first into the edge of the bedroom door. I staggered back, whining in rage, grabbed a hammer over the bookcase and bashed the door like I was fucking Thor. My floor was littered with paint chips like confetti. I staggered into the living room. It was getting light out. "Goddamn fuckin' dammit! You! You! How can…" I realized I was snarling and screaming at the swag lamp over the dinette table. It was six in the morning. I hadn't slept, wasn't even tired, just withered and blown away. When I went back into the bedroom, there was Little Flower's number scribbled on the
TV Guide
. The phone receiver was still sweaty. My nose hurt like a bitch. What the hell. I dialed the number. It was busy. .
WEDNESDAY
The alarm went off and I jerked upright Seven-thirty. I had snagged ninety minutes' sleep, but I didn't even remember getting into bed. I wasn't tired. La Donna's absence made the bed feel as springy as a diving board. I dropped my shorts and stretched. It was a nice, sunny blue day. I did a few toe touches, then my hundred and fifty, all the time fantasizing that La Donna was in bed watching with frustrated desire that rock-hard bitch of a washboard that some people might have confused for my stomach. No doubt about it, I felt energized, but I was pretty sure it was that speedy energy you get from being wired and sleepless. You could move like sixteen French acrobats but the minute you accidentally put your head on an even surface you would be gone for eight hours. I threw an Al Green jam on the stereo and pretended that that was me singing in some get-down club, shoulders hunched, face pinched, hittin' high whining notes and La Donna would be sitting there with some big momo from Duluth front row center. Whenever I broke up with a woman, she turned into a phantom, admiring audience for all my fantasies about myself. It could go on for years. At this point I had an entire peanut gallery watching me. I jumped in the shower after turning up the volume, came out, dressed to kill, a chocolate gabardine three-piece suit over an eggshell shirt, a cocoa and tan silk tie, and I looked most bad, most bad. I had a bowl of Country Morning granola, a hit of coffee, grabbed my case and headed out the door. I left my keys in the bedroom and when I went back in for them I noticed Little Flower's number. I felt like that was from two light-years ago, and I couldn't even remember the headset I wore when I saw fit to Jot that down. It was a beautiful day, and if I twisted my body out the window I could catch a glimpse of the Hudson. It was a new day. I got one of my mystical rushes of elation like a gigantic good news! headline on a
Watchtower
flyer. Something was most definitely in the air.
When I arrived at the diner, it was still early. Only Fat Al sat in back, smoking a cigarette and filling out his order sheet. Charlene sat at the counter reading the
News
and drinking coffee. I snagged the stool next to her.
"How you doin', kid?"
"Hey, Kenny." She didn't look up as she clucked her tongue and shook her head grimly. "Isn't that awful? Six kids."
I peeked over her shoulder. A school had burned down in Montana.
"Mr. Cheeseburger." I motioned to George for a coffee.
"How come you not sit in back? You no like boys no more?"
"Hey, George, you know the Greek national anthem?"
"Never leave you buddies' behind." He winked.
"Charlene, I didn't embarrass you in front of those girls yesterday, did I?"
"Whata you mean?" She scanned the paper.
"You know, when I said that thing."
"What thing?" She licked her thumb and flipped the page.
"You know, that thing you know, 'scuse me, girls…"
"Oh, no no no." She stuck out her bottom lip, pouted and checked out "Moon Mullins."
"Good, because I was a little worried, because I like you and you know I didn't want, I don't want…" Two soda truck drivers took a booth. Charlene got up and pulled out her order pad in one motion like a gunslinger. .
" 'Scuse me, Kenny."
What the hell was I
TV Guide
. The phone receiver was still sweaty. My nose hurt like a bitch. What the hell. I dialed the number. It was busy. .
WEDNESDAY
The alarm went off and I jerked upright Seven-thirty. I had snagged ninety minutes' sleep, but I didn't even remember getting into bed. I wasn't tired. La Donna's absence made the bed feel as springy as a diving board. I dropped my shorts and stretched. It was a nice, sunny blue day. I did a few toe touches, then my hundred and fifty, all the time fantasizing that La Donna was in bed watching with frustrated desire that rock-hard bitch of a washboard that some people might have confused for my stomach. No doubt about it, I felt energized, but I was pretty sure it was that speedy energy you get from being wired and sleepless. You could move like sixteen French acrobats but the minute you accidentally put your head on an even surface you would be gone for eight hours. I threw an Al Green jam on the stereo and pretended that that was me singing in some get-down club, shoulders hunched, face pinched, hittin' high whining notes and La Donna would be sitting there with some big momo from Duluth front row center. Whenever I broke up with a woman, she turned into a phantom, admiring audience for all my fantasies about myself. It could go on for years. At this point I had an entire peanut gallery watching me. I jumped in the shower after turning up the volume, came out, dressed to kill, a chocolate gabardine three-piece suit over an eggshell shirt, a cocoa and tan silk tie, and I looked most bad, most bad. I had a bowl of Country Morning granola, a hit of coffee, grabbed my case and headed out the door. I left my keys in the bedroom and when I went back in for them I noticed Little Flower's number. I felt like that was from two light-years ago, and I couldn't even remember the headset I wore when I saw fit to Jot that down. It was a beautiful day, and if I twisted my body out the window I could catch a glimpse of the Hudson. It was a new day. I got one of my mystical rushes of elation like a gigantic good news! headline on a
Watchtower
flyer. Something was most definitely in the air.
When I arrived at the diner, it was still early. Only Fat Al sat in back, smoking a cigarette and filling out his order sheet. Charlene sat at the counter reading the
News
and drinking coffee. I snagged the stool next to her.
"How you doin', kid?"
"Hey, Kenny." She didn't look up as she clucked her tongue and shook her head grimly. "Isn't that awful? Six kids."
I peeked over her shoulder. A school had burned down in Montana.
"Mr. Cheeseburger." I motioned to George for a coffee.
"How come you not sit in back? You no like boys no more?"
"Hey, George, you know the Greek national anthem?"
"Never leave you buddies' behind." He winked.
"Charlene, I didn't embarrass you in front of those girls yesterday, did I?"
"Whata you mean?" She scanned the paper.
"You know, when I said that thing."
"What thing?" She licked her thumb and flipped the page.
"You know, that thing you know, 'scuse me, girls…"
"Oh, no no no." She stuck out her bottom lip, pouted and checked out "Moon Mullins."
"Good, because I was a little worried, because I like you and you know I didn't want, I don't want…" Two soda truck drivers took a booth. Charlene got up and pulled out her order pad in one motion like a gunslinger. .
" 'Scuse me, Kenny."
What the hell was I
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