said.
“What?”
“Jane. Hooper.”
“Well, I knew your name, Jane.”
“No, you didn’t. You haven’t used it once.”
“Well, I knew it. You must really think I’m a bastard if you believe I could go to bed with someone and not know her name.”
She sighed, shakily. “It’s Jane Hooper, Mitchell.”
“Okay, Jane Hooper.” He really wanted her to leave, but with his arm around her and her body so soft, so pliant, he quickly found himself thinking of other possibilities. She let his hands roam across her shoulders, her belly, her thighs. He began to smell the coffee in the other room.
“Mitchell—I don’t—”
“Shh.”
“Really—not now, I’m—I—”
He covered her mouth with his own and her quiet protest stopped. There was still something odd about this girl, this Jane Hooper, an odd odor maybe, something unsettling. But what the hell. She was here, he was here, they were naked. He pushed her gently back onto the pillows, thinking both of her and of the coffee he’d be enjoying in only a few minutes.
“Mitchell—I don’t know if—”
But she didn’t resist as he opened her legs and moved to mount her, kissing her lightly on her face. She wrapped her arms around him and made small whimpering sounds as he settled himself atop her. But suddenly and with an overwhelming revulsion he pulled himself away, crying, “Oh my God!”
“What?” she said, eyes wide. “What is it?”
He stared at her, aghast.
She was cold inside.
# # #
They sat at the breakfast table. He sipped his coffee slowly, hoping the hot liquid would calm his jitters. She stared silently at her cup, not touching it. He had put on his bathrobe; she was wearing her clothes from last night, a simple blue shirt and old jeans.
“You need to go to a doctor,” he said finally. “Do you have one? An HMO or something?”
It was some time before she responded. “No.”
“Your job doesn’t give you any health insurance?”
“I don’t have a job.”
“Oh. Well, I think there are some free clinics around. We’ll look online.” He still wanted nothing more than to get rid of this girl, but there was obviously something seriously wrong with her. He had to at least push her in the direction of some medical attention before he kicked her out. It would be easy enough to find a clinic and point her toward the subway.
“Drink your coffee,” he said finally.
She raised it carefully to her lips, then hesitated. At last she put the cup down again.
“I guess I don’t want it,” she said.
“Something wrong with it?”
“No. I just don’t want it.”
“Do you want those eggs?”
“I…I don’t think so. I’m not hungry.”
He frowned into his cup. No coffee, no food. He had done what he could do for this girl. It was time for her to move on. “Okay, then,” he said, standing, “let’s look up clinics.” He moved to his computer desk, sat, turned on the machine. As it was starting she stood and came up behind him, arms folded under her breasts.
“It takes a minute,” he said, glancing at her and trying to smile. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as impatient as he felt; on the other hand, she didn’t seem to be taking the hint. Glancing down at her feet, he said, “Hey, better put your shoes on. You’ll want to get to the clinic as soon as you can.”
She looked at him for a long moment, then turned and dropped onto his sofa, tucking her feet up under her and keeping her arms tightly around herself.
“I don’t think I’d better go to a clinic,” she said finally.
“What?” He turned to her. “Why not?”
“I don’t think I’m sick.”
He stared at her. “Well…What are you, then? Are you okay?”
“I’m dead, Mitchell. That’s what I am.”
“Oh, crap. You’re not dead. You’re talking. You’re breathing.”
“I’m not.”
“What?”
“Breathing.”
“Of course you’re breathing.”
She looked at him, her eyes hurt, haunted. “C’mere.”
“Jane, don’t
“What?”
“Jane. Hooper.”
“Well, I knew your name, Jane.”
“No, you didn’t. You haven’t used it once.”
“Well, I knew it. You must really think I’m a bastard if you believe I could go to bed with someone and not know her name.”
She sighed, shakily. “It’s Jane Hooper, Mitchell.”
“Okay, Jane Hooper.” He really wanted her to leave, but with his arm around her and her body so soft, so pliant, he quickly found himself thinking of other possibilities. She let his hands roam across her shoulders, her belly, her thighs. He began to smell the coffee in the other room.
“Mitchell—I don’t—”
“Shh.”
“Really—not now, I’m—I—”
He covered her mouth with his own and her quiet protest stopped. There was still something odd about this girl, this Jane Hooper, an odd odor maybe, something unsettling. But what the hell. She was here, he was here, they were naked. He pushed her gently back onto the pillows, thinking both of her and of the coffee he’d be enjoying in only a few minutes.
“Mitchell—I don’t know if—”
But she didn’t resist as he opened her legs and moved to mount her, kissing her lightly on her face. She wrapped her arms around him and made small whimpering sounds as he settled himself atop her. But suddenly and with an overwhelming revulsion he pulled himself away, crying, “Oh my God!”
“What?” she said, eyes wide. “What is it?”
He stared at her, aghast.
She was cold inside.
# # #
They sat at the breakfast table. He sipped his coffee slowly, hoping the hot liquid would calm his jitters. She stared silently at her cup, not touching it. He had put on his bathrobe; she was wearing her clothes from last night, a simple blue shirt and old jeans.
“You need to go to a doctor,” he said finally. “Do you have one? An HMO or something?”
It was some time before she responded. “No.”
“Your job doesn’t give you any health insurance?”
“I don’t have a job.”
“Oh. Well, I think there are some free clinics around. We’ll look online.” He still wanted nothing more than to get rid of this girl, but there was obviously something seriously wrong with her. He had to at least push her in the direction of some medical attention before he kicked her out. It would be easy enough to find a clinic and point her toward the subway.
“Drink your coffee,” he said finally.
She raised it carefully to her lips, then hesitated. At last she put the cup down again.
“I guess I don’t want it,” she said.
“Something wrong with it?”
“No. I just don’t want it.”
“Do you want those eggs?”
“I…I don’t think so. I’m not hungry.”
He frowned into his cup. No coffee, no food. He had done what he could do for this girl. It was time for her to move on. “Okay, then,” he said, standing, “let’s look up clinics.” He moved to his computer desk, sat, turned on the machine. As it was starting she stood and came up behind him, arms folded under her breasts.
“It takes a minute,” he said, glancing at her and trying to smile. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as impatient as he felt; on the other hand, she didn’t seem to be taking the hint. Glancing down at her feet, he said, “Hey, better put your shoes on. You’ll want to get to the clinic as soon as you can.”
She looked at him for a long moment, then turned and dropped onto his sofa, tucking her feet up under her and keeping her arms tightly around herself.
“I don’t think I’d better go to a clinic,” she said finally.
“What?” He turned to her. “Why not?”
“I don’t think I’m sick.”
He stared at her. “Well…What are you, then? Are you okay?”
“I’m dead, Mitchell. That’s what I am.”
“Oh, crap. You’re not dead. You’re talking. You’re breathing.”
“I’m not.”
“What?”
“Breathing.”
“Of course you’re breathing.”
She looked at him, her eyes hurt, haunted. “C’mere.”
“Jane, don’t
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