5.
 "You look like you're coming down with something," Phoebe said from behind her knitting.
He watched the basketball game, wondering what the guys were saying over their cards.
Sometime later Phoebe said: "Looks like you're going deaf too. I said do you want some tea?"
"Yes please," he said politely.
On Monday Laurissa called him. "You sound like you're in a cookie tin."
"I'm on my car phone." Bill was heading to see a prospective client. "How have you been?"
"Fine." Her voice was like sunshine and fresh air. "Wanted to say thanks. I'm giving back your money tomorrow morning, with interest."
"It was a present," he said. He had five grand stashed away, maybe for a trip to Vegas or Caliente.
"I insist, Bill. Can you stop by some time?" She sounded as if she missed him.
"Sure, I can swing by when it's convenient." He'd make a little time for her. Miss Magnetic. No way would he miss an opportunity to see her again. He had tried be casual and to ignore her, but now he realized she was stuck to him as if he were a refrigerator.
"Tomorrow morning? At nine?"
He showed up Tuesday at nine sharp. She was already dressed, this time in a short green skirt, white silk blouse, black hose again, high heels. Her hair was pulled back in a green velvet bow. Her makeup was in place: Light pink lips, faint aqua eye shadow, all subdued and tasteful. He short skirt and black tights outlined her shapely, athletic figure with the force of an ink sketch.
"Got time for coffee?" She pranced about her kitchen on high heels, ready to go out somewhere on business or whatever.
"Sure," he said. This was getting to be a habit. He enjoyed her apartment.
"Bring your swim suit next time."
"That sounds really nice." So there would be a next time. He wasn't pushing—she was opening the door for him.
"Sure," she said. "Anytime. Just let me know, so we can be here together. You don't have a pool at home?"
He shook his head. "Never got one. Because of the kids. That's twenty years ago. Something I always wanted." Phoebe had always said no; too much work. She also admitted she did not want the neighbors to see her in a swim suit.
Laurissa sat beside him at the bar-style kitchen counter. They were shoulder to shoulder like old friends. "Here's to you, Bill."
They raised their coffee mugs in a toast. He had almost expected her to say 'to us.' It wasn't that far along, if there was to be any along.
"Say, what's the secret to selling stuff?"
He told her: "You see the same people often enough, you become part of their landscape. They trust you. They start asking questions. Next thing, they buy a copier from you. You rope them in, sort of." He made fishing reel motions.
She rested her chin on her fists. "Sorry to change the subject. The super is a real asshole. He knows I'm behind in my rent. He keeps coming on to me. Can you believe that?"
"Sounds like a nice guy," Bill said sarcastically.
"Can you imagine?" she said. "How many women he must do that to? I suppose it's like sales, huh? If he asks enough women, one or two might say yes, huh?" She nudged Bill and laughed unpleasantly, then put chin back on fists. "I told him to take a flying leap."
"Good for you. I guess you're out looking for work, huh?"
"Every day." She sighed. "A friend of mine has a sugar daddy. You know what that is, Bill?"
"I have some idea," Bill said.
She sighed. "I'm not very daring, but sometimes I wish. Sometimes I wish." She put her cup in the sink. "Gotta go." She pressed a kiss on his cheek after seeing him to the door. She compressed her lips, brushed his cheek with her fingers. Her eyes radiated misery. "You're a nice man."
Bill suffered for days. He couldn't get her out of his mind. Phoebe said: "What's the matter, Bill? You're not eating right. Everything I put before you, you push aside. What's the matter, we gotta check you for cancer? It's the ozone layer, I bet. You're too much on the road."
"Oh leave me alone," he said more harshly than he'd meant to. He had married a woman, not a mother. What a fate.
At the weekly sales meeting, the manager said in a low voice: "Er, Bill, I've had three good customers of yours call us asking where you are..."
"I know, I know," he said, "I'm sorry, I'll call them back right away."
It was the usual issues: Poor copy quality on lease jobs, smart ass repairmen, stuff like that. Bill got everything taken care of with a few phone calls and personal visits.
"Billy..." Phoebe said sadly one evening, and he excused himself to go to bed. He lay in the dark, remembering a story: Middle-aged guy falls in love with young thing, leaves wife, spends all his money, young chick leaves him, middle-aged guy having no other way left sticks head in stove and ends it all. That should be a joke, Bill thought. It was saying enough that it seemed like a 50/50 option rather than a choice between reality and absurdity. Or maybe the choice was exactly that. If she opened the door a little further…
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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