Read The Best of Michael Swanwick for Free Online

The predominant view, however, was that she had been soundly snubbed, that she was still a freak and an oddity in the eyes of her former contemporaries. That she had left the reunion alone.
    Rumors flew about the liaison between Wolf and Cynthia too. The fact that she avoided him only fed the speculation.
    Despite everything the New York City concerts were a roaring success. All four shows were sold out as soon as tickets went on sale. Scalpers made small fortunes that week, and for the first time the concerts were allowed to run into the evening. Power was diverted from a section of the city to allow for the lighting and amplification. And Maggie sang as she had never sungbefore. Her voice roused the audience to a frenzy, and her blueswere enough to break a hermit’s heart.
    They left for Hartford on the tenth, Maggie sequestered in her com-partment in the last car. Crew members lounged about idly. Some strummed guitars, never quite breaking into a recognizable tune. Others talked quietly. Hawk flipped tarot cards into a heap, one at a time.
    “Hey, this place is fucking dead !” Maggie was suddenly in the car, her expression an odd combination of defiance and guilt. “Let’s party! Hey? Let’s hear some music.” She fell into Hawk’s lap and nibbled on an ear.
    “Welcome back, Maggie,” somebody said.
    “ Janis !” she shouted happily. “The lady’s name is Janis!”
    Like a rusty machine starting up, the party came to life. Music jelled. Voices became animated. Bottles of alcohol appeared and were passed around. And for the remainder of the two days that the train spent making wide looping detours avoid the dangerous stretches of Connecticut and New York, the party never died.
    There were tense undertones to the party, however, a desperate quality in Maggie’s gaiety. For the first time, Wolf began to feel trapped, to count the days that separated him from Boston and the end of the tour.
    The dressing room for the first Hartford concert was cramped, small, badly lit—like every other dressing room they’d encountered. “Get your ass over here, Sin,” Maggie yelled. “You’ve gotta make me up so I look strung out, like Janis did.”
    Cynthia held Maggie’s chin, twisted it to the left, to the right. Maggie, you don’t need makeup to look strung out.”
    “Goddammit, yes I do . Let’s get it on. Come on, come on—I’m a star, I shouldn’t have to put up with this shit.”
    Cynthia hesitated, then began dabbing at Maggie’s face, lightly accentuating the lines, the bags under her eyes.
    Maggie studied the mirror. “Now that’s grim,” she said. “That’s really grotesque.”
    “That’s what you look like, Maggie.”
    “You cheap bitch! You’d think I was the one who nodded out last night before we could get it on.” There was an awkward silence. “Hey, Wolf!” She spun to face him. “What do you say?”
    “Well,” Wolf began, embarrassed, “I’m afraid Cynthia’s…”
    “You see? Let’s get this show on the road.” She grabbed her cherished Southern Comfort bottle and upended it.
    “That’s not doing you any good either.”
    Maggie smiled coldly. “Shows what you know. Janis always gets smashed before a concert. Helps her voice.” She stood, made her way to the curtains. The emcee was winding up his pitch.
    “Ladies and gentlemen…Janis!”
    Screams arose. Maggie sashayed up to the mike, lifted it, laughedinto it.
    “Heyyy. Good ta see ya.” She swayed and squinted at the crowd,and was off and into her rap. “Ya know, I went ta see a doctor the other week. Told him I was worried about how much drinking I was doing. Told him I’d been drinkin’ heavy since I was twelve. Get up in the morning and have a few Bloody Marys with breakfast. Polish off a fifth before lunch. Have a few drinks at dinner, and really get into it when the partying begins. Told him how much I drank for how many years. So I said, ‘Look, Doc, none of this ever hurt me any, but I’m kinda