Mistress of Justice

Fashion designers too. And carpenters hold nails when they’re building houses.”
    That was true. He hadn’t thought of that. And her comment made him even angrier with her. “I meant more like, you know, maybe holding bits of tape or tools or something.” Then he added quickly, “The point is, like, just to make people think about things.”
    “Well, it
does
make you think,” she conceded.
    Lillick took her coat. “You want a beer?”
    She was studying the keyboards and computers. “Sure.”
    “Have a seat.”
    She ran her hand over the tie-dye bedspread and glanced at her fingers to make sure the coloring didn’t come off.
    Excuse me, your royal highness.…
    She sat down. He opened a Pabst and handed it to her, thinking only after he did that he probably should have poured it into a glass. But to take it back and find a clean mug would now seem stupid.
    “I was surprised when you called, Sean.”
    “Yeah?” Lillick punched on a Meredith Monk tape. “I’ve been meaning to. You know, you work with somebody and you think, I’m going to call her up, yadda, yadda, yadda, but you get caught up in things.”
    “That’s sure true.”
    “Anyway, I was thinking of going over to this place forgoat.…” But he stopped speaking fast, thinking what the hell would his buddies from the East Village say if they saw him at Carlos’ with a fat preppy princess?
    But he didn’t need to worry; Carrie wrinkled her nose at the food. “Goat?”
    “Maybe,” he said, “we’ll find someplace else. Whatta you like?”
    “Burgers and fries and salads. Usual stuff, you know. I usually hang out at the bars on Third Avenue. They’re fun. You know, sing along.”
    “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling …” God in heaven save me.
    “You want me to …,” Carrie began.
    “Huh?”
    “Well, I was going to say: If you want me to iron your shirt I’m, like, way good at that sort of thing.”
    The garment was a tan shirt printed with tiny brown scenes of European landmarks. It was one of his favorites and the cloth was wrinkled as a prune.
    He laughed. “You iron this poor thing, it’d curl up and die.”
    Carrie said, “I like ironing. It’s therapeutic. Like washing dishes.”
    In his five years in Manhattan he’d never ironed a single piece of clothing. He
did
do the dishes. Occasionally.
    Outside a man’s scream cut through the night. Then another, followed by a long moan. Carrie looked up, alarmed.
    Lillick laughed. “It’s just a hooker. There’s a guy turns tricks across the air shaft. He’s a howler.” He pointed to a machine. “That’s a digital sampler. It’s a computer that records a sound and lets you play it back through your synthesizer on any note you want.”
    Carrie looked at the device.
    Lillick continued, “I recorded the screaming one night. It was totally the best!” He laughed. “I performed a piece from Bach’s
Well-Tempered Clavier
, only instead of the harpsichord sound it’s a gay hooker shouting, ‘Deeper, deeper!’ ”
    She laughed hard. Then looked out the window towardthe diminishing wails. “I don’t get downtown as much as I’d like.”
    “Where do you live?”
    “East Eighty-fourth.”
    “Ah.”
    “I know,” she said, blushing, as he’d predicted. “It’s not so cool. But I kinda ended up there and I’ve got a three-year lease.”
    “So, how’s Mexican?” he asked. He glanced down at his shirt. It wasn’t
that
fucking wrinkled. “There’s a place around the corner. I call it the Hacienda del Hole. Kinda a dive but the food’s good.”
    “Sure, whatever.” Then she suggested, “Or we could just hang out here. Like, maybe order pizza, watch the tube.” Carrie nodded at his dusty TV set. “I like
Cheers,”
she said. “And
M*A*S*H.”
    Lillick only watched TV to pick up on pop culture icons he could trash in his performance pieces. He had to admit, though, he liked
M*A*S*H
. Well, and
Lucy
reruns. And
Gilligan’s Island
(though not a soul in the universe knew
that
).
    “It’s kinda broken. I mean, the reception’s pretty shitty.”
    He walked over to his Yamaha keyboard and turned it on. The amps sent a moan of anticipation through the warm air. “I’ll show you how the sampler works. I’ll play something for you.”
    “Good, I’d like to hear it. Hey, got another beer?”
    He went to the fridge. “Those were the last. How ’bout wine?”
    “Sure.”
    He poured two large tumblers and handed one to her. They tapped glasses. She picked