Where I'm Calling From

dropped by to listen to this record.” “I understand, Debbie,” he said. He let the children down onto the carpet. But they stayed close to his legs and watched the people in the living room. Debbie looked at them and shook her head slowly, as if she’d never laid eyes on them before. “Goddamn it, get out!” Carlyle said. “Now. Get going. All of you.”
    He went over and opened the front door. The boys acted as if they were in no real hurry. They picked up their beer and started slowly for the door. The Rod Stewart record was still playing. One of them said,
    “That’s my record.”
    “Get it,” Carlyle said. He took a step toward the boy and then stopped.
    “Don’t touch me, okay? Just don’t touch me,” the boy said. He went over to the phonograph, picked up the arm, swung it back, and took his record off while the turntable was still spinning.
    Carlyle’s hands were shaking. “If that car’s not out of the drive in one minute—one minute—I’m calling the police.” He felt sick and dizzy with his anger. He saw, really saw, spots dance in front of his eyes.
    “Hey, listen, we’re on our way, all right? We’re going,” the boy said.
    They filed out of the house. Outside, the fat girl stumbled a little. She weaved as she moved toward the car. Carlyle saw her stop and bring her hands up to her face. She stood like that in the drive for a minute.
    Then one of the boys pushed her from behind and said her name. She dropped her hands and got into the backseat of the car. “Daddy will get you into some clean clothes,” Carlyle told his children, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll give you a bath, and put you into some clean clothes. Then we’ll go out for some pizza.. How does pizza sound to you?”
    “Where’s Debbie?” Sarah asked him.
    “She’s gone,” Carlyle said.
    That evening, after he’d put the children to bed, he called Carol, the woman from school he’d been seeing for the past month. He told her what had happened with his sitter.
    “My kids were out in the yard with this big dog,” he said. “The dog was as big as a wolf. The baby-sitter was in the house with a bunch of her hoodlum boyfriends. They had Rod Stewart going full blast, and they were tying one on while my kids were outside playing with this strange dog.” He brought his fingers to his temples and held them there while he talked.
    “My God,” Carol said. “Poor sweetie, I’m so sorry.” Her voice sounded indistinct. He pictured her letting the receiver slide down to her chin, as she was in the habit of doing while talking on the phone. He’d seen her do it before. It was a habit of hers he found vaguely irritating. Did he want her to come over to his place? she asked. She would. She thought maybe she’d better do that. She’d call her sitter. Then she’d drive to his place. She wanted to. He shouldn’t be afraid to say when he needed affection, she said. Carol was one of the secretaries in the principal’s office at the high school where Carlyle taught art classes. She was divorced and had one child, a neurotic ten-year-old the father had named Dodge, after his automobile.
    “No, that’s all right,” Carlyle said. “But thanks. Thanks, Carol. The kids are in bed, but I think I’d feel a little funny, you know, having company tonight.”
    She didn’t offer again. “Sweetie, I’m sorry about what happened. But I understand your wanting to be alone tonight. I respect that. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
    He could hear her waiting for him to say something else. “That’s two baby-sitters in less than a week,” he said. “I’m going out of my tree with this.”
    “Honey, don’t let it get you down,” she said. “Something will turn up. I’ll help you find somebody this weekend. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”
    “Thanks again for being there when I need you,” he said. “You’re one in a million, you know.”
    “‘Night, Carlyle,” she said.
    After he’d hung up, he wished he could have thought of something else to say to her instead of what he’d just said. He’d never talked that way before in his life. They weren’t having a love affair, he wouldn’t call it that, but he liked her. She knew it was a hard time for him, and she didn’t make demands.
    After Eileen had left for California, Carlyle had spent every waking minute for the first month with his children. He supposed the shock of her going had caused this, but he didn’t want to let the