Saints to be Seen
By Matt Morgan
Tonight, he was Superman. He didn’t feel it best described him, but everything else at the shop required a mask and he would have been too hot. He would sweat anyway, guaranteed as soon as he walked through the door. Parties did that to him. Parties, meetings, crowds, elevators, town, the office, anywhere outside of home. He rang the bell.
Catwoman answered the door.
“You made it!” she said, as an invitation to come inside. “I was hoping you would.” Damn, I thought it would be Victoria.
It was flaring up again. He should have known it would. He was nervous. Catwoman could see his discomfort advertised on his face and gave him a short smile. On regular days, Catwoman was The Neighbour in Apartment 10b. She had a few years on him, but she still looked great, could pass for thirty; last year he had noticed his own hairline receding, and it hadn’t stopped since.
“Just leave your coat in the bedroom, sweet.” Go somewhere else, please. I can’t wait for Victoria to see this costume.
For the most part, he handled it. He’d grown accustomed to it and forgot it was there, like an old injury, or noisy neighbours, or a lover. Usually it left him alone, but nerves brought it on.
The Tin Man came over as he was closing the bedroom door, coat abandoned inside.
“Hey, good to see you.” Dan? Dave? Shit, what’s his name?
The Tin-Man shook his hand. They had met once before in the hall when he was moving his stuff into 10b with Catwoman.
“Glad you could make it. Grab yourself...” Glad you could make it. Grab yourself... His gaze was drawn to the front door. “... a drink. They’re over there...” Who invited her? What’s she saying to... ?
The Tin Man moved off, following his glare to the unwelcome newcomer, a woman dressed as a hippie. Superman went to a drink table. Wine was open. Wine would help.
It was like a translation service built into his hearing. Not a service he’d requested but one that he had anyway. When people spoke to him, he heard them twice. The second time rarely matched up to the first. The second time was a version just for him, that no one else would hear, and it was the truth. At least, he assumed it was the truth. With no guide books or Wikipedia page to consult, he’d struggled to understand it. He had eventually learned to control it, as long as he wasn’t nervous, or anxious, or aroused. It quickly killed that; no one should have to hear what their sexual partner really thinks of them.
The wine was cheap, but that was fine. He just needed a little buzz, something to take his mind off of his nerves and the patches of sweat forming in his pits. The party was going well. Halloween had done its job of bringing out the extroverted and the child-like, offering a rich opportunity to reveal and disguise at the same time. It was interesting, to him anyway, what the guy dressed as a Viking was telling the room with his choice of outfit. It was more interesting that as he walked by the Viking’s adoring crowd, what he overheard him saying was, You all think I’m boring, don’t you?
Superman didn’t really know anybody there. He knew Catwoman and The Tin Man, of course, and he thought he recognized the pirate talking to the spaceman -- there was never anything new at these costume parties -- but they were three out of a room of far too many.
“Happy Halloween.” Hi, who are you?
Superman turned to see the hippie smiling at him as she sipped from her glass.
“Happy Halloween,” he returned. “I like your costume.”
“I didn’t dress up.” I am dressed more like a hippie than normal.
“Oh, right. Sorry, I’m Ben.”
“I’m Darcy.” She took his hand before it was offered and shook it like she was parodying the action. She laughed, he didn’t know why. “Is it a good idea to tell me your real name? I mean, you are Superman.” How are you going to respond to this joke? I mean, I don’t want to waste my time with you.
“If you can’t trust a hippie, who can you trust?”
A pause. His sweat was cold under his arms. She laughed, at last. Her laughter said, I like your effort to make that terrible joke.
She turned as someone called her name. It was a mermaid, shuffling in an impractical outfit that turned her legs into an unconvincing fish-tail. Darcy said, “Oh, I have to talk to my friend. Find me later?” Seriously, I have to talk to her, but I want to see you later.
“Yeah, of course.” Ben backed off into the gathering of chatting, dancing fictional characters in the party.
Time passed, the clock approached eleven. He had yet to speak to anyone since Darcy. The smoke of tobacco and weed drifted in from the garden where she’d disappeared. He didn’t want to look like he was following her, so he stayed inside and waited.
Eleven o’clock arrived, Ben drank more, Darcy returned from outside. She was still with her friend, with the addition of the Viking who now appeared to be pretending to listen to her talk while he flexed his arms casually. Ben wished his own workouts would pay off like that. He ran, he ate well, usually, and he had a set of weights at home which were in use, perhaps not regularly, but it was hard to keep motivated when he stayed scrawny and awkward. His posture was terrible, always hunched like he was cold. He only wore the Superman outfit because it was padded, comically enough that he wouldn’t look like he was really trying to fool anyone, and yet thick enough to disguise just how shapeless his upper body was.
Ben wandered to another part of the party. He didn’t need to watch the alpha male piss on the woman he wanted.
The Tin Man ambled his way, a glass of wine in hand. He was clearly comfortable in his inebriation. He put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, like they were old friends.
“Dan,” he said.
“It’s Ben.”
“Ben, right.” Ben, whatever. “I saw you talking to Darcy. What do you think?” I was watching you talk to Darcy. You don’t like her, do you?
“She’s certainly different.”
The Tin Man watched him. He seemed suspicious of something in Ben’s response.
“Look, I don’t want to talk badly behind someone’s back...” Look, I’m a good guy really...
The Tin Man did a dramatic look around the room, as if checking for spies.
“She’s trouble. I mean, really messed up. I didn’t even want her here, you know? I don’t know who invited her.” She’s trouble. She could mess things up. I didn’t want her to come here. I don’t know why my wife invited her.
“What do you mean, ‘trouble’?”
“She’s a liar.” I want you to believe she would lie about me. “She gets really attached. Possessive.” She got more attached than I did. “She’s kind of wild. It’s not always a good thing.” Fantastic sex. Horrible mood-swings.
“So are you warning me?”
“No.” Yes. “I just want you to be aware, that’s all.” I just want you to be on my side, that’s all.
“Right. Well, consider me aware.”
The Tin Man smiled. He wobbled a bit and said that he was going to “see where my beautiful wife is.” ... keep my wife and that bitch apart.
Another hour passed.
Ben paced his drinking. He wanted to relax, not get smashed. His fellow party-goers held no such reservations. Midnight on Halloween. No saints to be seen yet. From the mass of people dancing in seizures near the stereo, Darcy made her way to Ben. She was laughing, misplacing almost every step, daring gravity to topple her.
“You need another drink.” You need to loosen up.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Look at you! Have you spoken to anyone else tonight?”
“Yes. A few people.”
She leaned in and whispered theatrically, “Who do you like the look of?” Who’s more attractive than me?
Ben shrugged. Darcy regarded him with what looked almost like impatience. The nuances of flirting were a mystery to him. He felt sure that he had missed some cue to say something witty, or sexy, or cute, or any of a set of adjectives that weren’t applicable to him.
“So what do you do? For work?”
She sighed. “I know you can do better than that. It’s Halloween, we don’t do jobs and real life. We go a little crazy, you know?” I hope you can do better than that. I’m determined to use this night to do something crazy.
“Okay. Let’s do something crazy.”
She flashed a wicked smile. She almost scared him a little.
Catwoman interrupted their conversation with offers of refills for their drinks. Ben shook his head, but Darcy extended her glass and watched Catwoman with a look of interest as she poured wine from the bottle into her glass.
“Are you two hitting it off?” purred Catwoman. She’d better stay away from my husband.
“We might be.” Darcy responded to her. I hate you.
The two women regarded each other with painful smiles full of intent. It became suddenly clear to Ben why Catwoman had invited Darcy tonight; it was a demonstration that Catwoman had what Darcy could not have. She knew of the affair, she knew of Darcy’s feelings for the Tin Man, and Darcy knew she knew. The Tin Man jumped into the now silent group.
“What are we talking about?” Oh God, what are you talking about?
Darcy smiled at him. “Nothing much.” I love you.
The Tin Man turned to Catwoman, but kept glancing back to Darcy. “Babe, I could use your help in the kitchen. I can’t find the... you know, the what-do-you-call-it.” Get away from her, don’t talk to her, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
“I’m sure I’ll see you later.” I love you. Darcy then turned to Catwoman. “You too.” I hate you.
The couple left for the kitchen. Darcy watched them go and the Tin Man didn’t look back. Ben watched her throat move as she swallowed her barely concealed feelings. She strained for a smile and returned to the conversation with Ben.
“Um, we were just saying we should do something crazy,” he reminded her.
“Any ideas?” I just want to get out of here.
“We could go to my apartment.” She looked cautious and he worried that he’d made a wrong move. He had never held a conversation with a woman this attractive in his life and he desperately didn’t want to blow it. He wanted to impress her. He wanted to make her smile. Ridiculously, after knowing her for only a couple of hours, he wanted her to see him as she saw the Tin Man. If he could save her, she would look at him that way, perhaps. It was all that he had. He tried to fix his mistake. “I mean, I live just downstairs, so it’s not far.”
“Oh.”
“And we could listen to music or something.” He had an idea, decided to try using her own words to persuade her. “I just want to get out of here.”
He saw her relax and felt triumphant. “Okay, just let me get my coat." Let me make sure he sees me leave with you.
***
Everything seemed different in the morning. Or rather, things seemed returned from the momentary madness allowed by the night before. Halloween certainly brought things out in people. He gathered his cape and the rest of the costume from the floor. It was wrinkled.
Her clothes were there on the floor too. He looked at her, lying naked in his bed. Her eyes were closed. The cape was going to need ironing. He couldn’t return it to the store in the state it was in. He went to the cupboard in the hall and found the ironing board. It creaked as he unfolded the legs. He looked at her again.
After they’d gotten to his apartment last night, she had begun to cry. He had cuddled her, surprised and worried at first that her tears were to do with him. Through sobbing she released mumbled words. She was crying because of the Tin Man. Ben felt elated by this. He felt strong. He felt like her protector. She had continued to cry. He held her. It didn’t seem fair that this beautiful, intelligent woman was suffering life rather than living it. It wasn’t fair that she was hurting.
He held her. He whispered into her hair that everything would be okay. His arms squeezed around her, to show her that she was not alone. She would be free of this. He held her tightly. He hadn’t realized that she was trying to clear her mouth from his bare chest. He tried to reassure her, told her not to worry, that he was there for her. She struggled. He held tighter. Why wouldn’t she let him help? He was going to save her. He was Superman.
He ironed a crease from the bottom of the cape.
She’d stopped resisting eventually. He’d felt her relax, her limp body accepting what he offered.
He turned off the iron. The board went back in the cupboard, her clothes went into the bin. He folded his costume tidily and left it by her foot on the bed. Her skin was cold. He looked at himself in the full-length mirror propped up against the wall. Naked, he looked like the morning: returned from the momentary madness of the night before.