Hitman Melodies Section 5

V.
At intermission, there was no break for them out in the hall. They sat in the brilliant glare of the chandelier eyeing each other. She had turned to the side, legs crossed, her feet in their short private aisle. She shuffled the furs off her shoulders and gave Sebastian that first sweet glimpse of her famous tits. A push-up bra would have been redundant; her breasts were like loaves of fresh bread (home-made, warm, sweet cinnamon bread) pulsing out of her dress, the tender tender skin so touchable at every curve; and from this elevated angle Sebastian's eye could follow every delicious undulation all the way to the nipple, nestled like a fawn just below the lace.
"Let's see the broach."
She leaned up toward him, exposing her cleavage with an ever-so-slightly seductive tremble.
"I mean take it off."
She pouted a little, turned away scorned, like a man zipping up his fly, and unclasped the emerald. "Here." insensitive asshole motherfucker philistine faggot.
"The mic fits right in here?"
"Yes. It's got a pick-up range of only about three feet, and the wire gets awful sweaty in there, but it works pretty good. I've got hours of tape. Every bad, dumb mafia joke ever told by a bunch of disgusting drunks is on tape. I could put out a comedy album."
Contact. Now what? He gave it back. She put it on, a splash of green in that same rolling valley.
"We going to get a chance to talk, or are you just going to do me?"
"Sebastian Chronic doesn't do anybody, but, yeah, you get to talk to Milano himself. He'll probably slap you around a little, but he'll leave the rest to me. I'll find a way to ease your pain."
"Mr. Chronic I've got something to say that you may find int--"
"Shut up. Third act is starting. We can leave after that. I want to hear the quartet."
"Let's stay to the end. I want to see Mimi die. You know."
"Okay, we'll watch Mimi die."

A strange thing happens then. The third act piddles along at its pseudo-Wagnerian pace, and Musetta gets to break some crockery; but when the fourth act comes and the pathetic, tubercular Mimi starts coughing up her last good-byes, Maddy begins to cry. Sebastian moves down next to her, and envelopes her small heaving shoulders into his cape. And then he is crying too, and they are both sitting there crying in a box at the Met for poor baby Mimi, too young to die, alas. They have shared their first peak moment together, they have given birth to a shared aesthetic response.
"How hard it will be to kill her now."
"He will have trouble killing me now."