By Nancy Lee
Subtly associated via the historical past narrative of a serial killer's arrest in Vancouver, the tales during this assortment inhabit a depressing, city panorama as they trip into the world of determined relationships, of energy and impulse, emotional wagers and negotiations. As provocative because it is extraordinary, useless ladies boldly proclaims an unique new voice in modern fiction. A highly acclaimed, prize-winning debut.
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Blair doesn’t say anything. ” I ask. ” I pause. ” Another pause. ” “I just wanted to warn you about him. ” “Warn me? ” I ask. “I’ve been through the whole Julian thing before. ” “It’s not a big hassle,” she says. ” “What’s Julian doing these days? ” I pause. ” “Is this real? ” “You could have called. You could have … ” Her voice trails off. “I tried,” I say. ” “Not angry,” she says. ” She pauses. ” For a few seconds we’re both silent and it’s a cold and minor variation on so many conversations we’ve had and I’m thinking about the blond girl on the veranda and I imagine Blair’s thinking about the last time I made love to her.
You knew that Meghan Reynolds was with Daniel,” I say. “I saw them last night. You knew I’d been with her over the summer. ” “Everyone knows,” Julian says, confused. ” “I didn’t,” I say. “Everyone? ” I move the conversation to the reason I’m here in the Farmers Market with him. I ask him a question about Blair. There’s a longish pause. Julian’s usual affability gets washed away with that question. “We were involved, I guess,” he finally says. ” “She doesn’t want you to talk to me,” I say. ” “Blair asked you not to speak to me?
After pouring myself a tumbler of Grey Goose that was left in the freezer when I escaped last August, I’m about to turn on the balcony lights but then stop and move slowly out into the shadow of the overhang. The blue Jeep is parked on the corner of Elevado and Doheny. From inside the Jeep a cell phone glows. I realize the hand not holding the vodka is now clenched into a fist. The fear returns as I gaze at the Jeep. And then a flash of light: someone lit a cigarette. From behind me the phone rings.
Dead Girls by Nancy Lee