Contents
Cover
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Raymond Carver
Dedication
Title Page
Fat
Neighbors
The Idea
They’re Not Your Husband
Are You a Doctor?
The Father
Nobody Said Anything
Sixty Acres
What’s in Alaska?
Night School
Collectors
What Do You Do in San Francisco?
The Student’s Wife
Put Yourself in My Shoes
Jerry and Molly and Sam
Why, Honey?
The Ducks
How about This?
Bicycles, Muscles, Cigarettes
Are These Actual Miles?
Signals
Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?
A Note on the Text
The History of Vintage
Copyright
THIS BOOK IS FOR MARYANN
Fiction
Furious Seasons
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
Cathedral
Elephant
Where I’m Calling From: The Selected Stories
(with the author’s foreword)
Short Cuts
(selected and with an introduction by Robert Altman)
Call if You Need Me: The Uncollected Fiction & Prose
(edited by William L. Stull with a foreword by Tess Gallagher)
Beginners
Poetry
Near Klamath
Winter Insomnia
At Night the Salmon Move
Where Water Comes Together with Other Water
Ultramarine
In a Marine Light: Selected Poems
A New Path to the Waterfall
(with an introduction by Tess Gallagher)
All of Us: The Collected Poems
(edited by William L. Stull)
Essays, Poems, Stories
Fires
No Heroics, Please
The stories in this collection are arranged in the order in which they appeared in the first edition published by McGraw-Hill, New York, 1976. The following stories were revised by the author for Where I’m Calling from: The Selected Stories: (Atlantic Monthly Press, New York, 1988 and Harvill, London, 1993) and in one case the title was changed: “Fat”, “Neighbors”, “They’re Not Your Husband”, “Nobody Said Anything”, “What’s in Alaska?”, “Collectors”, “What Do You Do in San Francisco?”, “The Student’s Wife”, “Put Yourself in My Shoes”, “Why, Honey?”, “Bicycles, Muscles, Cigarettes”, “Are These Actual Miles?” (originally “What Is It?”).
I am sitting over coffee and cigarettes at my friend Rita’s and I am telling her about it.
Here is what I tell her.
It is late of a slow Wednesday when Herb seats the fat man at my station.
This fat man is the fattest person I have ever seen, though he is neat-appearing and well dressed enough. Everything about him is big. But it is the fingers I remember best. When I stop at the table near his to see to the old couple, I first notice the fingers. They look three times the size of a normal person’s fingers – long, thick, creamy fingers.
I see to my other tables, a party of four businessmen, very demanding, another party of four, three men and a woman, and this old couple. Leander has poured the fat man’s water, and I give the fat man plenty of time to make up his mind before going over.
Good evening, I say. May I serve you? I say.
Rita, he was big, I mean big.
Good evening, he says. Hello. Yes, he says. I think we’re ready to order now, he says.
He has this way of speaking – strange, don’t you know. And he makes a little puffing sound every so often.
I think we will begin with a Caesar salad, he says. And then a bowl of soup with some extra bread and butter, if you please. The lamb chops, I believe, he says. And baked potato with sour cream. We’ll see about dessert later. Thank you very much, he says, and hands me the menu.
God, Rita, but those were fingers.
I hurry away to the kitchen and turn in the order to Rudy, who takes it with a face. You know Rudy. Rudy is that way when he works.
As I come out of the kitchen, Margo – I’ve told you about Margo? The one who chases Rudy? Margo says to me, Who’s your fat friend? He’s really a fatty.
Now that’s part of it. I think that is really part of it.
I make the Caesar salad there at his table, him watching my every move, meanwhile buttering pieces of bread and laying them off to one side, all the time making this puffing noise. Anyway, I am so keyed up or something, I knock over his glass of water.
I’m so sorry, I say. It always happens when you get into a hurry. I’m very sorry, I say. Are you all right? I’ll get the boy to clean up right away, I say.
It’s nothing, he says. It’s all right, he says, and he puffs. Don’t worry about it, we don’t mind, he says. He smiles and waves as I go off to get Leander, and when I come back to serve the salad, I see the fat man has eaten all his bread and butter.
A little later, when I bring him more bread, he has finished his salad. You know the size of those Caesar salads?
You’re very kind, he says. This bread is marvelous, he says.
Thank you, I say.
Well, it is very good, he says, and we mean that. We don’t often enjoy bread like this, he says.
Where are you from? I ask him. I don’t believe I’ve seen you before, I say.
He’s not the kind of person you’d forget, Rita puts in with a snicker.
Denver, he says.
I don’t say anything more on the subject, though I am curious.
Your soup will be along in a few minutes, sir, I say, and I go off to put the finishing touches to my party of four businessmen, very demanding.
When I serve his soup, I see the bread has disappeared again. He is just putting the last piece of bread into his mouth.
Believe me, he says, we don’t eat like this all the time, he says. And puffs. You’ll have to excuse us, he says.
Don’t think a thing about it, please, I say. I like to see a man eat and enjoy himself, I say.
I don’t know, he says. I guess that’s what you’d call it. And puffs. He arranges the napkin. Then he picks up his spoon.
God, he’s fat! says Leander.
He can’t help it, I say, so shut up.
I put down another basket of bread and more butter. How was the soup? I say.
Thank you. Good, he says. Very good, he says. He wipes his lips and dabs his chin. Do you think it’s warm in here, or is it just me? he says.
No, it is warm in here, I say.
Maybe we’ll take off our coat, he says.
Go right ahead, I say. A person has to be comfortable, I say.
That’s true, he says, that is very, very true, he says.
But I see a little later that he is still wearing his coat.
My large parties are gone now and also the old couple. The place is emptying out. By the time I serve the fat man his chops and baked potato, along with more bread and butter, he is the only one left.
I drop lots of sour cream onto his potato. I sprinkle bacon and chives over his sour cream. I bring him more bread and butter.
Is everything all right? I say.
Fine, he says, and he puffs. Excellent, thank you, he says, and puffs again.
Enjoy your dinner, I say. I raise the lid of his sugar bowl and look in. He nods and keeps looking at me until I move away.
I know now I was after something. But I don’t know what.
How is old tub-of-guts doing? He’s going to run your legs off, says Harriet. You know Harriet.
For dessert, I say to the fat man, there is the Green Lantern Special, which is a pudding cake with sauce, or there is cheesecake or vanilla ice cream or pineapple sherbet.
We’re not making you late, are we? he says, puffing and looking concerned.
Not at all, I say. Of course not, I say. Take your time, I say. I’ll bring you more coffee while you make up your mind.
We’ll be honest with you, he says. And he moves in the seat. We would like the Special, but we may have a dish of vanilla ice cream as well. With just a drop of chocolate syrup, if you please. We told you we were hungry, he says.
I go off to the kitchen to see after his dessert myself, and Rudy says, Harriet says you got a fat man from the circus out there. That true?
Rudy has his apron and hat off now, if you see what I mean.
Rudy, he is fat, I say, but that is not the whole story.
Rudy just laughs.
Sounds to me like she’s sweet on fat-stuff, he says.
Better watch out, Rudy, says Joanne, who just that minute comes into the kitchen.
I’m getting jealous, Rudy says to Joanne.
I put the Special in front of the fat man and a big bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup to the side.
Thank you, he says.
You are very welcome, I say – and a feeling comes over me.
Believe it or not, he says, we have not always eaten like this.
Me, I eat and I eat and I can’t gain, I say. I’d like to gain, I say.
No, he says. If we had our choice, no. But there is no choice.
Then he picks up his spoon and eats.
What else? Rita says, lighting one of my cigarettes and pulling her chair closer to the table. This story’s getting interesting now, Rita says.
That’s it. Nothing else. He eats his desserts, and then he leaves and then we go home, Rudy and me.
Some fatty, Rudy says, stretching like he does when he’s tired. Then he just laughs and goes back to watching the TV.
I put the water on to boil for tea and take a shower. I put my hand on my middle and wonder what would happen if I had children and one of them turned out to look like that, so fat.
I pour the water in the pot, arrange the cups, the sugar bowl, carton of half and half, and take the tray in to Rudy. As if he’s been thinking about it, Rudy says, I knew a fat guy once, a couple of fat guys, really fat guys, when I was a kid. They were tubbies, my God. I don’t remember their names. Fat, that’s the only name this one kid had. We called him Fat, the kid who lived next door to me. He was a neighbor. The other kid came along later. His name was Wobbly. Everybody called him Wobbly except the teachers. Wobbly and Fat. Wish I had their pictures, Rudy says.
I can’t think of anything to say, so we drink our tea and pretty soon I get up to go to bed. Rudy gets up too, turns off the TV, locks the front door, and begins his unbuttoning.
I get into bed and move clear over to the edge and lie there on my stomach. But right away, as soon as he turns off the light and gets into bed, Rudy begins. I turn on my back and relax some, though it is against my will. But here is the thing. When he gets on me, I suddenly feel I am fat. I feel I am terrifically fat, so fat that Rudy is a tiny thing and hardly there at all.
That’s a funny story, Rita says, but I can see she doesn’t know what to make of it.
I feel depressed. But I won’t go into it with her. I’ve already told her too much.
She sits there waiting, her dainty fingers poking her hair.
Waiting for what? I’d like to know.
It is August.
My life is going to change. I feel it.
Bill and Arlene Miller were a happy couple. But now and then they felt they alone among their circle had been passed by somehow, leaving Bill to attend to his bookkeeping duties and Arlene occupied with secretarial chores. They talked about it sometimes, mostly in comparison with the lives of their neighbors, Harriet and Jim Stone. It seemed to the Millers that the Stones lived a fuller and brighter life. The Stones were always going out for dinner, or entertaining at home, or traveling about the country somewhere in connection with Jim’s work.
The Stones lived across the hall from the Millers. Jim was a salesman for a machine-parts firm and often managed to combine business with pleasure trips, and on this occasion the Stones would be away for ten days, first to Cheyenne, then on to St Louis to visit relatives. In their absence, the Millers would look after the Stones’ apartment, feed Kitty, and water the plants.
Bill and Jim shook hands beside the car. Harriet and Arlene held each other by the elbows and kissed lightly on the lips.
“Have fun,” Bill said to Harriet.
“We will,” said Harriet. “You kids have fun too.”
Arlene nodded.
Jim winked at her. “Bye, Arlene. Take good care of the old man.”
“I will,” Arlene said.
“Have fun,” Bill said.
“You bet,” Jim said, clipping Bill lightly on the arm. “And thanks again, you guys.”
The Stones waved as they drove away, and the Millers waved too.
“Well, I wish it was us,” Bill said.
“God knows, we could use a vacation,” Arlene said. She took his arm and put it around her waist as they climbed the stairs to their apartment.
After dinner Arlene said, “Don’t forget. Kitty gets liver flavor the first night.” She stood in the kitchen doorway folding the handmade tablecloth that Harriet had bought for her last year in Santa Fe.
Bill took a deep breath as he entered the Stones’ apartment. The air was already heavy and it was vaguely sweet. The sunburst clock over the television said half past eight. He remembered when Harriet had come home with the clock, how she had crossed the hall to show it to Arlene, cradling the brass case in her arms and talking to it through the tissue paper as if it were an infant.
Kitty rubbed her face against his slippers arid then turned onto her side, but jumped up quickly as Bill moved to the kitchen and selected one of the stacked cans from the gleaming drainboard. Leaving the cat to pick at her food, he headed for the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror and then closed his eyes and then looked again. He opened the medicine chest. He found a container of pills and read the label – Harriet Stone. One each day as directed – and slipped it into his pocket. He went back to the kitchen, drew a pitcher of water, and returned to the living room. He finished watering, set the pitcher on the rug, and opened the liquor cabinet. He reached in back for the bottle of Chivas Regal. He took two drinks from the bottle, wiped his lips on his sleeve, and replaced the bottle in the cabinet.
Kitty was on the couch sleeping. He switched off the lights, slowly closing and checking the door. He had the feeling he had left something.
“What kept you?” Arlene said. She sat with her legs turned under her, watching television.
“Nothing. Playing with Kitty,” he said, and went over to her and touched her breasts.
“Let’s go to bed, honey,” he said.
The next day Bill took only ten minutes of the twenty-minute break allotted for the afternoon and left at fifteen minutes before five. He parked the car in the lot just as Arlene hopped down from the bus. He waited until she entered the building, then ran up the stairs to catch her as she stepped out of the elevator.
“Bill! God, you scared me. You’re early,” she said.
He shrugged. “Nothing to do at work,” he said.
She let him use her key to open the door. He looked at the door across the hall before following her inside.
“Let’s go to bed,” he said.
“Now?” She laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing. Take your dress off.” He grabbed for her awkwardly, and she said, “Good God, Bill.”
He unfastened his belt.
Later they sent out for Chinese food, and when it arrived they ate hungrily, without speaking, and listened to records.
“Let’s not forget to feed Kitty,” she said.
“I was just thinking about that,” he said. “I’ll go right over.”
He selected a can of fish flavor for the cat, then filled the pitcher and went to water. When he returned to the kitchen, the cat was scratching in her box. She looked at him steadily before she turned back to the litter. He opened all the cupboards and examined the canned goods, the cereals, the packaged foods, the cocktail and wine glasses, the china, the pots and pans. He opened the refrigerator. He sniffed some celery, took two bites of cheddar cheese, and chewed on an apple as he walked into the bedroom. The bed seemed enormous, with a fluffy white bedspread draped to the floor. He pulled out a nightstand drawer, found a half-empty package of cigarettes and stuffed them into his pocket. Then he stepped to the closet and was opening it when the knock sounded at the front door.
He stopped by the bathroom and flushed the toilet on his way.
“What’s been keeping you?” Arlene said. “You’ve been over here more than an hour.”
“Have I really?” he said.
“Yes, you have,” she said.
“I had to go to the toilet,” he said.
“You have your own toilet,” she said.
“I couldn’t wait,” he said.
That night they made love again.
In the morning he had Arlene call in for him. He showered, dressed, and made a light breakfast. He tried to start a book. He went out for a walk and felt better. But after a while, hands still in his pockets, he returned to the apartment. He stopped at the Stones’ door on the chance he might hear the cat moving about. Then he let himself in at his own door and went to the kitchen for the key.
Inside it seemed cooler than his apartment, and darker too. He wondered if the plants had something to do with the temperature of the air. He looked out the window, and then he moved slowly through each room considering everything that fell under his gaze, carefully, one object at a time. He saw ashtrays, items of furniture, kitchen utensils, the clock. He saw everything. At last he entered the bedroom, and the cat appeared at his feet. He stroked her once, carried her into the bathroom, and shut the door.
He lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He lay for a while with his eyes closed, and then he moved his hand under his belt. He tried to recall what day it was. He tried to remember when the Stones were due back, and then he wondered if they would ever return. He could not remember their faces or the way they talked and dressed. He sighed and with effort rolled off the bed to lean over the dresser and look at himself in the mirror.
He opened the closet and selected a Hawaiian shirt. He looked until he found Bermudas, neatly pressed and hanging over a pair of brown twill slacks. He shed his own clothes and slipped into the shorts and the shirt. He looked in the mirror again. He went to the living room and poured himself a drink and sipped it on his way back to the bedroom. He put on a blue shirt, a dark suit, a blue and white tie, black wing-tip shoes. The glass was empty and he went for another drink.
In the bedroom again, he sat on a chair, crossed his legs, and smiled, observing himself in the mirror. The telephone rang twice and fell silent. He finished the drink and took off the suit. He rummaged through the top drawers until he found a pair of panties and a brassiere. He stepped into the panties and fastened the brassiere, then looked through the closet for an outfit. He put on a black and white checkered skirt and tried to zip it up. He put on a burgundy blouse that buttoned up the front. He considered her shoes, but understood they would not fit. For a long time he looked out the living-room window from behind the curtain. Then he returned to the bedroom and put everything away.
He was not hungry. She did not eat much, either. They looked at each other shyly and smiled. She got up from the table and checked that the key was on the shelf and then she quickly cleared the dishes.
He stood in the kitchen doorway and smoked a cigarette and watched her pick up the key.
“Make yourself comfortable while I go across the hall,” she said. “Read the paper or something.” She closed her fingers over the key. He was, she said, looking tired.
He tried to concentrate on the news. He read the paper and turned on the television. Finally he went across the hall. The door was locked.
“It’s me. Are you still there, honey?” he called.
After a time the lock released and Arlene stepped outside and shut the door. “Was I gone so long?” she said.
“Well, you were,” he said.
“Was I?” she said. “I guess I must have been playing with Kitty.”
He studied her, and she looked away, her hand still resting on the doorknob.
“It’s funny,” she said. “You know – to go in someone’s place like that.”
He nodded, took her hand from the knob, and guided her toward their own door. He let them into their apartment.
“It is funny,” he said.
He noticed white lint clinging to the back of her sweater, and the color was high in her cheeks. He began kissing her on the neck and hair and she turned and kissed him back.
“Oh, damn,” she said. “Damn, damn,” she sang, girlishly clapping her hands. “I just remembered. I really and truly forgot to do what I went over there to do. I didn’t feed Kitty or do any watering.” She looked at him. “Isn’t that stupid?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Just a minute. I’ll get my cigarettes and go back with you.”
She waited until he had closed and locked their door, and then she took his arm at the muscle and said. “I guess I should tell you. I found some pictures.”
He stopped in the middle of the hall. “What kind of pictures?”
“You can see for yourself,” she said, and she watched him.
“No kidding.” He grinned. “Where?”
“In a drawer,” she said.
“No kidding,” he said.
And then she said, “Maybe they won’t come back,” and was at once astonished at her words.
“It could happen,” he said. “Anything could happen.”
“Or maybe they’ll come back and …” but she did not finish.
They held hands for the short walk across the hall, and when he spoke she could barely hear his voice.
“The key,” he said. “Give it to me.”
“What?” she said. She gazed at the door.
“The key,” he said. “You have the key.”
“My God,” she said, “I left the key inside.”
He tried the knob. It was locked. Then she tried the knob. It would not turn. Her lips were parted, and her breathing was hard, expectant. He opened his arms and she moved into them.
“Don’t worry,” he said into her ear. “For God’s sake, don’t worry.”
They stayed there. They held each other. They leaned into the door as if against a wind, and braced themselves.
We’d finished supper and I’d been at the kitchen table with the light out for the last hour, watching. If he was going to do it tonight, it was time, past time. I hadn’t seen him in three nights. But tonight the bedroom shade was up over there and the light burning.
I had a feeling tonight.
Then I saw him. He opened the screen and walked out onto his back porch wearing a T-shirt and something like Bermuda shorts or a swimsuit. He looked around once and hopped off the porch into the shadows and began to move along the side of the house. He was fast. If I hadn’t been watching, I wouldn’t have seen him. He stopped in front of the lighted window and looked in.
“Vern,” I called. “Vern, hurry up! He’s out there. You’d better hurry!”
Vern was in the living room reading his paper with the TV going. I heard him throw down the paper.
“Don’t let him see you!” Vern said. “Don’t get up too close to the window!”
Vern always says that: Don’t get up too close. Vern’s a little embarrassed about watching, I think. But I know he enjoys it. He’s said so.
“He can’t see us with the light out.” It’s what I always say. This has been going on for three months. Since September 3, to be exact. Anyway, that’s the first night I saw him over there. I don’t know how long it was going on before that.
I almost got on the phone to the sheriff that night, until I recognized who it was out there. It took Vern to explain it to me. Even then it took a while for it to penetrate. But since that night I’ve watched, and I can tell you he averages one out of every two or three nights, sometimes more. I’ve seen him out there when it’s been raining too. In fact, if it is raining, you can bet on seeing him. But tonight it was clear and windy. There was a moon.
We got down on our knees behind the window and Vern cleared his throat.
“Look at him,” Vern said. Vern was smoking, knocking the ash into his hand when he needed. He held the cigarette away from the window when he puffed. Vern smokes all the time; there’s no stopping him. He even sleeps with an ashtray three inches from his head. At night I’m awake and he wakes up and smokes.
“By God,” Vern said.
“What does she have that other women don’t have?” I said to Vern after a minute. We were hunkered on the floor with just our heads showing over the windowsill and were looking at a man who was standing and looking into his own bedroom window.
“That’s just it,” Vern said. He cleared his throat right next to my ear.
We kept watching.
I could make out someone behind the curtain now. It must have been her undressing. But I couldn’t see any detail. I strained my eyes. Vern was wearing his reading glasses, so he could see everything better than I could. Suddenly the curtain was drawn aside and the woman turned her back to the window.
“What’s she doing now?” I said, knowing full well.
“By God,” Vern said.
“What’s she doing, Vern?” I said.
“She’s taking off her clothes,” Vern said. “What do you think she’s doing?”
Then the bedroom light went out and the man started back along the side of his house. He opened the screen door and slipped inside, and a little later the rest of the lights went out.
Vern coughed, coughed again, and shook his head. I turned on the light. Vern just sat there on his knees. Then he got to his feet and lighted a cigarette.
“Someday I’m going to tell that trash what I think of her,” I said and looked at Vern.
Vern laughed sort of.
“I mean it,” I said. “I’ll see her in the market someday and I’ll tell her to her face.”
“I wouldn’t do that. What the hell would you do that for?” Vern said.
But I could tell he didn’t think I was serious. He frowned and looked at his nails. He rolled his tongue in his mouth and narrowed his eyes like he does when he’s concentrating. Then his expression changed and he scratched his chin. “You wouldn’t do anything like that,” he said.
“You’ll see,” I said.
“Shit,” Vern said.
I followed him into the living room. We were jumpy. It gets us like that.
“You wait,” I said.
Vern ground his cigarette out in the big ashtray. He stood beside his leather chair and looked at the TV a minute.
“There’s never anything on,” he said. Then he said something else. He said, “Maybe he has something there.” Vern lighted another cigarette. “You don’t know.”
“Anybody comes looking in my window,” I said, “they’ll have the cops on them. Except maybe Cary Grant,” I said.
Vern shrugged. “You don’t know,” he said.
I had an appetite. I went to the kitchen cupboard and looked, and then I opened the fridge.
“Vern, you want something to eat?” I called.
He didn’t answer. I could hear water running in the bathroom. But I thought he might want something. We get hungry this time of night. I put bread and lunchmeat on the table and I opened a can of soup. I got out crackers and peanut butter, cold meat loaf, pickles, olives, potato chips. I put everything on the table. Then I thought of the apple pie.
Vern came out in his robe and flannel pajamas. His hair was wet and slicked down over the back of his head, and he smelled of toilet water. He looked at the things on the table. He said, “What about a bowl of corn flakes with brown sugar?” Then he sat down and spread his paper out to the side of his plate.
We ate our snack. The ashtray filled up with olive pits and his butts.
When he’d finished, Vern grinned and said, “What’s that good smell?”
I went to the oven and took out the two pieces of apple pie topped with melted cheese.
“That looks fine,” Vern said.
In a little while, he said. “I can’t eat any more. I’m going to bed.”
“I’m coming too,” I said. “I’ll clear this table.”
I was scraping plates into the garbage can when I saw the ants. I looked closer. They came from somewhere beneath the pipes under the sink, a steady stream of them, up one side of the can and down the other, coming and going. I found the spray in one of the drawers and sprayed the outside and the inside of the garbage can, and I sprayed as far back under the sink as I could reach. Then I washed my hands and took a last look around the kitchen.
Vern was asleep. He was snoring. He’d wake up in a few hours, go to the bathroom, and smoke. The little TV at the foot of the bed was on, but the picture was rolling.
I’d wanted to tell Vern about the ants.
I took my own time getting ready for bed, fixed the picture, and crawled in. Vern made the noises he does in his sleep.
I watched for a while, but it was a talk show and I don’t like talk shows. I started thinking about the ants again.
Pretty soon I imagined them all over the house. I wondered if I should wake Vern and tell him I was having a bad dream. Instead, I got up and went for the can of spray. I looked under the sink again. But there was no ants left. I turned on every light in the house until I had the house blazing.
I kept spraying.
Finally I raised the shade in the kitchen and looked out. It was late. The wind blew and I heard branches snap.
“That trash,” I said. “The idea!”
I used even worse language, things I can’t repeat.
Earl Ober was between jobs as a salesman. But Doreen, his wife, had gone to work nights as a waitress at a twenty-four-hour coffee shop at the edge of town. One night, when he was drinking, Earl decided to stop by the coffee shop and have something to eat. He wanted to see where Doreen worked, and he wanted to see if he could order something on the house.
He sat at the counter and studied the menu.
“What are you doing here?” Doreen said when she saw him sitting there.
She handed over an order to the cook. “What are you going to order, Earl?” she said. “The kids okay?”
“They’re fine,” Earl said. “I’ll have coffee and one of those Number Two sandwiches.”
Doreen wrote it down.
“Any chance of, you know?” he said to her and winked.
“No,” she said. “Don’t talk to me now. I’m busy.”
Earl drank his coffee and waited for the sandwich. Two men in business suits, their ties undone, their collars open, sat down next to him and asked for coffee. As Doreen walked away with the coffeepot, one of the men said to the other, “Look at the ass on that. I don’t believe it.”
The other man laughed. “I’ve seen better,” he said.
“That’s what I mean,” the first man said. “But some jokers like their quim fat.”
“Not me,” the other man said.
“Not me, neither,” the first man said. “That’s what I was saying.”
Doreen put the sandwich in front of Earl. Around the sandwich there were French fries, coleslaw, dill pickle.
“Anything else?” she said. “A glass of milk?”
He didn’t say anything. He shook his head when she kept standing there.
“I’ll get you more coffee,” she said.
She came back with the pot and poured coffee for him and for the two men. Then she picked up a dish and turned to get some ice cream. She reached down into the container and with the dipper began to scoop up the ice cream. The white skirt yanked against her hips and crawled up her legs. What showed was girdle, and it was pink, thighs that were rumpled and gray and a little hairy, and veins that spread in a berserk display.
The two men sitting beside Earl exchanged looks. One of them raised his eyebrows. The other man grinned and kept looking at Doreen over his cup as she spooned chocolate syrup over the ice cream. When she began shaking the can of whipped cream, Earl got up, leaving his food, and headed for the door. He heard her call his name, but he kept going.
He checked on the children and then went to the other bedroom and took off his clothes. He pulled the covers up, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to think. The feeling started in his face and worked down into his stomach and legs. He opened his eyes and rolled his head back and forth on the pillow. Then he turned on his side and fell asleep.
In the morning, after she had sent the children off to school, Doreen came into the bedroom and raised the shade. Earl was already awake.
“Look at yourself in the mirror,” he said.
“What?” she said. “What are you talking about?”
“Just look at yourself in the mirror,” he said.
“What am I supposed to see?” she said. But she looked in the mirror over the dresser and pushed the hair away from her shoulders.
“Well?” he said.
“Well, what?” she said.
“I hate to say anything,” Earl said, “but I think you better give a diet some thought. I mean it. I’m serious. I think you could lose a few pounds. Don’t get mad.”
“What are you saying?” she said.
“Just what I said. I think you could lose a few pounds. A few pounds, anyway,” he said.
“You never said anything before,” she said. She raised her nightgown over her hips and turned to look at her stomach in the mirror.
“I never felt it was a problem before,” he said. He tried to pick his words.
The nightgown still gathered around her waist, Doreen turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder. She raised one buttock in her hand and let it drop.
Earl closed his eyes. “Maybe I’m all wet,” he said.
“I guess I could afford to lose. But it’d be hard,” she said.
“You’re right, it won’t be easy,” he said. “But I’ll help.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. She dropped her nightgown and looked at him and then she took her nightgown off.
They talked about diets. They talked about the protein diets, the vegetable-only diets, the grapefruit-juice diets. But they decided they didn’t have the money to buy the steaks the protein diet called for. And Doreen said she didn’t care for all that many vegetables. And since she didn’t like grapefruit juice that much, she didn’t see how she could do that one, either.
“Okay, forget it,” he said.
“No, you’re right,” she said. “I’ll do something.”
“What about exercises?” he said.
“I’m getting all the exercise I need down there,” she said.
“Just quit eating,” Earl said. “For a few days, anyway.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll try. For a few days I’ll give it a try. You’ve convinced me.”
“I’m a closer,” Earl said.
He figured up the balance in their checking account, then drove to the discount store and bought a bathroom scale. He looked the clerk over as she rang up the sale.
At home he had Doreen take off all her clothes and get on the scale. He frowned when he saw the veins. He ran his finger the length of one that sprouted up her thigh.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
He looked at the scale and wrote the figure down on a piece of paper.
“All right,” Earl said. “All right.”
The next day he was gone for most of the afternoon on an interview. The employer, a heavyset man who limped as he showed Earl around the plumbing fixtures in the warehouse, asked if Earl were free to travel.
“You bet I’m free,” Earl said.
The man nodded.
Earl smiled.
He could hear the television before he opened the door to the house. The children did not look up as he walked through the living room. In the kitchen, Doreen, dressed for work, was eating scrambled eggs and bacon.
“What are you doing?” Earl said.
She continued to chew the food, cheeks puffed. But then she spit everything into a napkin.
“I couldn’t help myself,” she said.
“Slob,” Earl said. “Go ahead, eat! Go on!” He went to the bedroom, closed the door, and lay on the covers. He could still hear the television. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.
She opened the door.
“I’m going to try again,” Doreen said.
“Okay,” he said.
Two mornings later she called him into the bathroom. “Look,” she said.
He read the scale. He opened a drawer and took out the paper and read the scale again while she grinned.
“Three-quarters of a pound,” she said.
“It’s something,” he said and patted her hip.