Rouge

Driven away by the pointy-faced mannequins, Mother’s beauty, the sex-and-death scent of the room atomizer. Essentially,” she adds with a laugh, “a triumvirate of horror.” As Marva says this, she tilts her head back to reveal an impossibly smooth white column of flesh. A drag and then a breath. “Probably the evil bitch queen.” And then not-Tom and Mother laugh together. Then a bluing, which can go on awhile, giving way at last to starry black.