Scott Spencer - A Ship Made of Paper

The call is answered on the second ring.A man’s voice.Hampton.

Fucking hell. Daniel hits the offbutton on his phone, tosses it aside, and steps on the accelerator, plunging the car deeper into the night.

Guided only by the logic and habits ofdriving, he speeds through the village and turns onto a little two-block stretch offrame houses, given the grandiose nameVanderbilt Drive;from there, he takes a left onto Hammersmith, to his office.IrmaThomas is playing on his tape deck: It’s raining so hard I can scarcely catch my breath …He pulls into the driveway that leads to the parking area behind the building, which is just an un-lighted patch ofblacktop, with amateurishly drawn yellow lines indicat-ing the parking space for each ofthe building’s clients, and he doesn’t notice Iris’s car until he is turning into his own slot and the outer edge ofhis headlights sweeps against the side doors ofher blueVolvo.

He bangs his fist against the steering wheel, rocks back in his seat.

Iris has gotten out ofher car, she is walking toward him.He opens the door.He hurries toward her, takes her in his arms.

“It’s you,”he says, talking and kissing her at the same time.

”I was just going to leave,”she says.

”Do you have time?”

She shakes her head no.“Do you?”

“Kate’s asleep.Passed out, actually.”It strikes him as a terrible thing to say, but even as he realizes that he proceeds to make it worse.“I actu-ally feel nervous leaving Ruby alone with her.”

“You should go back.We both should.”

“How did you know I’d be here?”Daniel asks.

“I didn’t.I just had to get out ofthe house and I decided to come here.Hampton’s brothers Jordan and James—”

“I met James,”Daniel interjects.

”And his sisterVictoria are completely obsessed with this fucking video game James brought over.All that brotherly competition, it’s re-ally exhausting.And they’ve got Nelson all gooned up over it.It’s the worst kind ofviolent fantasy game for a kid like Nelson, but try telling that to Hampton.He just laughs, like there’s something cute and naïve about my concerns.”

“Leave him then, live with me.”

Without any particular change ofexpression, the look offrustration and anger on her face changes to melancholy, it’s like moving a radio dial the breadth ofone cricket leg and hearing completely different music.

”Don’t,”she says.“It’s not funny.”

“Am I laughing?Am I even smiling?”

“Where were you all my life?”she says.“Why weren’t you there when it was time to get married?Where were you?What were you doing?”

“I don’t remember,”he says, pulling her close.“Let’s go upstairs,”he murmurs into her ear.

They have already been at each other a few times in his office;they have made love on the floor, with Iris on Daniel’s lap and Daniel in his chair, with Iris naked and bent over the desk, propped up on her elbows, her hands clasped as ifin prayer, or with her arms outstretched and her hands grasping onto the edge ofthe desk for traction while Daniel emp-ties himself into her from behind.As they walk in tonight, and Daniel turns on a floor lamp and then steps behind Iris to help her offwith her coat, they both realize that more than any other single room, this utili-tarian space, with its sense ofgrievance and redress in the glassed-in bookshelves, with its evidence oftime wasted and time standing still in the standard-issue magazines on the low table in the waiting room, and the tax-deductible elegance in the blue-and-gold weave oftheTurkish rug Daniel bought at an auction at a Holiday Inn across the river, this two-room suite, this place ofbusiness, this professional outpost ofa man who willfully jettisoned his main chance to make any kind ofname for himself in his field, this is as close as anything they have to call their own.

Where in the world can they go?They have used her house, going from room to room, trying to find a bed in which they don’t feel criminal, they have parked like teenagers along various dirt roads and woodland paths, and they have been together at the Catskill Motel, the Bittersweet, the Stuyvesant Motor Lodge, a Sheraton, a Motel6,the Flying Dutch-man, and in Cabin3ofa squalid scatter oftiny tourist cabins calling it-selfthe MorpheusArms, always checking in under assumed names and paying in cash, sometimes only able to stay for a halfhour, and never re-turning anywhere a second time.

“Where does everyone think you are?”he asks her, hanging her coat on the coatrack, and then putting his own over hers.

“Hampton’s mother wants some Pepto and I said I’d find someplace open and get it for her.”She glances at her watch, shrugs.“We actually have some in the house—Pepto-Bismol is to theWelles family what chicken soup is to Jews—but I just hid it in my purse so I could have an excuse to get out ofthere.”She takes an unopened bottle ofthe lurid pink liquid out ofher pocketbook and shows it to Daniel.

He is thrilled by her cunning.Its dishonest, calculating nature doesn’t disturb him at all.

“Kind oflow, isn’t it?”she says, dropping the medicine back into her bag.

“I think when people love each other, they’ll do anything to be together,”Daniel says.“Everything that is in the way has to get either shoved to one side or beaten into dust.You do whatever is necessary.”

“Great.Let’s go on a killing spree.”

Daniel gestures toward the oak file cabinets.“Most ofmy cases, there’s not much passion behind them, but now and then I have to rep-resent someone who’s driven by some desire—for another person, for money, whatever—and I never understood how someone could risk wrecking their life, or ruining the lives ofpeople around them, or actu-ally hurting someone, just to get what they want.But I think that’s be-

cause I never really wanted anything myself, I mean really wanted it, the way I wanted you.”

“You mean you don’t anymore?”

“Now more than ever.It’s the only real thing.”

“There’s no place in the world for us, Daniel.Nothing will ever come ofthis.Just memories, fantastically painful memories.”

“That doesn’t have to be true.”

“Too much is against us,”Iris says.“Do you see how people look at us when we’re in public?”

“Fuck them.”

“Well, one day we’re going to be tired ofbeing in a freak show.”

“That’s because we’re here inTinyTown.We could go to a city.”

“Where could we go?”

“Anywhere.New York.”

“NewYork?That belongs to Hampton.I could never.Where could we go?We couldn’t stay here.OrWashington, Atlanta, San Francisco, Chicago.He’s got family in so many places.Where could we live?”

“Anywhere.London.Hong Kong.Amsterdam.Oslo.What difference does it make? I would go anywhere.And I’d do anything.I’d crawl through broken glass ifI could just be sure that at the end ofthe day I’d be getting into bed next to you.”

“You’re too focused on what you want, Daniel.”

“I can’t help it.I think I was hardwired to be with you.I’m telling you, Iris, nothing else matters.To me.”He has grabbed her elbows and is pulling her closer to him, but she turns her face away.

“I love being with you,”she says.“I love what you see in me, and I like who I am around you.”She looks at him, with such sudden seriousness it almost makes him laugh.“It’s the greatest freedom I’ve ever known,”she says.He is about to say something but she stops him.“But what are we going to do?”she says.“IfI ever tried to leave Hampton, it would be like a war.”

“Fifty percent ofmarriages end in divorce,”Daniel says.

”Not fifty percent ofHampton’s marriages, or anyone else in his fam-