to work here. The only possible perk that could come from that is free beers for the rest of my life.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. You deserve it.”
“Why,” Bruce asked. He immediately wished he could push the word, with its desperate sound, back into his mouth.
Charlotte looked at him. She looked at him for so long that he doubted she would answer at all. “I’m not sure,” she said finally. “But there’s some reason.”
“Mmm,” Bruce said, hoping he sounded skeptical. Amused. He tapped against