No River Wide

Southern Review, The, Spring, 2007 by Robert Boswell

During a slow dance she convinced Andrew to come to Ellen ' s later and smoke a joint. Getting him there by seducing him was not a strategy that would please Ellen, but Greta is confident she can pass him off at the house. A few years ago she and Ellen had made their husbands take them to a blues bar on Chicago ' s south side. The men had quickly given out, but she and Ellen danced together until closing, talking the whole time, yelling over the music. Greta cannot fathom how they saw each other so often without using up all their stories. The long-distance calls had been compelling as well, at first, until the gaps began. Greta repeated herself, caught herself exaggerating, occasionally outright lying. When they lived inside each other ' s lives, they had no end of things to discuss and analyze, reconstruct and dismiss. Now she feels the need to entertain her friend.

A giant palm dominates the yard, the squat kind with leaves like spikes. A figure steps from the tree ' s complex shadows. A woman, Greta can tell, although she can ' t see her face. As she draws near, Greta recognizes her--the bartender with the ponytail. Before she can greet her, the girl says, " I know who you are. " She stops walking and crosses her arms. " I know what you ' re doing. "

" I ' m a friend of Ellen Riley, " Greta says and corrects herself. " Elle Forsythe. "

" That may be true, " the girl says, " but it ' s beside the point. "

Greta feels a quiver of fear and smokes to hide it. " I don ' t know what you ' re talking about. "

" I knew it the second I saw you. " Her eyes are bloodshot, her face puffy.

" You spilled that drink on purpose. "

The girl ' s eyes shift to one side and back, the most laconic dismissal Greta has ever witnessed.

" I don ' t know you, " Greta insists, " and I don ' t know who you think I am. "

" If you don ' t want to consider her

, fine. " She spits out the words. Real spittle strikes Greta ' s cheek. " But what about me

? What about my brother? " She takes another step and the porch light turns her face green.

Greta drops her cigarette and grinds it in the dirt. The girl starts to rush past, but Greta puts out the hand with the shoes to make her stop. The girl backs away from the heels as if they ' re spiked with toxins. Greta searches her purse and then offers her driver ' s license. " I don ' t live here, " she says. " You poured a drink on the wrong person. "

The girl seizes the card and studies it.

" OK, " she says reluctantly, " you ' re not her. " Her tone is not apologetic. " But you ' re exactly like her. You ' re one of them

. " She tosses the license back.

Greta snatches it out of the air as the girl rushes past and slams through the door, bumping Andrew Holzman as he pokes his cast through.