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with this larger troupe for rent and gas money while time-off rehearsing with Paul and Sandrine and Raelynne.
        Who plopped down, legs stretched sweaty and "Whoo! You'd think I'd get enough dancing, wouldn't you, with the Marquis of Queensberry here? Shit, I got to get another drink," pushing as if to rise and Bibi motioning her back, "Same again?" and Raelynne nodded; Bibi out of earshot and Raelynne turning at once to Tess: "You smoke?"
        "No," and Raelynne sighing, "Shit. I love to smoke, but Bibi throws a fit when I do, says it cuts my wind. Which it does. Smart bitch," with obvious affection, sipping a little of Bibi's tonic water. "She's really something, isn't she? Have you known her for long?"
        "We met yesterday."
        Raelynne's pleased nod, a notion confirmed. "I thought she was showin' off a little tonight. Must be for you," and waving a finger, no no to Tess's protests, she doesn't chew that much ass usually, "especially not on a night this hot. Shit, I'm from Tennessee and even I can't stand it," and
        Bibi back again, Jack Daniel's and water and another beer for Tess who was beginning to feel the first and Bibi telling Raelynne about Tess's sculpture, saying they ought to have a show around it and a thought in Tess's head, inarticulate, trying to swim for it through the twisty maze of beer and heat and no dinner, saying something half-aloud and Bibi's voice, "-incredible textures. You ought to go down to the Isis, see her piece there. Actually you ought to go to her place, she lives in a rathole, too," showing those little teeth, "all this sculpture crammed into a tiny little space like half your place, Rae."
        "She can have my place," drinking down her drink. "I'm movin' next week, I can't stand those dogs anymore, yap yap yap all the time."
        The idea in motion, eluding her still: something about Bibi, the image of her violence, swath of metal like the endless edge of a knife. Posturing steel, the notion of her last piece in secret dance: something there. What? With it under her hands she could tell, or grow at least closer to the knowing.
        "Listen, excuse me," pushing away from the table, "I have to get back. No, no," as Bibi rose, "you stay, I'll just grab the bus or something."
        "Buses've already quit running." Keys out, moving through the puzzle of tables, past the bar and Tess watched Paul's head turn, tracking, staring at Bibi with a look so bare she felt shamed in the seeing; Bibi did not see, was already pushing outside. A rain as fine as pure humidity, distilled on cars and skin and the sullen lights so dim the insects would not dance in their weak lumination. Dancing insects, Bibi dancing. The sculpture in motion. What?
        Speaking only in directions, eyes inward in the timed swipe of the wipers and they reached her place more quickly than she knew; still thinking hard when Bibi hit the brake, swerved to the curb beside a rusted black Jeep with peeling oil decals and the motor running. Stinky gray smoke, the store's double door pushed open and two teenagers on the threshold kissing in the drift of the rain. Bibi's strong hand forcing the broken door.
        Tess through the window, half-apology and Bibi shaking her head, forget it. "Just let me see it when it's done," and smiling. And gone. Up the stairs double time, banging the door behind her and she worked till morning, till noon, burning, burning, Grace downstairs screaming up about the smoke, you can smell it in the cooler for fuck's sake Tess! Big new burn on her right arm, close to the old scars, hair clubbed back in a filthy knot and the heat monstrous under the mask, breathing her own sweat like some rare vapor. The new piece disassembled before her, plastic throat slashed vertical to her surgeon's fire, inserting in the running melt the corkscrewed filigree of metal strips as falsely bright as chrome. She left the throat hinged open, worked next on the Lexan eyes to