Hunting for Duck

Lone city nights when it's crazy out there with the rain and the traffic, the sirens howling, shouts across blocks, the cheap crimes, and the last time you had a woman was so far back you forget where it was or who, you lie on the bed in the dark with a bottle and you think about them. The women. All of them. Like the drink - too many and never enough. Christ, what a book of piss and sorrow it is. The overnighters. The weekend specials. The sad no-hopers with the hidden histories. All you could find. All you could get. The bad and the not so.

And then the good, sometimes. Some who would stay around a while ' two weeks, three. Maybe a month. You'd think it was happening. The pieces fixing. Half of you itchy, but all of you alive. Then one night, socks stinking from a 12-shift, even your hair aching, you come back to the note on the table. The chairs pushed in. The lights off. The stuff in the garbage. The shape still there on the sheets.

Of course, it was you. You look at yourself ' the car wreck. Used clothes on a used body. Pocketful of loose change and betting slips. Broken compass. Why would they bother? Who could blame them? What's your beef? But you can't help wondering ' where have they gone? Where have they gone? Where have all of them gone?

Me? I've had as much luck with women as I have with writing. Less, even. Night after waking night when every word is dead on arrival, not worth the effort. Then whole spans of time when it all fits just right and goes singing along to an end. But somehow never enough to hold it together ' to make a real go of it. I came close once. Like the story that almost worked, but didn't quite ' and couldn't be made good no matter what. The one that never got finished.

Sal.

Yeah, Sal was special. I drink to her. But then there was Marlene, too. Fuck. The disaster movie. The machine gone wrong. Marlene. Sal was the pure grain spirit. Marlene, the meths bottle and the sad red-eyed morning with the mouth like a bathroom rug. But they were part of the same thing. There wasn't one without the other. So, what can you do?

Sal was an accident. But ain't they all, in the end? Even if you go out looking, it's still about two people being in the same place, of all the places they could be. All that old thing of 'if the bus hadn't been late, and the first bar hadn't been so crowded, and it had been a Thursday instead of the usual Wednesday' is bullshit when you look at it. I'm not into fate, either. You meet someone, that's it. You make of it what you do. It's your choice. And if it ain't them, it's someone else ' for both of you. So it's twelve at night and I'm out of beer and ideas, and I ain't gonna sleep, and there's nothing to get up for anyway, so I go to the all-niter over on Milford East for a fifth and some munchie food, and I'm coming back along the street and she's there ' her car beached up on the sidewalk, the light on inside, the flicker as she turns the key over and over, running the battery flat. I tap on her window. She looks at me a moment, scared alright. But she sees something she trusts. She winds it down a ways. Mid-thirties, nice face, brunette, good figure from what I can see. The first things a guy always notices.
"How's your gas?
She looks at the needle.
"It says a quarter. Then she hits her head on the wheel. "Shit! That's the temperature.
"Bet I can guess what the tank says.
She looks again.
"Cold. I've only had the goddamn thing a day. I'm not used to it.
"You got a gas can?
"No, would you believe.
I look along the empty corridor of the street. It's a flat run and the car's not big.
"Power steering?
"No.
Well, there's a bonus.
"There's a gas station two blocks along. I'll push you.
"You sure?
"You wanna stay here all night?
She swings the wheel and I get the thing moving.

The rest of it you can make up yourself. One thing and another ' how it happens. The oldest story in the book. We exchange numbers, meet up for a beer a couple of times, go to a movie, patch a bit of history together, end up on the springs. Two lonely people at a certain point in their lives when they've tried and failed too many times to think it can ever work ' but still keeping the flame going anyway, in case. You have to keep trying. You'll never know if you don't.

Anyhow, the long and short ' two months in, it's going well, she asks me to shack. And I think¦ yeah, okay. Things had been crap with me for too long. Maybe this could be what I'd been waiting for. So I give up my lousy room and move into her apartment on the east side. I still wasn't making any money, but Sal taught high school and we could manage. I did the housework, got the groceries, everything else. With the pressure off, I started to write again. Sold a couple of pieces. Not much, but it helped. Sal did some editing for me, too. We got into a thing. It was pretty good. You just hoped it would stay that way ' though you always knew what you always knew. What life had shown you. Something happens. I just tried not to think about it too much. She worked. I wrote. We lived.

"Just think, she said, one night in bed. "If I hadn't run out of gas that night, and you hadn't run out of booze...
I put my finger over her lips.
"Don't even say it.
She kissed my finger.
"I love you, she said.
"Love you, too, babe. I meant it, too. So did she.
She kissed my hand. She kissed my chest. She worked her way south from there.
"I love you.

And then came Marlene.

Marlene was Sal's younger sister. She'd spoken about her a few times, much as I'd spoken about my older brother. They were in the past. People no longer a part of our lives. People we hardly knew any more. Not that I ever knew my brother, anyway. Ten years up on me, he was in High School when I was still puking milk and rusks. At eighteen, he left home for college and didn't come back. By the time I was stacking shelves at Agway, he was in Syracuse, gazing at black holes, muscling up to a professorship. I'd seen him once in eight years, at mum's funeral. As he might have said himself ' we were on different planets. Light years apart.

From what Sal said, Marlene was more like I used to be ' the black sheep. Didn't take the usual route. Some kind of habit along the line. Couple of possession raps. A stint in rehab. Always losing jobs for being late, being obnoxious, being drunk or high. But whereas I was through that now, she wasn't. She was just 27 ' eleven years younger than Sal. Done nothing useful, cut herself off. Sal didn't even get a card at Christmas any more. I'd never had one from Pete.

And then, one day, four months in, the letter arrives. She's met up with this bus driver in Albany ' older guy called Nate. It's working out. She's getting it together at last. Oh, and they're taking a trip to Atlantic City and can they call by on the way through? Sal looks at me.
"I don't know what to say, she says. "After all she's done. The grief she caused to mum and dad.
I can hear it in there, though.
"But¦ she's still my sister. I guess she deserves the benefit of the doubt.
I light a cigarette.
"Sure. Don't we all?

So the day comes and they pull up in this big purple Olds, Nate driving. And here was a team. Bonnie and Clyde gone crazy as fuck. Marlene ' skirt up her ass, knee-high red suede boots, motorcycle jacket, all that eye-liner, hair up in spikes. 27, but the face told you things. The stuff had been done, wasn't too far behind, might still be there at the edge. But Jesus¦ she was something. She had a body and knew it. It caught me with my guard down. She looked straight at me as she came around the car and I held her eye. Sal let go my arm, went to her, looked at her. And then they hugged. They stood there like dancers. The straight guy and the clown. Marlene still looking at me.
And then there was Nate. My age probably, but holding it better. He'd go 15 rounds okay ' not like most guys who spend their days at the wheel. He was a picture, too. Pink shirt, white shoes, white trousers, chrome shades, gold ' even in his smile, which seemed to be stuck there. Didn't I know why. It shone from him. He lit up the street.
"So, how's it going, my man? he said, like he'd known me since school.
"Pretty good. You?
He looked at Marlene, then at me again. Yeah.

We left Sal and Marlene to catch up and I took Nate to Stacey's Lounge for a beer. He told me some things through that smile. He told me how one day on his bus this old lady had a stroke, so he drove straight to the hospital ' skipping the route, jumping the lights, never stopping, all the way. Some guy on the bus complained because it made him late for work. Nate said he saw the guy later and evened things out.
"Man, you should have seen that motherfucker go, he said, slicing his arm down on the bar like a turnpike barrier. "Over and fuckin' out! 
That killed me. I rocked on my stool.
"I couldn'a surprised him more I opened my fly and put my goddamn pecker in his hand. I mean, anyone else would have done the same. You'd have done the same, wouldn't you? Well, wouldn't you?
"Sure, Nate, I said. "I'd have done the same. I probably would, too. Though maybe not so much now. I'd had too much of that trouble. And I didn't have quite Nate's trim, either.
Nate bought another beer and a cigar each. As he held up the match for me, he asked me what I thought of Marlene. That caught me out. He knew it.
"I guess, I said, "If she's anything like her sister, then you're money in.
That gold-glint smile spread across his face. Then he drew his head in closer, as if he was afraid of being overhead.
"Man, he said ' his voice lower, almost reverential. "That woman does things for me you wouldn't believe.
He looked me solid in the eye, quiet for the first time since I'd met him. Then he took a deep pull on his cigar. "She completely blows my mind away, you know?
We sat for a moment, thinking on that one. Then Nate soft-punched me on the arm and showed me the gold again.
"Which makes us a pair of lucky motherfuckers, eh?
"Right, I said.

Later, after we'd eaten, Sal and I stood at the door as they drove off up the street in that crazy car ' Nate's arm waving out the window like a pink carnival streamer. When they turned at the intersection, Sal left my side and I followed her in. She picked up Marlene's glass and sniffed it, wrinkling her nose. She took it to the sink and rinsed it out. She needn't have bothered. You could smell Marlene everywhere. The whole place smelt like a ladie's room on prom night.
"What about those two? I said, picking the glass out of the drainer to wipe it.
Sal went to the table to get the dishes, piling them up into a heap, clattering the knives and forks on top.
"I think she's finally seeing the light, she said. "I hope she is. But I don't think Nate's gonna help too much.
She put the stuff in the sink. I went up behind her and put my hands on her shoulders.
"Maybe that's all part of it, I said. "That's something she'll have to find out for herself, same as we all do.
She turned and put her head against my chest.
"Yeah¦ you're probably right.
She looked up at me. And I could see it there. Something had happened. Whatever Marlene was, she was Sal's kid sister. Anyone else, she'd have run them to hell and back. But Marlene was family. Marlene was family again.

Which is why, when I picked up the phone one Saturday a couple of months later to hear Marlene sobbing and asking for Sal, I could pretty much tell what was coming. I passed the phone to Sal and went through to the kitchen for a beer. I heard her say some things between long gaps of listening. It wasn't hard to pick out the drift: Nate had gone and she didn't know where, and she had no money and was being evicted and didn't know what to do. As I listened, I gazed out of the window, watching the kids in the street running to catch the leaves as they fell off the trees in the fall sunshine. They were having a hell of a time out there ' which is what Sal and I had been having up until then. Just like kids playing. Getting the game right. A few leaves had been falling, though. The usual stuff. The money I'd made from writing hadn't gone far, and she'd spoken about me finding a job. I knew there was something else behind it, too. She wanted a kid ' before it was too late. She didn't say so much. But it was there.

When she finished on the phone, she came through to the kitchen and got a beer herself. She pulled the tab and sat on the table.
"What did I say about him? she said. "The lousy son of a bitch. Just ups and goes. Takes everything. Doesn't even leave her enough to pay the rent.
She took a mouthful of beer.
"She needs help, Ed. What the hell am I supposed to do?
She looked up at me. She knew I was thinking the same as she was. The apartment had a spare room ' the one I used to write in. That's all it had: a small table, a chair, a lamp, a typewriter. And an old couch that converted to a bed.
"She's been trying, Sal said. "She can't lose it now. I have to give her the chance. There's no one else.
"So, you want her to come and stay?
She shook her head. "No, I don't. But I can't do nothing.
She closed her eyes and dropped her head back, sighing. Then she looked at me again.
"What would you do, Ed? What would you do if it was your brother rang up, out on the streets?
"He wouldn't. He doesn't even know where I live. He probably doesn't know if I'm still alive.
"But if he did?
Through the window, I could still see the kids playing. For some reason, I half expected to see Nate's Olds come surfing along through those leaves and draw up outside ' see the glint of that smile, the arm hanging out of the window, waiting.
"I'd tell him to come, I lied. It wasn't the first time.
She came over and put her arms around me. She squeezed me hard, like she was afraid of falling. Or afraid I'd fall. Like the holding together was the only thing that kept us both safe.
"It won't be for long, she said. "A few days, that's all. Just 'til she's straight. She pressed her head against my chest. "We'll work it out.

She lived fifty miles up the line, and Sal drove off on the Sunday morning to go pick her up. She'd wanted me to go, too, but I'd planned to get some writing done. I had a story coming together and needed to get something moving with it. I thought they'd be better alone together, anyway. After she'd gone, I shifted the stuff around and got the room ready. I carried the table through to our bedroom, and pushed it into a corner. It was tight, but there was still some space. Enough for me to sit and work. Sal had already looked out spare bed things and left them by the couch. I opened the windows to air the room and sprayed some stuff around ' I usually only smoked when I was working, and then it was all the time, so it was thick in there. And that was it: a couch and some bedclothes, and an empty vase on the window ledge. Nothing else. I had no idea what she was bringing, though I knew she didn't have any furniture. She'd have to make the best of it. She was lucky to have it anyway. Lucky to have someone to bail her out. I never did.

When things were straight, I went down to the store for some beers and a couple of packs of cigarettes. As I was paying, I saw a stand by the door with small bunches of flowers. I picked out a bunch of red carnations and added them in. I thought they'd go in the vase in the spare room, cheer things up. Just a little thing. When I got back, I trimmed them up and put them in the vase. It was half-past eleven. Sal said she hoped to be back by one at the latest. An hour and a half. I made a coffee, unplugged the phone, sat at the typer, rolled in a sheet, lit up, started¦

I was going pretty well, though the story had taken a bit of a detour and I wasn't sure if it was the right one. It was about this guy, Tom, and his brother-in-law, Steve. Their wives are sisters. Tom and Steve are pretty close and often go off on hunting trips together. Shoot some duck, sink a few beers ' guys on their weekends away. After a few trips, Steve wants to add an extra element. Pick themselves up some ass. Tom refuses. But things aren't special between him and his wife just then, and Steve tries to convince him it'll help. Says he's been doing it for years and his marriage is as solid as ever. This shocks Tom, whose sense of loyalty to his own wife is strong. He now has a dilemma. He refuses to be unfaithful, and he has this knowledge about Steve he'll find it hard to live with, too. They have an argument. Steve now suspects that Tom may spill the beans. The next day, there's a hunting accident. That's the general idea I set out with. Except I was starting to get a different kind of Tom ' one who had designs on Steve's wife: an attraction that he knew was mutual. Tom bargains with Steve: he'll keep quiet about Steve's whores if he can fuck Steve's wife. So, how does Steve feel about that?

And that's where I'd got to. I kind of liked it. It was a more interesting complication to the plot. I'd gotten horny thinking about it, too, and had to go to the bathroom to jerk off. After that, I took a break and got a beer from the fridge. It was then that I noticed the time. Nearly half past two. Christ! I plugged the phone back in and called Sal's cell phone number, but couldn't make a connection. I went to the window and looked down into the street. Leaves blowing around, kids on their bikes. Nothing. I tried her phone again, but still no good. I couldn't think of anything else to do. I didn't want to go out in case she rang. I paced around our rooms, looking at everything as it was, thinking all the worst kinds of things. I made up my mind to call the state patrol to see if anything had happened ' a hold up or an accident.

And then, through the kitchen window, I saw the car coming up the street. I ran along the corridor and down the stairs, making it out there just as Sal pulled in. That's when I saw the damage. The front wing on Sal's side had taken a bash and the headlight was smashed. Sal's door was banged up, too, and the mirror was broken. Metal ground on metal as she opened her door and got out.
"Jesus, what happened? I said, reaching for her arm. She snatched it away and used it to slam the door shut again instead. Her face was white, except where her eye-liner had smudged and run.
"What happened? I'll tell you the fuck what happened. We were in a fucking accident. I tried fucking ringing to let you know, but the phone was unplugged. Why the hell was the phone unplugged?
"I was writing.
She turned on me.
"You were writing? We were almost getting killed, and you were writing?  She pushed past me towards the lobby. The kids with their bikes were stopping to watch. She turned once again. "Did you think about calling me when you saw the time? Or were you too busy writing? She went in and I made to go after her. But then Marlene got out of the car.
"Just leave her, Ed. She's not hurt, just a bit shaken up. She came up to me and put her hand on my arm. "She was upset because she couldn't get through to you. She'll be okay.
She had the same clothes on she'd had before. The same scent. It was strong, but underneath it was something else. The staleness. A smell I knew too well. And strangely it was that, and the pressure of her hand, that made something stir.
"Seems like everyone's having a bad time, I said.
She squeezed again. "I'll go make sure she's okay. It's good to see you.
"You too.
She went in and I turned back to the car. The damage was bad, but mainly cosmetic. The insurance would cover it. It was driveable, anyway. I knew how much Sal loved that car, though. Inside, I could see the back seat was piled with boxes and cases, and a few loose items of clothing on hangers. I walked around and popped the tail gate. In the trunk was a huge bunch of plants that had tipped over, spilling soil everywhere. Beside it was a box of soft toys and about a dozen pairs of sneakers and boots. An old grocery box was full of toiletries and other personal things. Talcum. Pantie-Pads. A hair brush full of strands of her hair, like copper wire. The accumulated possessions of a life. Not much more than the stuff I had when I moved in with Sal. I looked up at our window, then along the street. Quiet as a Sunday afternoon usually is around here. I lifted out the box of toiletries and took it indoors.

When I got upstairs, Sal and Marlene were sitting on the couch in the spare room. Sal was crying and Marlene had her arms around her. I put the box down by the door, then went over and squatted beside Sal, taking her hand.
"I'm sorry, hon, I said. "I lost track of time. We'll get the car fixed. I'm just glad you're okay.
She looked up at me through her tears. For a second, I wasn't sure which way it would go. Then she leaned away from Marlene and put her arms around my neck, sobbing like she was fit to bust. Sobbing for all sorts of things. I pulled her to me. I looked at Marlene, who smiled back and got up.
"I'll go get the rest of the stuff, she said. She went out and I moved over and sat next to Sal, hugging her, rubbing her arms, kissing her head. Soon, she began to calm. She wiped her face with a tissue.
"It was my fault, Ed.
"What was?
"I pulled out too soon. I didn't see him.
"It's okay. No one was hurt.
She shook her head.
"I - looked, but - but I didn't see him coming.
She sobbed again. I heard Marlene's footsteps coming back up the stairs. Sal looked up.
"Let's just get this stuff in.
I held her tighter.
"I'll help Marlene. You sit there.
"No. I need to do things. I need to contact the insurance people, too.
She got up. Then she noticed the carnations on the window ledge. The corners of her mouth twitched. Almost a smile. She went over to them and touched the petals.
"I thought they'd brighten the room up, I said.
She sniffed. She pulled up a couple of stems and moved them around in the vase.
"Sure.
Then Marlene was in the room again. She had a couple of the plants. There was soil over her t-shirt. She put them down on the floor beside the box.
"Okay?
Sal turned and smiled at her, though she was working hard at it.
"I'm fine, she said. Then she went over to Marlene. "Come on. Let's get you in.

It didn't take long. When it was all in, we left Marlene to get herself straight and Sal went to freshen up and change.
"Jesus!  she said, when she opened the bedroom door. She went straight to the window and threw it wide. It was the first time I'd noticed how thick the smoke was.
"Sorry. I put the table in here. I didn't know where else to put it.
"It stinks. I thought we'd agreed no smoking in here.
She looked at the table ' the typed sheets, the coffee mug, the full ashtray. I picked the mug and the ashtray up.
"Maybe it'll go in the lounge, I said. "I could shift the chairs around somehow. Move the TV along the wall.
But she didn't seem interested. She sat on the bed and kicked off her shoes.
"Leave it now. I think I just want to sleep for a while, she said. "I've got a headache.
"You sure you're okay, hon?
"Yes, I'm fine. Just let me sleep. She looked up at me. I was still holding the mug and the ashtray, standing at the door. "Please.
"'kay.
She swung her legs up onto the bed and put her head on the pillow.
"Call if you need anything, I said. Then I went out.

I went and got another beer and sat in the kitchen, running everything through my head. Sal. The car. The accident. Maybe I should have gone after all, and none of it would have happened. Then I got to thinking about the story again, and how that wouldn't have happened either. Which was more important? I wasn't sure that I could figure it out.
"Thoughtful.
I jerked up. Marlene was standing at the kitchen door, looking at me.
"Sorry¦ I was way off.
She'd taken her jacket and boots off and was in her bare feet. She folded her arms and leaned against the door post.
"How is she?
"She's having a rest.
"Good. She needs it.
She stood there.
"There's a beer in the fridge if you want one.
She wrinkled her nose.
"I'm not supposed to. But I could use something.
"Help yourself.
She went to the fridge. As she crouched down I saw the bruise. A fresh one, the size of golf ball. Just above the hem of her skirt on her right thigh. She turned her face towards me suddenly and I looked up.
"That happen in the accident?
She took a beer and stood up again.
"No, she said. Then she came and sat across from me at the table. She opened the can and drank in silence for a moment.
"I'm sorry for all this, Ed. Sal's saved my life here. You and Sal.
Her eyes were wet, and she wiped them with her fingers.
"That's okay.
"Yeah, it's not okay, though. I know that. I just need a couple of days.
"Take as long as you need.
She took another hit.
"I'll go out tomorrow and look for a job. Then I can get a place.
"You'll need money up front for a place.
She put the can down on the table.
"So, I'll sort it. Don't worry.
"Okay.
I finished my beer. I sat there trying to think of something to say. She wiped her eyes again.
"Is it alright if I take a bath?
"Sure it is. Do you needs towels or anything?
"I've got everything, thanks. She got up with her beer and went to her room. In a few more moments, I heard her go through to the bath room and turn on the water. Then she closed the door and I could just hear the water running, like a stream in the distance.

That night in bed, both Sal and I laid awake. She was still shaken up and had taken a valium to settle herself. After we'd turned in, we'd both listened to Marlene moving around for a while, fixing her bed up and things. It was strange having someone else in the apartment ' which was part of it, of course. We lay on our backs, staring at the wedge of light thrown across the ceiling from the street. Sal reached across and clasped my hand.
"Okay?
"Yeah.
She sighed.
"I'm sorry about earlier.
"Forget it. I'm the one should be sorry, anyway.
I listened to the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
"We'll sort the car. Don't worry.
She pulled herself closer and put her arm across my chest. She kissed my hair. I had a hard-on so big it hurt.
"What's your story about?
I thought about that again.
"I'm not sure yet. It needs some working.
She nuzzled her head against mine.
"Okay. You can do it tomorrow.
"I'll put the table in the lounge.
"Yeah.
We lay quiet then. In a few minutes, her breathing became heavier. I felt the pressure of her arm ease off. I listened to her sleeping at last.

The next day, I tried to get Sal to call in sick, but she said she felt fine and wanted to go. She said she'd see how it went. After she'd left, I picked up the typewriter and carried it through to the kitchen table. I thought I'd work there for the time being, shift things later. It was nine o'clock by this time and there hadn't been a sound from Marlene's room. I went and listened at her door for a minute. Nothing. Not even a yawn. I then made myself a coffee and sat down to look through my pages. I sat for almost an hour, crossing out bits with a pencil, making notes in the margins, trying to think the whole thing forward as I went. But it wasn't working too well. A number of things ' but also that feeling, like last night, of someone else in the apartment. I liked to read my stuff aloud as I worked, and I couldn't do it. I was listening all the time for movement. I kept looking at the wall, on the other side of which she was. I rolled a sheet of paper in, then lit a cigarette. I began typing.

At eleven, I heard the creak of a handle along the passage. Then she was at the kitchen door. She was wearing a white bath robe which wasn't really big enough. She had it quite loosely tied, too, so it hung open at the top just a bit. She waited a second, then pulled it together, but in a way that let me see even more of what was under it. Her hair was mussed up, like someone had run their hands through it. She had no make-up on and her skin looked pale. But her lips were red. She looked at me for a moment before twitching a smile. I turned back to my page.
"Morning.
"Hi.
"Not disturbing you or nothing, am I?
"That's okay. I was about to stop for a coffee.
She came in.
"I'll make it, if you like.
I picked my pile of pages up again and started to flick through them.
"Sleep okay?
"Not really. She poured water in the kettle and set it to boil. "Strange bed, you know? It's so quiet here, too. I'm used to noise at night. People fighting, traffic kind of thing. That's why I'm so late. I need to do stuff today, too.
She took a mug down for herself, then came over for mine. Her bare feet sucked against the floor tiling. She stood right behind my chair. I felt the sleeve of the robe brush against my shoulder.
"What you writing?
"Just a story.
"What's it about?
"Two guys on a hunting trip.
She set my mug down beside hers on the top and spooned in coffee.
"What they hunting? Bears?
"Duck.
"Duck?
"That's right.
She bent one leg slightly so that just the toes were touching the tiles. Her instep was curved like a tongue.
"You take milk and sugar?
"Please. Two.
She put the sugar in and took the milk from the fridge. And I could smell her.
"So, what happens on the hunting trip? They get any duck?
"No.
"No? Do they get anything else?
I sniffed and turned a page over. It rattled in my hand.
"Yeah. They get laid.
She turned and looked at me seriously for a moment ' like she was shocked. I raised my eyebrows. It was nothing. But it was there. Then she laughed.
"Sounds like my kind of story.
The kettle boiled. She turned back to make the coffees. Then she brought mine over and put it on the table next to the typewriter, touching her hand on my shoulder as she did so. Just quick ' but I could feel it. Then she brought her own coffee to the table.
"Mind if I sit here?
"That's okay.
"I mean, if you're working¦
"I'll have my coffee first.
She sat there, sipping her coffee, staring at the floor. Then she looked up at me and I turned back to the page in the typer. She did that every time. Waited until she knew I was looking, then caught me. She knew her game.
"Sal says you've had stuff published an' all.
"A few things.
"Wow. I've never met a proper writer before.
"I'm not a proper writer yet. I'd like to be. It doesn't pay much unless you're one of the big guys.
She put her mug down and clasped her hands around it.
"So, how do you become one of the big guys.
"Hard work. Time. Talent. And a lot of luck, I guess.
She twitched her nose.
"Well, you must have the talent or you wouldn't have been published.
I arched my eyebrows again. We sipped our coffee. Then she put her mug down again and stretched back in her chair. I could see the points of her nipples pushing through the fabric of the robe.
"And what about your luck? she said. "Do you feel it's good?
I put my own mug down.
"I dunno. I think it might get better.
"Hmm. She poked her fingers into her hair and pulled a length of it down over her forehead. She sucked on her lower lip.
"Well¦ I think I'll take a shower if that's okay.
"Of course. You don't have to ask.
"Fine, she said. Then she got up and walked over to the door. I waited for her to stop, to turn, to look¦ but she went straight out, loosening the tie on the robe as she did. I heard her go into the bathroom. I heard her step in the shower and slide the door across. I heard the water go on. I got up and went over to the kitchen door and looked across. The bathroom door wasn't closed and I could see her in there, her body fuzzed by the shower glass. She turned around, fingering shampoo into her hair. I could see the brown circles of her nipples, the dark smudge between her legs. She knew damn well I could see. She ran her hands over her breasts and down her body as the shampoo foamed. I stepped over to the bathroom door. I knew she knew I was there. I wiped my hand across my mouth. My face was wet.

And I just stood there as it suddenly hit me. What the hell was I doing? How could I even think of this? I can only explain it now as the thought of that promise. The things Nate had said, and the tone of his voice as he'd said them. The promise of something that I'd never had before ' which seemed to be there for the taking now, and no one need ever know. A few days and she'd have moved on. The chance would have gone with her.

I stepped back to the kitchen door and looked in. I saw everything in there in perfect clarity ' the coffee mugs, the typewriter, my half-written story waiting for me. I knew then what I was supposed to do. And I still just stood there, looking at it ' remembering how I felt when I first saw that kitchen. The happiness I felt that I'd found something at last. Something that might actually work out. So, why would I risk it? Why do we risk anything? What's life about?

A sudden breeze through the window ruffled my papers. I put one foot back on the kitchen floor. And then she let out this sound. This sigh. Not loud, but loud enough. Loud enough to give things the final stir.
And then I turned again and I was in there, not thinking any more ' to hell with that. Pulling my shirt and pants off, sliding open that shower door, feeling the heat and steam hit my skin. She had her back to me, but she turned and showed me what I'd been waiting for. I caught that look on her face again. I reached in to take hold of her. And then she covered herself with her hands and moved back into the corner.
"What the fuck? 
I took hold of her arm to pulled her towards me. She swiped out.
"What the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck off me.
The water caught me full in the face.
"Marlene¦
She reached up for the shower head and snatched it off the bracket. She swung it at me and I was too stunned to even move out of the way. It hit my head by my right eye and I saw sparks. I staggered back and she kicked past me out of the shower. I turned to grab her, but slipped on the floor and went over hard, banging my head against the shower tap. I pulled myself up, but slipped again, out of the shower and across the bathroom floor. Looking up, I just caught the last glimpse of Marlene's ass as she ran into her room and slammed the door behind her.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ! 
I pulled myself up. There were blood stains the size of quarters on the floor. I could feel it running down the side of my face. I grabbed a towel from the rail and held it against my eye. Then I crawled out into the hall.
And there was Sal. She was standing by the kitchen door, still in her coat. She had her bag slung over her shoulder. In her hand, she was holding a carrier from the liquor store. I saw the top of a bottle of my favourite whiskey poking out. She looked at me as if she'd never seen me before. As if I was a stranger in there.
"Ed? she said. "What¦?
Then Marlene sang out from behind the door.
"Sal? Thank Christ! The fuckin' pervert. He tried to rape me.
The carrier fell from her hand.
"He tried to fuckin' rape me.

*

You can probably work out the rest.
No complaints were made and no charges pressed ' the condition being that I disappeared and never tried to make contact again.
So. I disappeared. I took a room overnight, then early next morning got a bus and stayed on it all day. I found a furnished room in a downtown noplace. I got a job on a production line. It's where I am now.
I come home alone in the evenings. I drink. I listen to the night sounds down in the street. I read sometimes. I try to sleep. I live with myself.
I never finished that story. I haven't written anything else at all until today. I'm keeping up my end of the deal.

I think about what might have been, of course. Everyone does. Every time. But I just know what is.

And that has to be enough.

Regrets?

What do you think?