throat. Of course she’s AWOL. Can’t you people see that? This house Kara picked for her, the whole arrangement, it’s like you’re hanging Julie in some museum.”
“You fibbed to me,” she says. “Where are you, Ryan? You’re probably not in Nevada, either, are you? You’re probably in Des Moines, a hundred miles from here, and you just can’t be bothered to come help out.”
“You know that’s wrong, Mom. Whenever I’m that close to you, I’m there. The force field still works. Do we always have to fight?”
“Kara says you got fired.”
“Well, she knows better. You made that up.”
“I wanted to be sure.”
“I need people not to make things up this week.”
“You told me you were in
Oregon
.”
“Fight fire with fire. Can we go back to Julie?”
“It’s
you
that worries us. She
knows
what she’s running away from.”
“That’s so profound. Someone’s been reading a major woman novelist.”
“I don’t like having to wonder where I’m reaching you. It puts me at a disadvantage, Ryan. For all I know, you’re in Japan and it’s tomorrow. I’ll see you on Friday. We’re tying up the line.”
“I love you, okay? No matter what you think. Congratulate Burt and keep me posted on Julie.”
“How long are you coming for? Just the weekend? Longer?”
“I’m going in segments. I’ll get to that one soon. Are you crying?”
“I’m crying a little.”
“Me, too.”
“I know.”
I pour a glass of water to drink in bed but it tastes of chlorine, so I collect some change and step out into the hall to find a soda. Paper menus with early-morning breakfast orders hang from the doors, and I read a few of them. Coffee, juice, and muffins—they’re all the same. If the doors were to become transparent suddenly, the people behind them would all be the same, too: asleep with the news on, their bags beside their beds, their next day’s outfits hanging on the desk chairs. We travel alone, but together we’re an army.
The Coke machine isn’t where it ought to be, in a nook by the stairwell. I’m disappointed in Homestead—they’ve let things slide. The soul of their business is predictability, and if I were consulting for them I’d yank the name off any unit caught screwing with the blueprint.
I walk down a floor and resume my search. I normally avoid caffeine at night, but the news about Julie will keep me up. I’m half rooting for her to stay away, I realize. Wherever you are, my sister, just sit tight. Hug your pillow. Don’t answer the door. This Keith’s a good man, and Kara wants the best for you, but this is not their life. Just call me, will you? Do you have my number? Call me, Julie.
At last I find a glowing red Coke machine and drop in my quarters. The can thunks into the slot. I heard once that if you immerse a penny in a cola drink the coin will melt. I could use some good strong solvents now.
“You’re here,” a voice says.
It’s Alex, from the plane. My fingers start to button my open dress shirt.
“What a surprise,” she says. “Wow.” She’s in pajamas, a baggy pair of pink flannels that smells of dryer sheets. She’s smaller than I remember, slim and kittenish, her hair clipped into a haphazard ball. Primed by the strip club, my nerves swell up with lust, and I take a step back to disengage our auras.
I ask her about her cat.
“He’s at a vet. You were right, he shouldn’t have come. I overtranquilized. I’m thinking I’ll return him to the breeder. I don’t have any business owning pets.”
“I’m sorry. Hard lesson.”
“How’d your meeting go?”
“No casualties. Your thing?”
“They raised a hundred K. The bitch gave a speech about Medicare. Big thrill. I goofed on the food, though. There’s half a cow left over.”
The light of the Coke machine rouges Alex’s face. Down the hall, a door cracks open and a hand reaches out with a menu. We hush our voices. The building slips deeper and deeper into its dreams as my eyes
“You fibbed to me,” she says. “Where are you, Ryan? You’re probably not in Nevada, either, are you? You’re probably in Des Moines, a hundred miles from here, and you just can’t be bothered to come help out.”
“You know that’s wrong, Mom. Whenever I’m that close to you, I’m there. The force field still works. Do we always have to fight?”
“Kara says you got fired.”
“Well, she knows better. You made that up.”
“I wanted to be sure.”
“I need people not to make things up this week.”
“You told me you were in
Oregon
.”
“Fight fire with fire. Can we go back to Julie?”
“It’s
you
that worries us. She
knows
what she’s running away from.”
“That’s so profound. Someone’s been reading a major woman novelist.”
“I don’t like having to wonder where I’m reaching you. It puts me at a disadvantage, Ryan. For all I know, you’re in Japan and it’s tomorrow. I’ll see you on Friday. We’re tying up the line.”
“I love you, okay? No matter what you think. Congratulate Burt and keep me posted on Julie.”
“How long are you coming for? Just the weekend? Longer?”
“I’m going in segments. I’ll get to that one soon. Are you crying?”
“I’m crying a little.”
“Me, too.”
“I know.”
I pour a glass of water to drink in bed but it tastes of chlorine, so I collect some change and step out into the hall to find a soda. Paper menus with early-morning breakfast orders hang from the doors, and I read a few of them. Coffee, juice, and muffins—they’re all the same. If the doors were to become transparent suddenly, the people behind them would all be the same, too: asleep with the news on, their bags beside their beds, their next day’s outfits hanging on the desk chairs. We travel alone, but together we’re an army.
The Coke machine isn’t where it ought to be, in a nook by the stairwell. I’m disappointed in Homestead—they’ve let things slide. The soul of their business is predictability, and if I were consulting for them I’d yank the name off any unit caught screwing with the blueprint.
I walk down a floor and resume my search. I normally avoid caffeine at night, but the news about Julie will keep me up. I’m half rooting for her to stay away, I realize. Wherever you are, my sister, just sit tight. Hug your pillow. Don’t answer the door. This Keith’s a good man, and Kara wants the best for you, but this is not their life. Just call me, will you? Do you have my number? Call me, Julie.
At last I find a glowing red Coke machine and drop in my quarters. The can thunks into the slot. I heard once that if you immerse a penny in a cola drink the coin will melt. I could use some good strong solvents now.
“You’re here,” a voice says.
It’s Alex, from the plane. My fingers start to button my open dress shirt.
“What a surprise,” she says. “Wow.” She’s in pajamas, a baggy pair of pink flannels that smells of dryer sheets. She’s smaller than I remember, slim and kittenish, her hair clipped into a haphazard ball. Primed by the strip club, my nerves swell up with lust, and I take a step back to disengage our auras.
I ask her about her cat.
“He’s at a vet. You were right, he shouldn’t have come. I overtranquilized. I’m thinking I’ll return him to the breeder. I don’t have any business owning pets.”
“I’m sorry. Hard lesson.”
“How’d your meeting go?”
“No casualties. Your thing?”
“They raised a hundred K. The bitch gave a speech about Medicare. Big thrill. I goofed on the food, though. There’s half a cow left over.”
The light of the Coke machine rouges Alex’s face. Down the hall, a door cracks open and a hand reaches out with a menu. We hush our voices. The building slips deeper and deeper into its dreams as my eyes
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