Where I'm Calling From

might hear the cat moving about. Then he let himself in at his own door and went to the kitchen for the key.
    Inside it seemed cooler than his apartment, and darker too. He wondered if the plants had something to do with the temperature of the air. He looked out the window, and then he moved slowly through each room considering everything that fell under his gaze, carefully, one object at a time. He saw ashtrays, items of furniture, kitchen utensils, the clock. He saw everything. At last he entered the bedroom, and the cat appeared at his feet. He stroked her once, carried her into the bathroom, and shut the door.
    He lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He lay for a while with his eyes closed, and then he moved his hand under his belt. He tried to recall what day it was. He tried to remember when the Stones were due back, and then he wondered if they would ever return. He could not remember their faces or the way they talked and dressed. He sighed and with effort rolled off the bed to lean over the dresser and look at himself in the mirror.
    He opened the closet and selected a Hawaiian shirt. He looked until he found Bermudas, neatly pressed and hanging over a pair of brown twill slacks. He shed his own clothes and slipped into the shorts and the shirt. He looked in the mirror again. He went to the living room and poured himself a drink and sipped it on his way back to the bedroom. He put on a blue shirt, a dark suit, a blue and white tie, black wing-tip shoes. The glass was empty and he went for another drink.
    In the bedroom again, he sat on a chair, crossed his legs, and smiled, observing himself in the mirror.
    The telephone rang twice and fell silent. He finished the drink and took off the suit. He rummaged through the top drawers until he found a pair of panties and a brassiere. He stepped into the panties and fastened the brassiere, then looked through the closet for an outfit. He put on a black and white checkered skirt and tried to zip it up. He put on a burgundy blouse that buttoned up the front. He considered her shoes, but understood they would not fit. For a long time he looked out the living-room window from behind the curtain. Then he returned to the bedroom and put everything away.
    He was not hungry. She did not eat
    much, either. They looked at each other shyly and smiled. She got up from the table and checked that the key was on the shelf and then she quickly cleared the dishes.
    He stood in the kitchen doorway and smoked a cigarette and watched her pick up the key.
    “Make yourself comfortable while I go across the hall,” she said. “Read the paper or something.” She closed her fingers over the key. He was, she said, looking tired.
    He tried to concentrate on the news. He read the paper and turned on the television. Finally he went across the hall. The door was locked.
    “It’s me. Are you still there, honey?” he called.
    After a time the lock released and Arlene stepped outside and shut the door. “Was I gone so long?” she said.
    “Well, you were,” he said.
    “Was I?” she said. “I guess I must have been playing with Kitty.”
    He studied her, and she looked away, her hand still resting on the doorknob.
    “It’s funny,” she said. “You know—to go in someone’s place like that.”
    He nodded, took her hand from the knob, and guided her toward their own door. He let them into their apartment.
    “It is funny,” he said.
    He noticed white lint clinging to the back of her sweater, and the color was high in her cheeks. He began kissing her on the neck and hair and she turned and kissed him back.
    “Oh, damn,” she said. “Damn, damn,” she sang, girlishly clapping her hands. “I just remembered. I really and truly forgot to do what I went over there to do. I didn’t feed Kitty or do any watering.” She looked at him. “Isn’t that stupid?”
    “I don’t think so,” he said. “Just a minute. I’ll get my cigarettes and go back with you.”
    She waited until he had closed and locked their door, and then she took his arm at the muscle and said.
    “I guess I should tell you. I found some pictures.”
    He stopped in the middle of the hall. “What kind of pictures?”
    “You can see for yourself,” she said, and she watched him.
    “No kidding.” He grinned. “Where?”
    “In a drawer,” she said.
    “No kidding,” he said.
    And then she said, “Maybe they won’t come back,” and was at once astonished at her words.
    “It could happen,” he