I looked at my phone. No call, no text, no Facebook, no Tweet, no Instagram,
nothing from my boyfriend. Anxiety, irritation, and disappointment combined and
changed into anger, changed into mumbles, sighs, curses, and head shakes. I was
about to text him again. Was tired of chasing him, like cat chasing dog. Had
texted him so much it felt like I was a stalker. Was going to ask him to meet me
at Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles, tell him the Obama Special and Arnold Palmer
would be my treat tonight.
He’d complain about the rain. He wouldn’t want to meet me in the rain. But I was
antsy. Couldn’t stand this weather, couldn’t bear the combination of dreariness
and Yuletide solitude, so as the world shopped to buy Jesus nothing for his
birthday, I texted my boyfriend, and told him that chicken and waffles would be
my treat. I told him that I wouldn’t talk his ear off tonight about Natalie
Rose, told him I was in a good mood and really needed to see him this evening,
then put in a few Xs and Os.
I waited two minutes. No response. That was my third message since eight this
morning.
Yesterday was no more. Today was what it was. Tomorrow could only be better.
I pulled the money out, looked at twenty hundred-dollar bills, counted them twice.
I had money. I could pay my friggin’ rent. I could by a tank of gas for my
goddamn car. Could get my hair done by Sheba. Could buy two-ply. Could splurge
at Whole Foods before I settled up my big bills. I wanted to live and eat like I
used to live and eat for a week. Need to let food be my medicine and let my
medic be healthy food. No. I wanted Whole Foods, wanted that status, but Whole
Foods took up whole paychecks and was too expensive for a chick like me. I’d use
my Whole Foods bags and go to the Food Barn, and buy survival food at reasonable
prices, let my malicious neighbors see me coming back home with three of my
Whole Foods bags filled to the top. If I played it smart, I’d survive another month.
The rain. The wintery chill. The desire to not be alone until the sun came up.
But sometimes it was better to be alone. Nobody could hurt you.
My boyfriend. I broke down and called him. No answer. Didn’t leave a message. I
took out the card from the guy at the gas station, ignored his name, but looked
at his number.
I called him. No idea why. But I looked at the digits, at that area code from a
faraway land, and I dialed his area code, exchange, and number, and listened to
it ring once before he answered.
“Good evening. How may I help?”
I said, “It’s me.”
“Who is me? This call came up blocked.”
“Guess I’m lucky you answered.”
“Who is this?”
“The girl you just met at the gas station.”
“The grifter who tried to con me, threatened me, and cursed me out.”
“The only and only woman who went off on a well-dressed insult in a suit.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Wanted to say thanks.”
“Still think I’m disgusting?”
“Men are worthless, so that hasn’t changed.”
“We may be, but you can’t live without us.”
“You love your wife?”
“Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your heart or burn down your
house, you can never tell. Joan Crawford said that. And that is where I am now,
in a house that is burning down.”
“I don’t care for that quote.”
“It’s true. For me, it’s true.”
“How did you mess up?”
“What do you mean?”
“There are two hundred and ninety two ways to make change for a dollar using
pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, and half dollars. There are twice as many
ways to piss a woman off.”
“Then there must be three times as many ways to make a man walk away from a woman.”
“You have an answer for everything.”
“Actually, no. I have more questions than answers. I’m good in my office. I’m
great at work. My problem has always been in the social arena. I really don’t
know much about the heart of a woman.”
For one night, a couple checks in to an upscale hotel. The pair seem unlikely
companions, from opposing strata of society, but their attraction is palpable to
all who observe them—or overhear their cries of passion. In the course of twelve
hours, con games, erotic interludes, jealousy, violence, and murder swirl around
them. Will they part ways in bliss, in sorrow, or in death?