Coagulant

With each sordid detail Nina realized that Glory, through the persona of Ms. Jane, could be shrewd, exploitative, deliberate, and cold. She had a better understanding of her lover then, a conviction that there was a monster that dwelled within Glory. But she knew the monster was not innate, but was forced upon her. Nina remembered sorrowfully that evening on the beach, the beating and scratching she inflicted upon Glory. She was afraid then-lost in the lack of certainty, her heart beating furiously for it. But now-as Glory's words disappeared into the churning of the engine, the whining monotony of the tires, into the bellowing wind that forced itself through slightly opened windows-Nina was secure in the knowledge that Ms. Jane would die a gradual death.

"Are you okay?" asked Glory, switching glances from the freeway to Nina's face, then back again, "You look worried."

"No I'm not worried." smiled Nina, reaching her left hand to Glory's right arm, finding the welcome fingers at the end of it, "I'm not worried at all."

Before ever meeting Nina Glory had already sold or destroyed most of the compromising films for the sake of security. There was only Mr. Jakes, Joan, and Hughes left to deal with. Having returned Nina to her apartment-vibrant with the energy of love-Glory drove directly to Ms. Jane's den. Once there she set immediately to the accomplishment of her tasks. Her first priority was to collect the one hundred and twenty-seven thousand in cash she had saved in the bottom of several shoe boxes on the floor of her bedroom closet, and put it in the lining of the only of the only suitcase she would bring to Nina's. It was the money she had saved through the years, the money the pimps never saw, the money from every husband and every wife who cared enough about their marriages to keep their secrets secret, the money Glory never trusted anyone but herself to handle. From the corner of her eye Glory saw the intermittent light of her answering machine, ignoring it as she filled the suitcase with varied articles of clothing. She locked it, put it beside the bed, and immediately went about the next task. From kitchen she gathered trash bags, and filled them with the tools and toys of her trade. She then filled her car with the refuse, and drove it to the Poughkeepsie dump. Upon her return Glory began going about dismantling the torture stage and its stage. It was a short while later, as her skin became clammy with the heat of effort, when something occurred to her.

Wiping the sweat and grime from her face, Glory realized that Ms. Jane would have never disposed of anything. Jane would have left it as is. Glory became fully aware that it was her shame that compelled her to dispose, to eliminate, to clean. She tried to stop the shame by thinking of Nina. Suddenly she stopped the thoughts. She paced the length of the room, rethinking, changing minds, switching. Ms. Jane rushed to the phone. She called Jakes, and-in a code only he would understand-told him their relationship was over, and that he needed to buy his way out. He arrived an hour later with four thousand in cash, traded it for his film, and left as hurriedly as he entered. If she could reach Joan Glory would return to Nina's by nightfall. But Jane could not reach her. She was given the phone number at Cruxfield, Hammond, and Gwinn, and no there. Jane called once and was told that Mrs. Hammond was away on business. It was then that Glory checked her messages. Among a series of enquiries from old clients in need of a fix there was only one message from Joan. Glory? Glory, honey, this is Joan. Look, I hope we can have a meeting, get this business out of the way. My partner-he sends his salutations by the way-he has an incredibly generous offer he's hoping you'll accept. Okay then. Call me soon, Glory...please.

Joan's voice was odd, tremulous. Hammond's tone was not unfamiliar to Glory. She recognized its hushed quality from the times she'd call from her home, her husband in the next room. But Joan no longer lived with the man. Glory rewound the message, and listened more intently. There was a whisper in the back ground. She raised the volume, and rewound once more. It was a man holding back sobs through clenched teeth. I'm so proud of you, he whimpered. Glory was sure it could be no one but Hughes. The sound of him caused a great chill to pass through her. She had become final then. Ms. Jane was out of her, no last phone call, no amount of money for any trick, no good-bye blood-letting. Whatever Joan had submitted herself to was no longer a concern of hers. She thought of Nina, and with a sudden immediacy of need Glory reached for the suitcase. With that instance came a knocking at the front door. Glory had not felt such dread since the age of twelve. The knocking became more insistent. Glory reached for a fully loaded 22 caliber pistol she'd kept beneath the bed. She tucked the dusty weapon between the front of her jeans and blouse. She looked in the mirror, seeing that the weapon was not visible. She tried to compose herself, and could only hope that Ms. Jane would find her way to revealing herself at the appropriate time. Glory went to the door. There stood Hughes, with a satchel in hand. His lips were turned pathetically down at the corners, his cheeks were pallid with sorrow.

"I was just about to leave Mr. Hughes." she said, trying to convey indifference, "And besides, I don't see anyone for anything without an appointment. So if you'll excuse me."

"Haven't you heard from Joan? I thought she-"

"No, actually, I haven't spoken to Joan in two weeks. Now I can see you next week sometime. Call me tomorrow, and I'll fit you in."

"I need to see you now."

"Well I just won't see you now."

His sorrow had become frustration in a matter of seconds. His breathing quickened, sweat began to bead and trickle from his brow. Glory stood motionless, her throat dry, her heart beating with fearful anticipation. Within the next instant Hughes pulled a 45. caliber from inside his coat, and pointed it directly into Glory's partially opened mouth.

"What would you do Glory," he whispered, "Call the police, tell them one of your johns is stalking you? Back up into the house. Do it now."

Glory walked backwards, the gun's barrel set between her lips. She stopped at the end of the front hall. He turned her around, forced the gun painfully into the side of her head, and instructed her to walk into the playroom. Presently they stood before the half dismantled stage. Hughes dropped the satchel, then whirled Glory so that they faced each other. He took her hand, and placed within her fingers the 45. caliber pistol. They watched each other, one's face no more or less pale than the other. He stepped slowly away from her, an eased himself into a chair. Glory suffered the heat of a deluge of perspiration, stinging her eyes like tears. Slowly she turned to face him. Hughes met her stare, then looked away.

"I know you heard Joan's message." he began, "There's a hundred thousand dollars in that bag. I want you to take it to kill me."

"You're insane. I'm not go-"

"Shut the fuck up and listen to me!!!" screamed Hughes, causing Glory to drop the gun.

"Pick up the gun." he said quietly, "Pick it up."

Her eyes never strayed from him as she reached for the pistol. It was as if he had aged ten years in those few seconds. Is face weary as stone, his eyes staring as blank as death.

"You are going to kill me Glory." he said slowly, calmly, "I can tell the money isn't incentive enough for you, so I want you to listen to me. You are going to kill me for a lot of reasons. You are going to do it for the young woman I left in Arizona, with the skin of her vulva draped across her eye. You will do it for the mother of two I met in Kansas, who I let bleed to death. I think her children are in some institution somewhere. You'll do it for them. Do it for Joan, who happened to choke on her own shit last night. Kill me for my mother, Glory, who liked to suck the semen from me, until my father beat her to death, beat me almost to death, but not close enough. Kill me for Jill. You would have loved her, Glory. Kill me for your mother... Kill me, make me proud."

Glory shook furiously. It seemed to her-in that forever moment-that she could hear everything in the whole world. Her mind throbbed with millions of voices, the crash of torrential flood, the drone of myriad insects. Her eyes were wide, glazed with the sheen of loathing. It was his smell. She should have realized it from his smell, but they all smell so pungently similar to each other. She walked slowly to him. She brought the gun to his right temple. He did not flinch, he did not shake. He closed his eyes. Once the womb was breached...once the cries began. With a sudden fit of anguish Glory turned the pistol around, butt side up, and proceeded to viciously whip him. He fell quickly to the floor. Glory locked the safety of the weapon, and tucked it into her suitcase. Later that night, she would, from the starboard side of the Statton Island Ferry, toss both the 45 and her 22 pistol into the Verrazano Narrows.

It appeared to Glory that the man was not bleeding from any wound, and was satisfied that he would not get the death he wanted unless he did it himself. A moment later she was gone. She took her suitcase, she took his satchel. She closed the door behind her, and left thirteen hundred dollars and the set of house keys in the mail box. Glory's father died within a half hour later from the shards of skull that pierced his brain. In her rage Glory was never aware of it, and would never be. That night she slept fitfully, and cried herself into and out of sleep wrapped in Nina's arms. A third day later Nina and Glory left again for the Cape, and left New York for good. They are still together, sharing the responsibilities in running Nina’s, the best restaurant' on Martha's Vineyard. For them, it is where the earth begins and ends. It is where the past begins with their first exchange of the words I love you, where the present means everything, and where the future is the tingling sensation between each new kiss.