Where I'm Calling From

shaking with laughter.
    “Consider this for a possibility, Mr. Myers!” Morgan screamed. Consider! A friend—let’s call him Mr. X—is friends with… with Mr. and Mrs Y, as well as Mr. and Mrs Z. Mr. and Mrs Y and Mr. and Mrs Z. do not know each other, unfortunately. I say unfortunately because if they had known each other this story would not exist because it would never have taken place. Now, Mr. X learns that Mr. and Mrs Y are going to Germany for a year and need someone to occupy their house during the time they are gone.
    Mr. and Mrs Z are looking for suitable accommodations, and Mr. X tells them he knows of just the place. But before Mr. X can put Mr. and Mrs Z in touch with Mr. and Mrs Y, the Ys have to leave sooner than expected. Mr. X, being a friend, is left to rent the house at his discretion to anyone, including Mr. and Mrs Y—I mean Z. Now, Mr. and Mrs…. Z move into the house and bring a cat with them that Mr. and Mrs Y hear about later in a letter from Mr. X. Mr. and Mrs Z bring a cat into the house even though the terms of the lease have expressly forbidden cats or other animals in the house because of Mrs Y’s asthma. The real story, Mr. Myers, lies in the situation I’ve just described. Mr. and Mrs Z—I mean Mr. and Mrs Y’s moving into the Zs’ house, invading the Zs’ house, if the truth is to be told. Sleeping in the Zs’ bed is one thing, but unlocking the Zs’ private closet and using their linen, vandalizing the things found there, that was against the spirit and letter of the lease. And this same couple, the Zs, opened boxes of kitchen utensils marked ‘Don’t Open.’ And broke dishes when it was spelled out, spelled out in that same lease, that they were not to use the owners’, the Zs’ personal, I emphasize personal, possessions.”
    Morgan’s lips were white. He continued to walk up and down on the paper, stopping every now and then to look at Myers and emit little puffing noises from his lips.
    “And the bathroom things, dear—don’t forget the bathroom things,” Mrs Morgan said. “It’s bad enough using the Zs’ blankets and sheets, but when they also get into their bathroom things and go through the little private things stored in the attic, a line has to be drawn.”
    “That’s the real story, Mr. Myers,” Morgan said. He tried to fill his pipe. His hands trembled and tobacco spilled onto the carpet. “That’s the real story that is waiting to be written.”
    “And it doesn’t need Tolstoy to tell it,” Mrs Morgan said.
    “It doesn’t need Tolstoy,” Morgan said.
    Myers laughed. He and Paula got up from the couch at the same time and moved toward the door. “Good night,” Myers said merrily.
    Morgan was behind him. “If you were a real writer, sir, you would put that story into words and not pussyfoot around with it, either.”
    Myers just laughed. He touched the doorknob.
    “One other thing,” Morgan said. “I didn’t intend to bring this up, but in light of your behavior here tonight, I want to tell you that I’m missing my two-volume set of ‘Jazz at the Philharmonic.’ Those records are of great sentimental value. I bought them in 1955. And now I insist you tell me what happened to them!”
    “In all fairness, Edgar,” Mrs Morgan said as she helped Paula on with her coat, “after you took inventory of the records, you admitted you couldn’t recall the last time you had seen those records.”
    “But I am sure of it now,” Morgan said. “I am positive I saw those records just before we left, and now, now I’d like this writer to tell me exactly what he knows of their whereabouts. Mr. Myers?”
    But Myers was already outdoors, and, taking his wife by the hand, he hurried her down the walk to the car. They surprised Buzzy. The dog yelped in what seemed fear and then jumped to the side.
    “I insist on knowing!” Morgan called. “I am waiting, sir!”
    Myers got Paula into the car and started the engine. He looked again at the couple on the porch. Mrs Morgan waved, and then she and Edgar Morgan went back inside and shut the door.
    Myers pulled away from the curb.
    “Those people are crazy,” Paula said.
    Myers patted her hand.
    “They were scary,” she said.
    He did not answer. Her voice seemed to come to him from a great distance. He kept driving. Snow rushed at the windshield. He was silent and watched the road. He was at the very end of a story.

Collectors

    I was out of work. But any day I expected to hear from up