Ann Beattie - Chilly Scenes of Winter

Charles frowns. “That’s awful,” he says. “I didn’t know he ever pulled that kind of stuff on you.”

“He was always having tantrums. I guess that was just one more excuse.” They ride in silence to Charles’s house. “See you tomorrow,” Sam says.

“Okay. See you,” Charles says. The door opens, and he runs to his front door, reaching in his pocket for his key. He takes it out and opens the door. Sam drives off. Inside the house, he leans against the front door as if he’s escaped something terrible. He reminds himself of the frightened heroine, hiding in the closet from the villain. He laughs. He puts the light on and goes into the dining room. The roast is there, in a puddle of blood. He puts on the bathroom light and urinates. He sits in a chair and looks into space. Work. Tomorrow.

As he is getting ready for bed, the phone rings.

“How’s my boy? I hate to disturb you at this hour, but I know you just got in because I’ve been calling.”

“Hi, Pete.”

“I’ve got to talk low. Can you hear me?”

“Oh, God. What’s the matter now?”

“Nothing. Something good.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll bet I know where you’ve been,” Pete whispers. “Where?” Charles asks. “With your California sweetie,” Pete says. “No. I was out drinking.”

“Oh,” Pete says. “Well. I’ve got very good news, but when you come over Saturday you’ve got to promise to act surprised.”

“What is it, Pete?”

“I got it,” Pete whispers.

“Got what?”

“The Honda Civic,” Pete whispers. “White one.”

Coming home from work, Charles sees Sam’s car parked outside. The car looks as though it has a flat tire on one side; it tilts noticeably to the right. Charles gets out of his car and looks it over. There is no fiat tire. The car does tilt noticeably to the right. While he is there, Charles tries to open the door on the passenger’s side. It doesn’t open. He tries the driver’s side. It doesn’t open. Charles walks up his front lawn to take this good news to Sam. Sam is in the tub, doing his “singing in the tub” number. He is grunting, so he must be kicking. The radio is turned to a classical music station. There is a can of V-8 on the table.

Charles sits down and begins opening the mail. There is a letter from Susan. Not a letter, it turns out, but a brief note. “I couldn’t tell you over the phone that Mark swallows to avoid stuttering. Isn’t it amazing how well that works? Found out Elise is in Vail. But by the time you get this she’ll probably be back at school. I’m sorry she caused you so many problems. I hope Mother isn’t. Love, Susan.”

“Hiya,” Sam says. “I brought over a few boxes. I’ve decided to sell my furniture. I gave away the two black chairs today to people in the building. I might get some money for that crummy sofa.” His mother gave him the sofa when his father got the apartment. His father went out and bought one just like it for his apartment, but still complains that the original sofa isn’t still at the house.

“How did it go at work?” Sam asks.

“I got up the nerve to find out Betty’s phone number.”

“Who’s Betty?”

“A secretary there. She used to pal around with Laura.”

“You don’t mean you’re going to get at Laura somehow through her?”

“No. In fact, I’m so unimpressed with Betty that I left the piece of paper with her number on it out in my car. Which reminds me: you were right. Both doors are stuck.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No. I tried them. And there’s something funny about the way that car is balanced. Your shocks must be gone or something.”

“What do you mean?”

“It tilts.”

“I’ll just prop it up with cinder blocks.”

“How are you going to drive it?”

“I’ll put roller skates on the cinder blocks.”

“You’re in a jovial mood.”

“My hangover finally went away. I’ve slept on every piece of furniture in your house today. Kept falling asleep. I finally feel okay again.”

“That’s good. Want to go out for dinner?”

“Yeah. Where should we go?”

“Some place close. The seafood place. Feel like that?”

“Those old men are depressing.”

“We don’t have to sit at the bar. We can get a table.”

“I don’t think they’re too clean.”

“Where do you want to go, Sam?”

“Delicatessen?”

“Okay. Sure. I want to wash my face first.”

“You’re not pissed off that I’m moving in?”

“No. I’m glad you took me up on it. You can save some money this way.”

“Thanks a lot,” Sam says. “I’m really a very nice person,” Charles says. “You do a good imitation of her,” Sam says.

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to go out and see if I can get one of my doors open,” Sam says.

Charles takes a swig of the V-8, goes into the bathroom, and runs the water. Sam’s toothbrush is in the toothbrush holder: a red toothbrush. Even Sam’s toothbrush is falling apart; the bristles splay outward. Charles fills the sink and leans over, closing his eyes and putting his face in the water. He puckers his lips and blows a thin stream of bubbles underwater. It would be wonderful to be submerged in water, to wade out, off the coast of Bermuda, until the water slowly covered his head, and then to blow a thin stream of bubbles before bobbing up for air. To arch his back and glide in the water until his body was horizontal, eyes on the blue, blue sky. The idea is so appealing that he runs the water in the bathtub. At least he can get all of his chest underwater before his knees come up. He sits on the toilet watching the water flow into the bathtub. He thinks of his mother, of the time she called him to get her out because she was having terrible stomach cramps, and how he had to go into the bathroom and lift her from under her arms. She was dead weight, and was complaining so much she wouldn’t follow orders. He started laughing, because he suddenly thought of her as a big shark, a big, slippery fish that he could just let go of, and it would return to the depths of the ocean. He was laughing so hard, and she was complaining so loudly, that neither of them heard Pete come in. Charles didn’t know he was there until Pete spoke from behind him, and then he was so genuinely surprised that he almost did let go. Pete held a towel in front of her as Charles hauled her out. After it happened about ten more times, though, Pete not only didn’t hold a towel in front of her, he didn’t even wrestle her into her bathrobe once she was on the bed. Saturday. He has to go over there for dinner Saturday.…

“Frozen,” Sam calls, walking through the house. “Pipes in the kitchen, too. The water running in there?”

“Yeah,” Charles says.

“Mind if I come in and fill a pan with hot water so I can pour it on the car lock?”

“Just a minute,” Charles says. He gets up and sits in the bathtub. He ran the water too hot, and whistles as he sits down. “Okay,” Charles says.

Sam’s cheeks are very pink, and his hair covers his forehead.

“Man, is it ever cold out there. I’ll bet this is the coldest night of the year. If I’d only thought, I could have bought some groceries so we wouldn’t have to go out.”

“Delicatessen’s not far. We’ll make it.”

“Why don’t we eat at the seafood place? That was where you wanted to go, wasn’t it?”

Sam turns off the water, leans against the sink facing Charles in his bath. His mother used to do that. “If you can wash yourself so good, let’s see you wash,” she’d say.

“Delicatessen’s all right with me,” Charles says.

“I’d just as soon have some oysters,” Sam says. “Why don’t we go ahead and eat at the seafood place?”