Page 44 of Charm City Rocks
Margot asks him to close his eyes. He asks her why and she tells him to just do it. It’s a vulnerable feeling to be this close to someone you can’t see.
“When did you start having a crush on me?” she asks.
“The first time I saw you.”
“When was that?”
“That firstSNLperformance, I think. Yeah, definitely then.”
“Right,” she says. “I was nervous. We all were. Anna puked before the show.”
Billy doesn’t know if having his eyes closed means that he’s not supposed to touch her—the rules aren’t clear here. He chances it, though, and pushes through a tangle of comforter to find her hip. His eyes are still closed. “You didn’t seem nervous.”
“Yeah? Okay, well, think of what I looked like then.”
They played “Power Pink,” then a song called “On the Run.” She wore a tight black T-shirt. Her hair was up for the first song, then down and wild for the second. His mind quickly wanders to other stored imagery.Rolling Stonespreads, maybe a dozen TV performances, album art, promotional materials, tabloids, Margot being carried by a movie star.
“Okay, open up.” She’s looking directly at him. “See. I’m not that person anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you had a crush on me. I’m not saying I was ever hot, like Nikki. But I was professionally lit. Makeup experts spent hours on me, tending to my appearance. And I was young. I’m not now. I’m…this.”
She’s mostly covered by his comforter. If she was wearing makeup before, she wiped it off before bed, and she’s not lit—professionally or otherwise. “I like this, though,” he says. “Very much.”
She shows him the inside of her arm. “My tattoos are faded.”
“They look great.”
“And I’m shorter than I was,” she says.
“Really?”
“I was five-three forever. I had a physical a few months ago. Five-two-and-a-half. I made them measure me three times. Has that not happened to you?”
“I haven’t checked,” he says. “I’m probably shorter, too, so maybe it evens out.”
Margot pushes the comforter down, just below her knees. “I haven’t had my clothes off in front of someone in—”
“I have my mom’s legs,” Billy says.
“Your mom’s legs?”
“Yeah,” he says. “From the waist up, I’m normal looking, right? But my mom’s got these stumpy little legs. I got them from her. I’ve always been sensitive about them. See?”
“They are kinda short,” she says. “Not bad, though.”
“Thanks.”
“I get it,” she says. “I got my mom’s ankles?”
“Really? Let’s see.”
Margot kicks the comforter down to the foot of the bed. She pulls the left hem of her lounging pants up and rolls her foot at the ankle. “See? Thick, right? That’s why I always wear boots. They’re kick-ass, obviously. But cankle camouflage, too.”
“Stop it,” he says. “They’re lovely.”
When she puts her leg back down, she rests it on his, and it’s warm beneath the loungy fabric. “What else is wrong with you?” she asks.
