Leonard Michaels - The Collected Stories

“I’m Phillip,” I said, “but you knew that. Cecily? Of course, Cecily.”

I couldn’t have stopped the tears unless I’d chopped out my ducts with an adze. She giggled, stamped her feet, clapped her hands with glee.

MILDRED WAS AT THE MIRROR ALL MORNING,cutting and shaping her hair. Then, every hour or so, she came up to me with her head tipped like this, like that, cheeks sucked in, a shine licked across her lips. I said, “Very nice,” and finally I said, “Very, very nice.”

“I’m not pretty.”

“Yes; you’re pretty.”

“I know I’m attractive in a way, but basically I’m ugly.”

“Your hair is very nice.”

“Basically, I hate my type. When I was little I used to wish my name were Terry. Do you like my hair?”

“Your hair is very nice.”

“I think you’re stupid-looking.”

“That’s life.”

“You’re the only stupid-looking boyfriend I ever had. I’ve had stupid boyfriends, but none of them looked stupid. You look stupid.”

“I like your looks.”

“You’re also incompetent, indifferent, a liar, a crook, and a coward.”

“I like your looks.”

“I was told that except for my nose my face is perfect. It’s true.”

“What’s wrong with your nose?”

“I don’t have to say it, Miller.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“My nose, I’ve been told, is a millimeter too long. Isn’t it?”

“I like your nose.”

“Coward. I can forgive you for some things, but cowardice is unforgivable. And I’ll get you for this, Miller. I’ll make you cry.”

“I like your legs.”

“You’re the only boyfriend I’ve ever had who was a coward. It’s easy to like my legs.”

“They’re beautiful. I like both of them.”

“Ha. Ha. What about my nose?”

“I’m crazy about your big nose.”

“You dirty, fuck’n aardvark. What about yours, Miller? Tell me

The phone rang.

“His master’s voice,” she said, and snatched it away from me. “Me, this time. Hello.” She smacked it down.

“What was that about?”

“A man.”

“What did he say?”

“Disgusting.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked how much I charged … I don’t care to talk about it.”

“To what?”

“It was disgusting. I don’t care to talk about it, understand. Answer the fuck’n phone yourself next time.”

She dropped onto the bed. “Hideous.”

“Did you recognize the voice?”

“I was humiliated.”

“Tell me what he said.”

“It must have been one of your stinking friends. I’m going to rip that phone out of the wall. Just hideous, hideous.”

I lay down beside her.

“He asked how much I charged to suck assholes.”

I shut my eyes.

“Did you hear what I said, Miller?”

“Big deal.”

“I was humiliated.”

“You can’t stand intimacy.”

“I’ll rip out the phone if it happens once more. You can make your calls across the street in the bar.”

“He was trying to say he loves you.”

She thrashed into one position, then another, then another. I opened my eyes and said, “Let’s play our game.”

“No; I want to sleep.”

“All right, lie still. I want to sleep, too.”

“Then sleep.”

I shut my eyes.

“I’ll play once. You send.”

“Never mind. Let me sleep.”

“You suggested it.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Son of a bitch. Always the same damn shit.”

“I’m sending. Go on.”

“Do you see it clearly?”

“Yes.”

“I see a triangle.”

I didn’t say anything.

“A triangle, that’s all. I see a triangle, Miller. What are you sending?”

“Jesus Christ. Jee-zuss Chrice. I’ve got chills everywhere.”

“Tell me what you were sending.”

“A diamond. First a sailboat with a white, triangular sail, then a diamond. I sent the diamond.”

I turned. Her eyes were waiting for me.

“You and me,” I whispered.

“We’re the same, Miller. Aren’t we?”

I kissed her on the mouth. “If you want to change your mind, say so.”

“I am you,” she whispered, kissing me. “Let’s play more.”

“I’ll call Max and tell him not to come.”

“He isn’t coming, anyway. Let’s play more.”

“I’m sleepy.”

“It’s my turn to send.”

“I’m very sleepy.”

“You are a son of a bitch.”

“Enough. I haven’t slept for days.”

“What about me? Don’t you ever think about me? I warn you, Miller, don’t go to sleep. I’ll do something.”

“I want to sleep.”

“Miller, I see something. Quick. Please.”

“A flower.”

“You see a flower?”

“It’s red.”

“What kind of flower? I was sending a parachute.”

“That’s it, Mildred. A parachute flower.”

“Fuck you, Miller.”

“You, too. Let me sleep.”

“Miller, I still see something. Hurry. Try again.”

I lay still, eyes shut. Nothing came to me except a knock at the door, so quiet I imagined I hadn’t heard it. She said, “Was that a knock?”

I sat up and listened, then got out of bed and went to the door. It was Max and Sleek. Max nodded hello. Sleek stepped backward, but a smile moved in his pallor. I said, “Hi.” I heard Mildred rushing to the kitchen sink and held them at the door. “Only one room and a kitchen,” I said. Max nodded again. The smile faded slowly in Sleek’s pale, flat face. Water crashed, then she was shooting to the closet, jamming into heels, scrambling a blouse on her back. A light went on. She slashed her mouth with lipstick. “Come in, come in.”

They came in.

“Please sit down.”

Max sat down in his coat, looked into the folds across his lap, and began to roll a cigarette. Sleek sat down in his coat, too, watching Max. Both of them glanced once at Mildred, then at each other. I said, then Max said. Sleek laughed feebly as if suppressing a cough. Then they both stared at her. Max offered her the first drag on the cigarette. She said quickly, but in a soft voice, cool, shy. They looked at one another, Max and Sleek, and agreed with their eyes: she was a smart little girl. I sat down. I told them she might be pregnant. We were thinking about getting married, I said. I was going to look for a new job. Everyone laughed at something. Max said, Sleek said. They took off their coats. She was now shining awake, feeling herself, being looked at.

“Do you want some coffee?” She tossed her hair slightly with the question.

Max said, “Do you have milk?”

Sleek said, “Coffee.”

She curled tightly in her chair, legs underneath, making knees, shins, ankles to look at. They looked. I stood up and went into the kitchen for the coffee and milk. Max was saying and Sleek added. She was quick again, laughing, doing all right for herself. I took my time, then came back in with the coffee and milk. I asked what they were into lately, imports, exports, hustlers, what. Sleek sucked the cigarette. Max rolled another and was looking at Mildred. He asked if she had considered an abortion. She smiled. Sleek said I was an old friend. He would get us a discount. They wouldn’t take their cut until I had a new job. They shook their heads. No cut. Max mentioned a doctor in Jersey, a chiropractor on Seventy-second Street. He said his own girl had had an abortion and died. Almost drove him nuts. He drank like a pleeb. You have to get a clean doctor. Otherwise it can be discouraging. His stable was clean. Sleek nodded shrewdly, something tight in his face, as if he knew. “Of course,” he said. “Of course.” He opened his hand and showed Mildred some pills. She raised an eyebrow, shrugged, looked at me. I was grinning, almost blind.