Where I'm Calling From

gathered on the walk in front of the house across the street, boys and girls with an older, taller boy who wore a muffler and a topcoat. Myers could see the faces at the window across the way—the Ardreys—and when the carolers had finished, Jack Ardrey came to the door and gave something to the older boy. The group moved on down the walk, flashlights bobbing, and stopped in front of another house.
    “They won’t come here,” Mrs Morgan said after a time.
    “What? Why won’t they come here?” Morgan said and turned to his wife. “What a goddamned silly thing to say! Why won’t they come here?”
    “I just know they won’t,” Mrs Morgan said.
    “And I say they will,” Morgan said. “Mrs Myers, are those carolers going to come here or not? What do you think? Will they return to bless this house? We’ll leave it up to you.”
    Paula pressed closer to the window. But the carolers were far down the street now. She did not answer.
    “Well, now that all the excitement is over,” Morgan said and went over to his chair. He sat down, frowned, and began to fill his pipe.
    Myers and Paula went back to the couch. Mrs Morgan moved away from the window at last. She sat down. She smiled and gazed into her cup. Then she put the cup down and began to weep.
    Morgan gave his handkerchief to his wife. He looked at Myers. Presently Morgan began to drum on the arm of his chair. Myers moved his feet. Paula looked into her purse for a cigarette. “See what you’ve caused?” Morgan said as he stared at something on the carpet near Myers’ shoes.
    Myers gathered himself to stand.

“Edgar, get them another drink,” Mrs Morgan said as she dabbed at her eyes. She used the handkerchief on her nose. “I want them to hear about Mrs Attenborough. Mr. Myers writes. I think he might appreciate this. We’ll wait until you come back before we begin the story.” Morgan collected the cups.
    He carried them into the kitchen. Myers heard dishes clatter, cupboard doors bang. Mrs Morgan looked at Myers and smiled faintly.
    “We have to go,” Myers said. “We have to go. Paula, get your coat.”
    “No, no, we insist, Mr. Myers,” Mrs Morgan said. “We want you to hear about Mrs Attenborough, poor Mrs Attenborough. You might appreciate this story, too, Mrs Myers. This is your chance to see how your husband’s mind goes to work on raw material.”
    Morgan came back and passed out the hot drinks. He sat down quickly.
    “Tell them about Mrs Attenborough, dear,” Mrs Morgan said.
    “That dog almost tore my leg off,” Myers said and was at once surprised at his words. He put his cup down.
    “Oh, come, it wasn’t that bad,” Morgan said. “I saw it.”
    “You know writers,” Mrs Morgan said to Paula. “They like to exaggerate.”
    “The power of the pen and all that,” Morgan said.
    “That’s it,” Mrs Morgan said. “Bend your pen into a plowshare, Mr. Myers.”
    “We’ll let Mrs Morgan tell the story of Mrs Attenborough,” Morgan said, ignoring Myers, who stood up at that moment. “Mrs. Morgan was intimately connected with the affair. I’ve already told you of the fellow who was knocked for a loop by a can of soup.” Morgan chuckled. “We’ll let Mrs Morgan tell this one.”
    “You tell it, dear. And Mr. Myers, you listen closely,” Mrs Morgan said.
    “We have to go,” Myers said. “Paula, let’s go.”
    “Talk about honesty,” Mrs Morgan said.
    “Let’s talk about it,” Myers said. Then he said, “Paula, are you coming?”
    “I want you to hear this story,” Morgan said, raising his voice. “You will insult Mrs Morgan, you will insult us both, if you don’t listen to this story.” Morgan clenched his pipe.
    “Myers, please,” Paula said anxiously. “I want to hear it. Then we’ll go. Myers? Please, honey, sit down for another minute.”
    Myers looked at her. She moved her fingers, as if signaling him. He hesitated, and then he sat next to her.
    Mrs Morgan began. “One afternoon in Munich, Edgar and I went to the Dortmunder Museum. There was a Bauhaus exhibit that fall, and Edgar said the heck with it, let’s take a day off—he was doing his research, you see—the heck with it, let’s take a day off. We caught a tram and rode across Munich to the museum. We spent several hours viewing the exhibit and revisiting some of the galleries to pay homage to a few of our favorites amongst the old masters. Just as we were to leave, I stepped into the ladies’ room. I left my purse. In the