it seemed like a kind of insurance that she would leave. The TV was on all the time, day and night, whether or not she was awake or watching it. I had heard of people like this, or seen them, on TV actually. When it had been three days I wrote Phillip’s name on a piece of paper and ripped it up but the trick didn’t work—it never does when you lean too heavily on it. I also tried dialing his number backward, which isn’t anything, and then no area code, and then all ten but in a random order.
A smell began to coagulate around Clee, a brothy, intimate musk that she seemed unaware of, or unconcerned by. I had presumed she would shower every morning, using noxious blue cleansing gels and plasticky sweet lotions. But, in fact, she didn’t wash. Not the day after she arrived or the day after that. The body odor was on top of her pungent foot fungus, which hit two seconds after she passed by—it had sneaky delay. At the end of the week she finally bathed, using what smelled like my shampoo.
“You’re welcome to use my shampoo,” I said when she came out of the bathroom. Her hair was combed back and a towel hung around her neck.
“I did.”
I laughed and she laughed back—not a real laugh but a sarcastic, snorting guffaw that continued for quite a while, getting uglier and uglier until it halted coldly. I blinked, for once grateful that I couldn’t cry, and she pushed past, knocking me a little with her shoulder. My face had an expression of Hey, watch it! It is not okay to ridicule me in my own house, which I have generously opened to you. I’ll let it go this time, but in the future I expect a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turnaround in your behavior, young lady. But she was dialing her phone so she missed the look. I took out my phone and dialed too. All ten numbers, in the correct order.
“Hi!” I yelled. She whipped her head around. She probably thought I didn’t know anyone.
“Hi,” he said, “Cheryl?”
“Yep, it’s the Cher Bear,” I barked, walking casually to my room. I quickly shut the door.
“That wasn’t my real voice,” I whispered, crouching behind my bed, “and actually we don’t have to talk, I just needed to make a demonstration phone call and you were the number I happened to dial.” This felt more plausible at the start of the sentence than the finish.
“I’m sorry,” said Phillip. “I didn’t call when I said I would.”
“Well, we’re even now, because I used you for the demonstration call.”
“I guess I was just scared.”
“Of me?”
“Yes, and also society. Can you hear me? I’m driving.”
“Where are you going?”
“The grocery store. Ralphs. Let me ask you a question: Does age difference matter to you? Would you ever consider a lover who was much older or much younger than you?”
My teeth started clacking together, too much energy coming up at once. Phillip was twenty-two years older than me.
“Is this the confession?”
“It’s related to it.”
“Okay, my answer is yes, I would.” I held my jaw to quiet my teeth. “Would you?”
“You really want to know what I think, Cheryl?”
Yes!
“Yes.”
“I think everyone who is alive on earth at the same time is fair game. The vast majority of people will be so young or so old that their lifetime won’t even overlap with one’s own—and those people are out of bounds.”
“On so many levels.”
“Right. So if a person happens to be born in the tiny speck of your lifetime, why quibble over mere years? It’s almost blasphemous.”
“Although there are some people who barely overlap,” I suggested. “Maybe those people are out of bounds.”
“You’re talking about . . . ?”
“Babies?”
“Well, I don’t know,” he said pensively. “It has to be mutual. And physically comfortable for both parties. I think in the case of a baby, if it can somehow be determined that the baby feels the same way, then the relationship could only be sensual or maybe just energetic. But no less romantic and significant.” He paused. “I know this is controversial, but I think you get what I’m saying.”
“I really do.” He was nervous—men are always sure they’ll be accused of some horrific crime after they talk about feelings. To reassure him I described Kubelko Bondy, our thirty years of missed connections.
“So he’s not one baby—he’s many?” Was there an odd pitch to his voice? Did I hear jealousy?
“No, he’s one baby. But he’s played by many babies. Or hosted, maybe that’s a better word for it.”
“Got it. Kubelko—is that Czechoslovakian?”
“That’s just what I call him. I might have made it up.”
It sounded like he had pulled over. I wondered if we were about to have phone sex. I’d never done that before, but I thought I would be especially good at it. Some people think it’s really important to be in the moment with sex, to be present with the other person; for me it’s important to block out the person and replace them, entirely if possible, with my thing. This would be much easier to do on the phone. My thing is just a specific private fantasy I like to think about. I asked him what he was wearing.
“Pants and a shirt. Socks. Shoes.”
“That sounds nice. Do you want to tell me anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
“No confessions?”
He laughed nervously. “Cheryl? I’ve arrived.”
For a moment I thought he meant here at my house, right outside. But he meant Ralphs. Was this a subtle invitation?
Assuming he was on the east side, there were two Ralphs he could be going to. I put on a pin-striped men’s dress shirt that I’d been saving. Seeing me in this would unconsciously make him feel like we’d just woken up together and I’d thrown on his shirt. A relaxing feeling, I would think. The reusable grocery bags were in the kitchen; I tried to get in and out without Clee’s seeing.
“You’re going to the store? I need some stuff.”
There was no easy way to explain that this wasn’t a real shopping trip. She put her feet on the dashboard, dirty tan toes in light blue flip-flops. The odor was unreal.
After changing my mind a few times, I chose the more upscale Ralphs. We promenaded up and down the aisles of processed food, Clee pushing a cart a few feet ahead of me, her chest ballooning ridiculously. Women looked her up and down and then looked away. Men did not look away—they kept looking after they passed her, to get the rear view. I turned and made stern faces at them, but they didn’t care. Some men
