It is July in a New York apartment; humid and dark, shades drawn closed. Nadia and Juliet lay in their bathing suits on separate couches that touch at the edges, forming a “V.” Juliet’s tan deepened while floating in the pool, her skin flush with heat. The fabric now clings to her, drying in patches. The light outside fades, but the apartment exists outside of time—heavy, unmoving. A single fan hums, churning the heat in small, useless circles. The television flickers with the gold and red, velvet and lace of Moulin Rouge. It whispers words about owning a body.
NADIA: Ewan McGregor is so good-looking.
JULIET: But look at Nicole Kidman’s costumes. She’s like a queen.
The television mutters about possessing a woman.
Adam enters and casually leaps over the back of the couch where Juliet sits, seating himself beside her. Juliet curls into herself while lying down on half of the couch, suddenly aware of being only in a bathing suit.
ADAM: Oh, Moulin Rouge? Great movie.
Adam’s hands begin to tickle and stroke Juliet’s legs. Calves, then knees, then thighs. All three keep their eyes on the screen, but Juliet’s widen. The fan hisses. The television sings. No one speaks. Adam’s hands crawl to Juliet’s bathing suit bottom, disappearing. Frozen, Juliet does not move or shift her gaze.
The television hums of forbidden love and hidden desires.
Adam keeps his hands in Juliet’s bottoms. Soon, they climb to her chest. Juliet’s face grows hotter. She is still like trapped prey. The movie plays on. The fan rattles and shakes wildly.
The television sings of loss, about creatures bound by darkness.
Adam looks at Juliet. He moves with fervor. From the corner of her eye, Juliet sees him trembling.
The television screams about saving someone through sacrifice, as the heroine begins to choke.
The movie ends. The screen is red velvet and gold trim. Satine dies, blood spilling from her mouth.
Adam leaps from the couch as Nadia turns her head toward the other couch and Juliet.
NADIA: Wow, I love that movie. It’s so romantic.
ADAM [in motion]: Yeah, great movie. Why don’t I order you girls a pizza? For your little sleepover.
NADIA [play clapping]: Yes please!
JULIET [mumbling, eyes vacant, pulling herself into an upright position]: Mm hmm.
Two hours later, Nadia and Juliet brush their teeth, shoulder to shoulder. Nadia is a few inches taller than Juliet, and her sandy blonde hair brushes against Juliet’s long brown hair. The bathroom light is yellow, and the tiles on the walls and floor are baby blue.
JULIET [takes toothbrush out of mouth]: Has Adam ever… like, touched you?
NADIA [tilting head]: No, never. What do you mean?
JULIET: When we were watching the movie, he was touching my legs… and stuff.
NADIA [pausing with her toothbrush in her mouth]: Well, Adam is a doctor. Maybe he was just, like, checking to make sure you were okay.
Juliet keeps brushing, slowly. Nadia looks at herself in the mirror, seemingly forgetting the question.
One hour later, Juliet and Nadia lay in sleeping bags in the living room, the television’s glow reflecting off the navy-blue sleeping bags. Nadia breathes steadily in her sleep. Juliet stirs and wakes, opening her eyes a crack. Adam is crouched over her, bent at the knees, balancing his weight on the heel of his right foot, his hands extended but not touching Juliet.
NADIA: [murmuring dream things]
JULIET: [sighs as if sleeping]
Juliet rolls closer to Nadia. He cannot grab her without waking Nadia now.
The television glows with scenes of beautiful nighttime creatures of an underworld place.
The floorboards creak under Adam’s weight. Juliet’s eyelids flutter as she feigns sleep. The floorboards groan louder. Juliet sees Adam as he slips back into his bedroom. Juliet lays awake until the sun comes up, Satine’s words laying eggs in her ears: What’s his type? Wilting flower?
Before 6 am, she slips into the kitchen silently. She pulls the phone from the wall, clutching it with both hands against her cheek after dialing home. She looks down at the greasy pizza box.
JULIET: [whispering] Dad? Can you pick me up right now? I don’t feel good.
The voice on the phone murmurs faintly.
JULIET: [whispering] Okay. See you in a few minutes. Love you, too.
Juliet hangs up the phone with two hands, placing it carefully back on its wall hanging. She grabs her dry bikini and clothes from the floor, tiptoeing to the front door. Slowly and silently, she undoes the lock and turns the doorknob. Outside, she exhales deeply, running down the apartment steps in her pink pajamas, with a little ribbon at the heart. She exits the building and sits on the front steps. She looks behind her, biting her nails in case the creeping insect has followed her.
The difference between you and I is that you can leave anytime you choose. But this is my home.
The line echoes. Satine was talking about the Moulin Rouge. But Juliet thinks maybe memory is like that too—sticky, caged place, no matter how many doors you open.
Her dad’s car pulls up, and she flies from the steps, into his car, faking easy morning pleasantries that won’t raise his suspicion.
The morning light feels fragile, shaking off the damp weight of the night. Juliet stares out the foggy car window as her dad drives, still half asleep himself. She presses her forehead to the glass, wanting to say so many things without knowing the words to describe this fresh fear.
In this moment between night and day, secrets live. Like this stillness, Juliet will hold the fear of night in her always. She will remember how men sometimes make women so small they fit only on stages, dressed in velvet and gold trim, things to be beheld. Years will pass before she speaks of this night. She will never sit through Moulin Rouge again.
Juliet Way-Henthorne’s writing has appeared in Hobart, AAWW’s The Margins, Slant’d, and Vast Chasm. She holds an M.F.A. in creative nonfiction from Vermont College of Fine Arts and serves as senior creative nonfiction editor at JMWW.
Image: “acrylic on parking decal and receipt” by Shane Allison
Pine Hills Review 