Ann Beattie - Chilly Scenes of Winter

“Drop dead,” the short man says.

“I won’t drop until I run that last quarter-inch to lead my team to victory,” the tall man says. “Wait until Sunday and then you won’t think I’m just some drunk in a bar. You don’t think I can get in shape before Sunday? Eat steak and drink tomato juice, be in bed by ten. That’ll get you in shape.”

“Goddamn,” the short man says. He pushes his empty glass forward.

“I’d better make one more try to reach the doctor,” Charles says. “Do you mind sitting here?”

“No,” she says. “Go ahead.”

Charles walks through the archway to a wall phone. “Carla Delight is outta sight!” is lettered above the phone. There is a phone number, with the last number blacked out. Someone else has written: “Either 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,0.” Charles dials information, then the hospital. He finds out that his mother has a private phone, decides to talk to her. The phone rings once and is picked up.

“Hello,” Pete says.

“Hello,” Charles says. “This is Charles.”

“I know my boy,” Pete says. Pete sounds drunk. “How’s my boy?”

“How’s my mother?”

“I’d put her on, but she’s a wee bit groggy now. She’s doing just great, though. There was a little accident in here with the other lady, and she naturally got a little bit excited, but now she’s calmed down just fine.”

“What kind of an accident?”

“The woman fell when she was hooked up to the intravenous,” Pete whispers.

“Oh God,” Charles says.

“Cut up,” Pete whispers.

Charles rubs sweat off his forehead. “We were by earlier, but she was asleep. Tell her that. What you can tell me, if you can now, is what they’re going to do about her.”

“Our girl’s going to go home tomorrow,” Pete booms. “They can’t keep our girl down.”

“That’s good,” Charles says. “She seems okay?”

“She’s a wee bit groggy, but on the road to recovery.”

“Tell her we’ll be down later.”

“Will do. Where are you now? How about dinner?”

“We’re in a restaurant. We just finished eating.”

“Oh,” Pete says. “Well, you kids enjoy yourself. Mommy was just saying how she misses Susan and how she wants her home.”

“Yeah,” Charles says.

“I don’t have to tell you that that invitation goes double,” Pete says.

“Sure,” Charles says.

“Well?” Pete whispers.

“Sure,” Charles says again.

“Well?” Pete whispers.

“Sure,” Charles says again. He is sweating. The tall drunk passes him, on the way to the bathroom.

“Heave ho, and away we go,” the drunk says, clapping his hands.

“See you tonight,” Charles says, and hangs up.

He goes back to the bar and sits next to Susan.

“Pete’s there. I told him we’d already eaten.”

“He’s pathetic,” Susan says. “I think he tries now. He just doesn’t know what to do.”

Susan has finished her drink and is sipping his.

“You’d better get one of your own before we hit it,” he says.

She doesn’t object. He takes an ice cube out of the glass and runs it across his forehead.

“Hot in here,” he says.

“No it’s not Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I think it’s because I gave up smoking.”

She looks worried.

“The Super Bowl must be this Sunday,” he says stupidly.

Laura’s husband used to play football in college. His nickname was “Ox.” “Imagine being proud of that,” Laura used to say. “Don’t drink so much,” she used to say.

He calls Laura from the hospital. He calls her from a phone in a sun room (it is labeled “Sun Room” on a plaque to one side of the door) on his mother’s floor at the hospital. He holds a Ladies’ Home Journal curled into a tight tube, but doesn’t realize until halfway through the conversation that he is holding anything.

“Laura?” he says, “Can you talk?”

There is a short pause. She will say something ridiculous like, “Oh, we subscribe to too many now,” and hang up.

“Hi,” she says. “Jim isn’t here. He’s at a meeting.”

“Maybe he’s cheating on you. Maybe you should just assume that and cheat on him. With me.”

“What?” she says.

“I thought I might as well get to the point.”

“You did,” she laughs. “How have you been? You didn’t write back.”

“I thought he might get the mail.”

“He doesn’t open my mail.”

Her husband was nicknamed “Ox.” How can she defend him in any way?

“He might ask questions, though,” Charles says.

“I don’t suppose you called to talk about him,” Laura says. “Is everything okay with you?”

“I miss you. I’m miserable.”

There is another long silence.

“My mother’s in the hospital,” he says. “That’s where I am.”

“She didn’t try to kill herself?”

“She hit the scotch and plugged in a lot of heating pads — I don’t know where she gets all of them — and thought she was struck with appendicitis, and now she’s here.”

“You’re at the hospital now?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“I’d come over, but Jim’s supposed to be home at ten.”

“Come tomorrow.”

“I have to go to Rebecca’s school tomorrow. It’s a parents’ day.”

Rebecca is Jim’s child from his first marriage. When he was Laura’s lover he used to go to Rebecca’s school every day, sit outside in his car until Laura picked up the child at noon. They usually got there at eleven. He always said he was going to lunch early. They kidded him about it at work. “Almost lunch time,” they’d say as soon as he got there in the morning. But he only took an hour for lunch, so nobody said he couldn’t go. He would sit in Laura’s car, holding her hand. The car would fill with cigarette smoke.

“What time are you getting out? I could meet you there.”

“I haven’t planned it.…”

“I just want to see you for five minutes.”

“Why don’t you come at … two. You’ll see my car there. I’ll leave it open.”

“All right,” he says.

“I hope your mother’s all right. Is she going to have to go back to that place?”

“No,” Charles says. “I don’t think so.”

“It would be kinder to tie her to the bed,” Laura says.

Jim’s first wife is in a mental hospital. Laura has told him about visiting her — how they save all her letters, which are mostly about food, and how they stop on the way and get McDonald’s Filet o’ Fish, Kentucky Fried Chicken, macaroni salad, Heath Bars and Cott ginger ale, and how she does nothing but eat when they are there, everything together, a sip of ginger ale, some of the candy bar, the macaroni. It makes Laura sick. She gets dizzy, can’t eat for a week.

“My sister’s home from college,” Charles says. “I’ve got the week off.”

“That’s nice. You two can do some things.”

“We can’t think of anything to do. Yesterday we went to a skin flick.”

“That’s horrible,” Laura says.

“I thought of you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Laura says. “I’ve got to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“What’s the use in telling you? You never believe me. I have bread in the oven.”

“How domestic,” he says.

“If you feel so bitter, maybe it would be better not to come tomorrow.”

“I love you,” Charles says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He hangs up. A woman in a corner chair looks back at her knitting. A young man on an orange plastic sofa is asleep with his head on his overcoat, which is rolled up on the arm of the sofa. The young man has on a blue suit and shiny black shoes. The toes are too pointed. His tie, dangling from the sofa arm, is too thin. He makes gurgling noises in his sleep. Charles is always afraid of falling asleep in public places. He thinks that he will scream. He doesn’t even close his eyes on buses any more. In fact he has started driving to work instead of taking the bus so he won’t be tempted to fall asleep. Charles looks at himself in the mirror. It is an oblong mirror with a picture of the hospital painted at the top. Charles sees that he has circles under his eyes. His skin is pasty. In five days he will be twenty-seven. His eyes meet the woman’s in the mirror. She looks down at her knitting again. He walks away from the minor, puts the magazine on a table, tries to rub the creases out, gives up, thinks about going to his mother’s room to join Susan and Pete, cannot, sits down.