Glassworks

She came from nowhere. Mud stained her elegant evening dress; her stockings ripped along the sides of her legs, she carried her shoes in one hand and a black and gold purse in the other. From the purse a lipstick dropped into the mud. He picked it up and called after her. He stood waiting for her in a long coat and a homburg, black silhouette in the twilight, his white shirt glinting through the open bowtie and the gloom. She stopped and turned, ankledeep in mud, hair lank over her face and threads of the hem of her dress sticking to her knees.
    “You came out of nowhere,” she said.
    “I've been following you all this time,” he said. “You left so abruptly.”
    “You're a fool,” she said.
    “I was concerned,” he said.
    “Was,” she said.
    “I am,” he said.
    He handed her the lipstick. She jammed it in her purse and snapped the clasp.
    “Leave me alone,” she said.
    “It's not safe,” he said.
    “I can take care of myself,” she said.
    “I can take care of you too,” he said.
    “I don't need you to,” she said.
    “But you want me to,” he said.
    “I don't want you to,” she said.
    “I will,” he said.
    “Don't,” she said, and walked on.
    He started to follow her, tripped, and fell in the mud.
    “You're drunk,” she said over her shoulder, without breaking her stride, “and I don't need you.”
    He rolled over and sat up, watching her walk down the road: as graceful in three inches of mud as she is in a foxtrot.


They arrived at the party at the appropriate time: not too early as to appear too eager, but not too late as to miss anything important. The band was playing a flowing waltz as they checked their coats. He went to the bar and ordered champagne. When he brought her her glass, she was was checking herself in her compact. She took the champagne and they touched glasses, the clink echoing in the ballroom in the moment between music and applause.
    “You're beautiful,” he said, “like this champagne. Look at how the glass curves, and the angles catch the light so perfectly.”
    “Don't start that sentimental nonsense now,” she said, “we should go and talk to people. We're at a party.”
    “You're right,” he said, and stood up. The band started a tango. “Would you care to dance?” His hand politely extended.
    “A tango? That's even worse. Look, there's Virginia. Let's go say hello.”
    “I’ve always liked Virginia,” he said. “She seems to have such a nice life.”
    “I’m sure she does.”
    “So have we.”
    “Do we?”
    “Of course,” he said. “We go to these parties, we dress well, we drink well. And we’re in love.”
    “If that’s your definition of a good life.”
    “Isn’t it yours?”
    “Of course, but it’s not our life, Raymond.”
    “What do you mean? Look at us.”
    “You look at us,” she said. “This is a sham. It’s empty, all of it.”
    “This isn’t empty, so long as we have each other.”
    “If we have each other, why do we have to do things like this? I hate it here,” she said.
    “But this is the life you deserve.”
    “This is my own personal hell. I don’t fit in.”
    “I only want what’s best for you, Alice.”
    “What’s best for me is for you to stop this charade of the high life and be who you really are: be who I fell in love with.”
    “I haven’t changed, Alice. I’m still the same old Ray.”
    “You’re not. Not at all. You were never into this stupid posing and talking above your station and all that high class crap.”
    “But it’s what you deserve,” he said.
    She put down her glass. “You don’t get what I’m talking about at all, Raymond,” she said.
    “What do you mean? We have this beautiful thing, this glittering life together.”
    “No, we really don’t. We’re just normal people with a failing relationship. You always do this. You always make something out of nothing. These delusions, these fantasies of yours, of this life that we have. Someday it’ll all come crashing down around you and you’ll realise---you’ll have to realise---that nothing is the way that you see it, and that you’re hurting everyone who cares about you by putting them all on ridiculous pedestals.”
    “I love you, Alice.”
    “You think you do. You think you do because you want to so badly, but I don’t think it’s real. I just don’t know any more, Raymond. I don’t know what’s real to you and what’s in your drunken fantasies.”
    “It’s real. I can feel it.”
    “Nothing’s really real to you, though, is it? Your mind is like a glass factory. You create these beautiful crystals out of your life, such incredible and breathtaking works of art, but you can only look at them. If you touch them or pick them up or try to use them, they shatter.”
    She walked away, and out of the ballroom. He yelled something after her, but she did not hear.


Alice stumbled along the road, mud sticking between her toes. One of her heels had broken and she had to carry her shoes. A lipstick fell out of her bag, but she didn’t notice. Raymond had followed her out of the ballroom and along the road. He picked up her lipstick and called out to her. She turned to see him standing there in the gloom, his long coat stained with mud, his battered old hat lying crooked on his head, his cheap white shirt crumpled and grey in the dim twilight.
    “Go to hell,” she said.
    “I've been following you all this time,” he said. “You left so abruptly.”
    “You're damaged,” she said.
    “I was concerned,” he said.
    “You dreamed you were,” she said.
    “I am,” he said.
    He handed her the lipstick. She jammed it in her purse and snapped the clasp.
    “Don’t speak to me again,” she said.
    “It's not safe,” he said.
    “You’re right: it’s not safe for me to be with you,” she said.
    “I can take care of you,” he said.
    “I don't need you to,” she said. “I need you to get away from me.”
    “But you want me,” he said.
    “I don't want you,” she said. “You’ll do nothing but hurt me.”
    “I won’t,” he said.
    “I know you won’t,” she said, and walked on.
    He started to follow her, tripped, and fell in the mud.
    “You're a drunk,” she said over her shoulder, stumbling in the mud, “and I don't need that.”
    He tried to get up, slipped again and landed face first in the ditch. He rolled over and sat up, watching her walk down the road: the mud seeped into her nylons and between her toes. Her feet were freezing but she forced herself to keep walking.