Red Admirable

Madeleine thought someone wasn’t being gracious in Oslo so she took a train across the country to Bergen. All the Weather Underground icons about Oslo include an impatient raincloud and there seems to be a near-constant hundred-percent chance of rain. Bergen seems to be worse for the following eight reasons, especially the second and seventh:

1. Madeleine: oh dearthis keyboard is difficult

2. Madeleine: watch this: æææøøøøøøøååååå

3. Madeleine: that’s my difficulty

4. Madeleine: I just want to take a boat trip tomorrow and then go home

5. Madeleine: I really want to go home

6. Madeleine: I just want to know what I’m supposed to do from now until bedtimeall alone

7. Madeleine: my hostel room is full of unfriendly euro dudes

8. Madeleine: I really want to go home

I tried to comfort Madeleine with the following salves:

1. me: I am going to look at you on a map and blow kisses at it

2. me: Japanese Housewives Sweat as Markets Reel

me: is the best headline

I have ever seen

japanese women, en masse, are currency traders from their homes

and keep it secret from their husbands

so WEIRD

So here are other things housewives could do to make money from their homes that are less vulnerable to twitches in the global economic market: birth babies composed of hard currency. Blog for money. Remix “Remix to Ignition” for money. Build sweet ass track bikes in frame size 53 centimeters. Mine rare ore. Silkscreen camo-print Che Guevara tee shirts purchased wholesale from American Apparel. And, my personal favorite: make slide shows a la eighth-grade girl starring my most beloved celebrity icons. For money.

I think there’s a little bit of Japanese housewife in me, because in my fiscal ingenuity I wrote Madeleine a story about said icons. It’s a fairy tale, a modern London-based exemplar of my all-time forever favorite literary genre: boy forgives flawed girl’s flaws, loves her. In this case, boy is flawed, too, making everything taste a little bit more like blood in the mouth:

What Katie Did Next

Kate left the Top Shop on Calverly Road and yanked up the waist of her pants.

Gray jeans are a bandwagon.

Kate looked behind her and tripped a little on the tassels of her booties.

Peter.

Pete didn’t move the fag between his lips, so when he smiled it was mainly with his cheeks. Kate recalled that she’d once told him that he looked like a potato. It had been very late one night, and they’d been very angry with each other and woken up Lila Grace.

Kate couldn’t think of anything to say, so she glared at the pimply Top Shop clerks who had clustered near the tunic racks inside. They pursed their lips and stayed put.

Katie, there’s a lesson I have learnt.

I cannot imagine, Peter, that you have learnt anything. Where’s Inga? Did she teach you? Kate tightened the belt of her trench coat and Pete pushed his bowler further back on his head. It occurred to him that he had forgotten to light his cigarette. That was bothersome, so he also turned to glare at the Top Shop girls. This time they avoided eye contact.

If you play with fire you will get burnt.

Are you calling Inga fire? Kate hissed and felt her heart twitch like someone had elbowed an old bruise there. Inga had very droppy elbow skin and could not fairly be compared to any of the five elements. Kate, on the other hand, found it plausible that she herself might be likened to water, wind, or fire. She could not remember the final two.

Hell hath no fury. Pete thought he might have forgotten what went after that, so the next three words came out like a yelp. Like woman scorned! Then he noticed a portly newsstand owner bustling by, and he reached out his right arm to hold the man’s shoulder.

I’ll tell you my story. The newsstand owner looked queasy, and Pete noticed that Kate had started to smile.

No, Peter! The newsstand owner hadn’t noticed Kate yet. When he did, she was grinning and yanking up her pants again. He seemed to relax slightly in Pete’s grasp.

No, Katie? I can’t tell the man my story?

I’ll tell him my story, Peter! I’ll make you wish you never, wish you—

Peter took up the refrain. Wish I never never, wish I never been born!

Katie lifted her chin and the phrase “lilting voice” entered her head. She hoped that whatever lilting was, Peter thought her voice was doing it. I may never learn, Peter, I may never know, I may live and learn but never know.

Katie bean, I may crash and burn, oh no, I may take my turn.

The newsstand owner had been settling his shoulders more assertively in his tweed coat. When Peter released his shoulder in order to facilitate that rearrangement the newsstand owner took off his cap and cleared his throat.

If you love her, young man, then tell her you love her and you could be kissing her soon. Inside the store, one of the Top Shop girls had started to laugh. Her co-workers looked fiercely at her and she shut up. Later, she would be summarily fired and deported back to Warsaw the same week.

The newsstand owner continued, more confidently now. Kate found him a little revolting but thought it would be wise to stay friendly. She pushed her hair behind her ears and tried to look winsome.

The man looked at Pete and sang. If you need her, oh, tell her you need her and you won’t be missing her soon. Oh! Something he had learned at school decades earlier had occurred to the newsstand owner. But for a love to be true, it must come from her too!

Pete looked contrite and sang, It’s a lesson hard learned.

Kate nodded eagerly. If you play with fire you will get burnt—

She was paused as five dumpy Top Shop clerks spilled out of the same revolving door partition onto the sidewalk.

The clerks harmonized. If you love her, then tell her you love her and you could be kissing her soon! The girls giggled until they noticed Kate’s face. It immediately became clear that Kate Moss had never once giggled a single time.

They let their plump cheeks go slack and sang with their best bitch face imitations instead. If you need her, oh, tell her you need her and you won’t be missing her soon.

It struck Kate that they actually had rather pretty little voices. She wondered what misfortune had made them all so short and lumpy.

Pete looked at the newsstand man and they nodded at each other with a certain finality. He walked past the girls and their voices dropped. They hummed, noncommittally.

Will you catch me, Katie bean, if I crash and burn?

Peter I will catch you if you crash and burn. Some day, it may be my turn. But remember—Kate winked at the Top Shop clerks and their voices swelled.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!

FIN