"I've had enough." I'm on the verge of saying something I might regret. My legs are unsteady and I wobble a bit. "I want to go back upstairs."
"I think that's a great idea, Eve," Julien says, his voice mock happy. "The little woman here wants to sleep anyway."
Julien takes the burning cigarette out of Kate's hand and crushes it out. Then he picks her up and carries her over to the bed, covering her up. He feels her carotid pulse for a moment and then tucks her in before returning to the group.
"Shall we?" He motions to the door. "Bring your bottles gentlemen. I've got the bud."
I wait for them to lead the way, my head swimming a bit from the buzz. He's rubbing it in, grinding my face in it. I feel terrible for Kate, but most of all, I feel like a total idiot. I lean against the elevator wall on the way up.
Once inside the fifth floor apartment, Julien leads us over to the seating area and we sit down around the coffee table. This time, Vasily sits beside me and rubs my shoulder affectionately.
"Would you like some vodka? It will warm your blood."
"No, thanks," I say, shaking my head.
"She doesn't need vodka," Julien says, pulling out the bag of weed and extracting another joint, "when she has some really high quality very potent White Widow Indica. Vasily, you should give it a try."
"No," Vasily says, holding his hand out. "My lungs getting too old to be sucking in dirty air. Was enough living in St. Petersburg all those years."
"Well, this stuff gives a really powerful buzz. Here," he says, lighting the joint and handing it to me. "Do some more. You're not stoned enough yet."
"I don't need anymore."
"Ah, but I want you to have some more." He pushes the joint towards me. "That's what matters."
"Is there no music?" Reynolds says, pouring some more scotch in his glass.
"Let her finish her joint and then Eve can play for us," Julien says. "Won't you play for us, Eve?"
"If you make me smoke the whole joint, I probably won't be able to even stand up."
"No, this isn't that kind of buzz."
I take in another lungful of smoke and blow it out quickly. By the time the joint is half-gone, I'm starting to feel the buzz he referred to – not a giggly dreamy buzz like I've had before when I smoked pot as a teenager, but instead an intense feeling of euphoria, as if the world is just perfect. I lean back as it takes hold of me and close my eyes, feeling as if I'm riding on a wave of pure peace. Gone are my concerns about the day, about Julien, even poor tragic Kate – she's a lovely junkie, really, poor thing. Julien is so good to her. He really is so sweet, looking after me in my illness, feeding me his blood, looking after Kate.
Someone takes the joint out of my hand and I open my eyes. It's Julien, bending over me, smiling.
"Come on, Ballerina Girl." He takes my hand and pulls me up. "Play some Russian music for Vasily. I have to pay him back for something."
I stand and try to follow him, glad he's leading for my legs feel a bit leaden. Vasily follows us over to the piano and stands to the side, resting his hand on the piano.
"This is for you, Vasily." I sift through the sheet music to find Variations on a Theme by Chopin by Rachmaninoff, the sheets falling onto my lap. "It’s the only Russian work I have. I want to apologize to you for the trouble I caused the other day and for the cut on your face." I have trouble locating the music, and Julien leans over to help, taking the sheets from me, picking out the piece and setting it on the stand for me.
"I don't know if I can play," I say as I peer at the music and find the first notes.
"Nonsense," Julien says. "Musicians have been playing stoned for decades – drunk for centuries. Why even Berlioz composed on opium."
I make an attempt, doing well at the outset, playing the main theme from memory, but then having to focus on the first four variations, which are the more difficult parts I haven't memorized. My fingers don't respond as well as normal and I trip over some of the more difficult parts and then start over when I get to the part I haven't yet learned well.
"Sorry," I say, turning to Vasily. "That's all I can do." Vasily has his hand over his heart and his expression is thanks enough.
"Play this for me. You owe me as well." Julien puts Chopin’s Ballade on the stand. "Big time."
I ignore his comment and play, getting caught up in its beauty. When I finish as far as I can go, he takes in a deep breath.
"Again."
I play it again from the start, and the sound of his voice, the music and the high from the joint combine to make me forgive him for everything. It's the saddest thing, to play this piece for him, knowing it must be painful to know I played it for Michel –that it's Michel I want, and it's for Michel I practiced, yet he seems to want me to play it anyway.