Because anything went at the Highwire, because
Gaetan had a vaunted place, as Mary & Abby did,
because Gaetan was intermittently one to travel
with an entourage, no one was surprised to find
Anastasia, with her crew, pacing the polished wooden
floors, knocking back red wine, huffing nitrous,
& putting up the requisite inaccessible, impervious
front to those foolhardy enough to believe they could
approach her. I, for instance, knew the ropes, & had
too much to do anyway. Except, at some point in
the night’s festivities, all the junk in Anastasia’s brain,
everything frozen, lazy-loafing, shy of approach, all
the nights spent following other people around, waiting
to be signaled, signals sent back registering ranking,
caught up with her at last, & she exploded. Gaetan
was exasperated to find her sitting in one of the windows
of the gallery’s west-facing façade, threatening to jump.
Gaetan was a cool customer, but hit him with something
unhinged, he would go into warrior mode, brusquely
brush off those inexpert, & set to work. We all watched
as Gaetan leveled with Anastasia, whose drunkenness
was not helping her, leading her to understand that
the situation was hardly hopeless. She had a real life,
friends, purpose, & everyone here cared about her.
The party, as an entirety, you would think ceased, yet
it did not. Not all the revelers realized the drama unfolding.
Even those who did drunkenly chose to trust Gaetan. I
did too, was right to. Philly fixed Jersey that night, as was its wont.
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