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“Drink up,” he says, pours us another round, and holds up his.
“To other people’s misery.”
We clink glasses and drink.
He pours us one more.
“To Candy. A great girl.”
I look at him. He waits for me. After a few seconds of thinking, I drink and he does too. Carlos knows that Candy is Chihiro, but he’s right about losing people. I didn’t really lose Candy, but she’s still gone.
I look around the bar for familiar faces among the twinkling Christmas lights. I find one at a nearby table: Brigitte is drinking wine with a handsome trio—two men and a woman—laughing and talking loudly, having a fine old time. She spots me and I invite her to the bar by pointing to my drink. She excuses herself from the table and walks over.
She kisses me on both cheeks and I say, “At least someone’s having a good time tonight.”
“Yes. They’re from Prague. From the old days, when I was still a killer like you. It’s good to see old friends.”
“That must be nice.”
“It is. And I so seldom get to speak Czech anymore. It makes me feel more at home here.”
“I felt the same way speaking English when I was Downtown.”
“Did it make things better?”
“A little. Sometimes during the holidays I feel very far from the things that made me happy.”
“Like hunting Drifters?”
She smiles.
“I came here to destroy revenants and become a real live Hollywood actress. The first is done, but no matter what I do, the second feels as if it’s barely begun.”
Brigitte used to do artsy porn flicks back in Europe. I never saw any, but Kasabian worships her as a goddess. A producer brought her to L.A. with promises of big roles in big movies. He croaked and Brigitte has been trying to get a foothold in the business every since.
“All our apocalypses keep getting in the way of work.”
She slowly shakes her head.
“You’d think someone was conspiring against our happiness.”
“The universe hates happy people, that much I’m sure of. You need to cultivate a taste for colorful misery.”
“Like you and your Aqua Regia.”
We both drink. I finish mine, but don’t ask for a refill this time.
“Maybe things will settle down awhile, end-of-the-world-wise. Once the movie moguls slink back into town, you’ll be rolling in work.”
She pushes a stray strand of hair out of her face.
“You haven’t said anything about my voice. I’ve been taking lessons, trying to lose my accent. How do I sound?”
“Like the queen of the county fair. What do you think?” I say to Carlos.
“You sound like Angelina Jolie. Kind of husky. Kind of silky.”
“You’d think I was American?”
