Where I'm Calling From

as they drove away, and the Millers waved too.
    “Well, I wish it was us,” Bill said.
    “God knows, we could use a vacation,” Arlene said. She took his arm and put it around her waist as they climbed the stairs to their apartment.
    After dinner Arlene said, “Don’t forget. Kitty gets liver flavor the first night.” She stood in the kitchen doorway folding the handmade tablecloth that Harriet had bought for her last year in Santa Fe.
    Bill took a deep breath as he entered the Stones’ apartment. The air was already heavy and it was vaguely sweet. The sunburst clock over the television said half past eight. He remembered when Harriet had come home with the clock, how she had crossed the hall to show it to Arlene, cradling the brass case in her arms and talking to it through the tissue paper as if it were an infant.
    Kitty rubbed her face against his slippers and then turned onto her side, but jumped up quickly as Bill moved to the kitchen and selected one of the stacked cans from the gleaming drainboard. Leaving the cat to pick at her food, he headed for the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror and then closed his eyes and then looked again. He opened the medicine chest. He found a container of pills and read the label—Harriet Stone. One each day as directed—and slipped it into his pocket. He went back to the kitchen, drew a pitcher of water, and returned to the living room. He finished watering, set the pitcher on the rug, and opened the liquor cabinet. He reached in back for the bottle of Chivas Regal. He took two drinks from the bottle, wiped his lips on his sleeve, and replaced the bottle in the cabinet.
    Kitty was on the couch sleeping. He switched off the lights, slowly closing and checking the door. He had the feeling he had left something.
    “What kept you?” Arlene said. She sat with her legs turned under her, watching television.
    “Nothing. Playing with Kitty,” he said, and went over to her and touched her breasts.
    “Let’s go to bed, honey,” he said.
    The next day Bill took only ten minutes of the twenty-minute break allotted for the afternoon and left at fifteen minutes before five. He parked the car in the lot just as Arlene hopped down from the bus. He waited until she entered the building, then ran up the stairs to catch her as she stepped out of the elevator.
    “Bill! God, you scared me. You’re early,” she said.
    He shrugged. “Nothing to do at work,” he said.
    She let him use her key to open the door. He looked at the door across the hall before following her inside.
    “Let’s go to bed,” he said.
    “Now?” She laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”
    “Nothing. Take your dress off.” He grabbed for her awkwardly, and she said, “Good God, Bill,”
    He unfastened his belt.
    Later they sent out for Chinese food, and when it arrived they ate hungrily, without speaking, and listened to records. “Let’s not forget to feed Kitty,” she said.
    “I was just thinking about that,” he said. “I’ll go right over.”
    He selected a can of fish flavor for the cat, then filled the pitcher and went to water. When he returned to the kitchen, the cat was scratching in her box. She looked at him steadily before she turned back to the litter. He opened all the cupboards and examined the canned goods, the cereals, the packaged foods, the cocktail and wine glasses, the china, the pots and pans. He opened the refrigerator. He sniffed some celery, took two bites of cheddar cheese, and chewed on an apple as he walked into the bedroom. The bed seemed enormous, with a fluffy white bedspread draped to the floor. He pulled out a nightstand drawer, found a half-empty package of cigarettes and stuffed them into his pocket. Then he stepped to the closet and was opening it when the knock sounded at the front door.
    He stopped by the bathroom and flushed the toilet on his way.
    “What’s been keeping you?” Arlene said. “You’ve been over here more than an hour.”
    “Have I really?” he said.
    “Yes, you have,” she said.
    “I had to go to the toilet,” he said.
    “You have your own toilet,” she said.
    “I couldn’t wait,” he said.
    That night they made love again.
    In the morning he had Arlene call in for him. He showered, dressed, and made a light breakfast. He tried to start a book. He went out for a walk and felt better. But after a while, hands still in his pockets, he returned to the apartment. He stopped at the Stones’ door on the chance he