Where I'm Calling From

screams into the receiver.
    Near dawn he hears footsteps on the porch. He gets up from the couch. The set hums, the screen glows. He opens the door. She bumps the wall coming in. She grins. Her face is puffy, as if she’s been sleeping under sedation. She works her lips, ducks heavily and sways as he cocks his fist.
    “Go ahead,” she says thickly. She stands there swaying. Then she makes a noise and lunges, catches his shirt, tears it down the front. “Bankrupt!” she screams. She twists loose, grabs and tears his undershirt at the neck. “You son of a bitch,” she says, clawing.
    He squeezes her wrists, then lets go, steps back, looking for something heavy. She stumbles as she heads for the bedroom. “Bankrupt,” she mutters. He hears her fall on the bed and groan.
    He waits awhile, then splashes water on his face and goes to the bedroom. He turns the lights on, looks at her, and begins to take her clothes off. He pulls and pushes her from side to side undressing her. She says something in her sleep and moves her hand. He takes off her underpants, looks at them closely under the light, and throws them into a corner. He turns back the covers and rolls her in, naked. Then he opens her purse. He is reading the check when he hears the car come into the drive.
    He looks through the front curtain and sees the convertible in the drive, its motor running smoothly, the headlamps burning, and he closes and opens his eyes. He sees a tall man come around in front of the car and up to the front porch. The man lays something on the porch and starts back to the car. He wears a white linen suit.
    Leo turns on the porch light and opens the door cautiously. Her makeup pouch lies on the top step. The man looks at Leo across the front of the car, and then gets back inside and releases the handbrake.
    “Wait!” Leo calls and starts down the steps. The man brakes the car as Leo walks in front of the lights.
    The car creaks against the brake. Leo tries to pull the two pieces of his shirt together, tries to bunch it all into his trousers.
    “What is it you want?” the man says. “Look,” the man says, “I have to go. No offense. I buy and sell cars, right? The lady left her makeup. She’s a fine lady, very refined. What is it?”
    Leo leans against the door and looks at the man. The man takes his hands off the wheel and puts them back. He drops the gear into reverse and the car moves backward a little.
    “I want to tell you,” Leo says and wets his lips.
    The light in Ernest Williams’ bedroom goes on. The shade rolls up.
    Leo shakes his head, tucks in his shirt again. He steps back from the car. “Monday,” he says.
    “Monday,” the man says and watches for sudden movement.
    Leo nods slowly. “Well, goodnight,” the man says and coughs. “Take it easy, hear? Monday, that’s right.
    Okay, then.” He takes his foot off the brake, puts it on again after he has rolled back two or three feet.
    “Hey, one question. Between friends, are these actual miles?” The man waits, then clears his throat.
    “Okay, look, it doesn’t matter either way,” the man says. “I have to go. Take it easy.” He backs into the street, pulls away quickly, and turns the corner without stopping.
    Leo tucks at his shirt and goes back in the house. He locks the front door and checks it. Then he goes to the bedroom and locks that door and turns back the covers. He looks at her before he flicks the light. He takes off his clothes, folds them carefully on the floor, and gets in beside her. He lies on his back for a time and pulls the hair on his stomach, considering. He looks at the bedroom door, outlined now in the faint outside light. Presently he reaches out his hand and touches her hip. She does not move. He turns on his side and puts his hand on her hip. He runs his fingers over her hip and feels the stretch marks there. They are like roads, and he traces them in her flesh. He runs his fingers back and forth, first one, then another. They run everywhere in her flesh, dozens, perhaps hundreds of them. He remembers waking up the morning after they bought the car, seeing it, there in the drive, in the sun, gleaming.

Gazebo

    That morning she pours Teacher’s over my belly and licks it off. That afternoon she tries to jump out the window.
    I go, “Holly, this can’t continue. This has got to stop.”
    We are sitting on the sofa in one of the upstairs suites. There were any number of vacancies to choose from. But we needed a suite,