They descended the stairs as thunder ranged beyond the ambit of the creaking tumbledown. Lyla wanted to watch a movie. Inquiries concerning the cinematic acumen of all present were made, with Andy judged most-knowledgeable, they settled into the massive, tattered and musty couch as their host plopped in a old VHS titled ‘Fractured Mirror.’ The story revolved around a down-on-his luck writer, well past his prime, whose wife had cheated on him with his publicist. The film charted his slow and painful mental deterioration and eventual self-reformation through murderer. Purity through violence.
As the writer bludgeoned his former lover to death with a shovel, Bluebird recoil and buried her head in Harmon’s chest.
“Too much for you?”
“Its my head. You know how sensitive I am with this kind of stuff.”
Lyla was prone to headaches and enjoyed playing up the fact. Harmon had long-induced she thought it cute and quirky. It proved, more often than not, merely affected and annoying.
He said nothing.
“Damn.” Muttered Marla, here eyes wide, fixed to the screen.
Andy chortled and downed some of his beer. After the murder scene the protagonist looked directly into the camera as an eerie cue played. Cut to black. Credits.
“Whadidya think?” Andy inquired, lighting up a cigarette.
“I thought it was really good.” Marla affirmed with a smile, stroking Andy’s arm and squeaking a, “You’ve such good taste in movies, babe.”
Andy smiled and turned to his others guests expectantly.
“Well whats the verdict?”
“I didn’t really care for it. I didn’t think it was going to be so violent.”
Andy rolled his eyes then looked to Harmon whose faraway eyes were fixed upon a small insect on the ceiling.
“She got what she deserved.”
“But they were in love!” Lyla protested.
“‘Were’ is the operative word.”
She looked up into his face and was greeted only with impassivity and resolve. She slowly shifted off of him and asked Andy if he would mind sparing one of his tall boys. He happily obliged and shortly the two trekked off to acquired some beers from the old, magenta fridge, leaving Marla and Harmon to their own devices.
Marla played with her softly jangling bracelets a moment an then leaned towards Harmon inquisitively.
“How long you two been together?”
“Since high school.”
“Oh! That’s wonderful. I didn’t take relationships seriously then.”
“Yeah. Hey, I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier. Was having a bad day.”
“Its no trouble at all.”
She smiled, “Were you serious?”
“About the movie. I mean, you think she deserved what she got?”
“Yeah. I don’t disagree. I used to date this guy named Tanner. Hot, wealthy – comparatively speaking – nice car. Seemed perfect.”
“But there was a snag.”
“He cheated on you.”
“Yup. He said he was sorry. That he was drunk, that he didn’t know what he was doing. He was a terrible liar. But even still I forgave him. Not two months later he’d left his phone lying on the counter of my kitchen – it rings and I check the messages. Some bitch asking what she should wear for him tonight.”
She shook her head and took a swig of beer and tapped out her half smoked menthol in the peach can Andy used as a makeshift ashtray.
“That’s unfortunate. What’d you do?”
“I told him to explain. I was ready to forgive him again. If he was honest.”
“Given you’re here, with Andy, I’m assuming he wasn’t.”
“Nope. Told me – get this – she was a ‘business associate’ and that’s why she was asking him what to wear. I told him business associates don’t tend to refer to each other as ‘babe’ and ‘darling’ – he didn’t have anything to say to that so I told him to leave. And that was that.”
“But now you’ve met Andy.”
“But now I’ve met Andy.”
She smiled widely and leaned back in her chair and took a puff of her cigarette. Shortly thereafter, Andy and Lyla returned from the kitchen bearing a six pack and a bag of off-brand nachos. They watched another film about a evil AI in a far-flung future where everyone used floppy disks and then decided to hit the sack. Andy implored Lyla to stay the night and then headed upstairs with Marla. When they were completely out of earshot, Lyla turned to Harmon dourly.
“Did you mean what you said?”
“Bout her ‘getting what she deserves.’
“How can you say that?”
“Can say it because I believe it.”