6

his last night in the place, tommy was sober enough to chase dust. he sipped off a pint of scotch. there was still idiotic shit to take down to the car, the last of which would be the vacuum cleaner and himself. on one trip he was in the foyer, passing the old piano that had never been in tune, his arms full of shirts on hangers, when the door to one of the apartments opened.

            it was her.

            “hi,” she said.

            “hi.”

            the girl next door. with the legs. downstairs next door.

            “gotta be out tonight,” he said.

            “i heard you vacuuming. like a madman.”

            “i’m tommy, by the way.”

            “hannah.”

            she came out and they stood in the dim foyer. since she had moved in two months ago they had spoken only hellos in passing, but their glances had been extended and those hellos were enveloped in meaningful silences. it was awkward. she seemed to like him and he was glad because he needed it. he was very tired of jess and one woman and here was this beautiful girl acting friendly. he often saw her from his deck, usually while he was drinking coffee or whiskey. he never saw her with a guy. he first saw her from up there while jess was inside. hannah was walking a mountain bike to a charcoal subaru wagon and he could not believe she had come out of his house. where? a visitor? was she new? my god, what an ass. she was wearing short shorts that day. she wore them often. the car had vermont plates.

            “i’ve seen you taking stuff out all week,” she said. “where you going?”

            “narragansett. i got a room.”

            “where?”

            “ocean road, two blocks from the beach.”

            “i work at the cliffside,” she said.

            “really? are you mafia?”

            “no, i’m a waitress. i don’t know about that. i go there and work. i’ve come and gone over the years and they always take me back. the money is good. in the summer.”

            “and you go up to vermont in the winter?”

            “yes, to work the ski season, but not this winter,” she said. “this winter it’s florida. i got a job waiting in a closed resort. i’m subletting this place for the summer. expensive, but all i could find.”

            “yeah, i know. my girlfriend and i just broke up and i can’t keep this place alone.”

            “i haven’t seen her around in awhile. she’s pretty, dark curly hair, kind of tall?”

            “yeah.”

            “i wasn’t going to say anything.”

            “it’s okay,” he said.

            “how long were you together?”

            “five years.”

            “that’s awhile.”

            “four of them were great and then something just happened.”

            “where do you work?”

            “the bay times.”

            “what do you do there?”

            “reporter.”

            “you write?”

            “yeah. that’s why i asked about the mafia.”

            “i don’t pay attention, but i wouldn’t be surprised. want a beer? you look like you need one.”

            “yeah.”

            into her living room. the light was down, one lamp on. the drawn curtains were blue and white, with lace, from the high ceiling down to the floor. very victorian. a bed was at the front near the windows. it was piled with quilts and pillows. tommy sat on the white couch and hannah brought out two budweisers.

            “thanks.”

            she sat on the floor in front of him to his left, her legs crossed. she was almost in profile. she was wearing white cotton carpenter’s pants. they were very tight. he saw again what an athletic body she had. while she told him of her plans to move to daytona beach, his eyes fell on her body and bounced back to her face. she did not seem bothered. she acted as if she didn’t notice, or she appreciated it. she was comfortable with her body. she stretched her legs before her, offering a different perspective. she stroked her legs like they were sore from riding.

            she was maybe 34 to his 27 and she spoke more thoughtfully than he had expected and she had no arrogance about her, as he had interpreted from the deck. it was shyness and experience. she was his type. insightful and modest and her eyes were green.

            only when she started on spiritualism did he feel himself squirm and drink. but the subject was often the fast lane to intimacy and there was the hard body. he was beginning to think she was a nice girl, but she was nice after surviving a conflict she participated in for a long time. she told him about a bad relationship and a bastard. nice girl or not, tommy couldn’t decide and he didn’t want to hear about it. she was sweet tonight.

            they spoke in the dim living room, words spoken while skin whispered to skin, her yes to his maybe. he could have moved and taken her on the rug or she could have leaned over and started it. she knew what she wanted, whereas he felt paralyzed.

his beer was low and he could not risk another. she was here and she was good looking and he liked her, but he had to finish the apartment. another beer and he could forget about cleaning. she was one to stay in touch with, but not tonight. some day he would regret not sleeping with her the same as he regretted not sleeping with others, but tonight he had to finish. if they fucked, he would still be up there when the lesbian landlord showed up on her motorcycle to determine how much money to deduct from his future. but this was not just about money. it would be better if he went back upstairs and finished cleaning and went home to his little rented room and dropped dead. he had to go up and finish the slaughter of something more beautiful.

            “can i get you another beer?” hannah asked.

            “uh, no. no thanks. i gotta finish cleaning. i’m supposed to be out by midnight. i was.”

            tommy could make it fast. he could. but he couldn’t. she was lonely. he was not lonely, not just lonely. he was raging. he didn’t want her loneliness touching his life with a cheap fuck. this was about love. hannah wanted sex. why he wanted her or anyone to understand his pain he did not know. maybe it was not possible to share and hannah knew this. maybe hannah was right and it was okay to fuck. she was offering him the empathy she could, the escape and release she thought he needed, taking for herself the physical pleasure and emotional exchange she needed. she was not being presumptuous. she was experienced, practical. a fuck might have been perfect. hannah sat with her legs crossed, looking up at him, waiting patiently on his urges and hesitations. it was all so plain. finally, out of respect for hannah and for his dying love, tommy stood up, said good night, and climbed the stairs to his former home with a hard cock, convinced that he was insane. he had not fucked more women than he had fucked. he was not a whore and had many regrets.

the pint was empty. more garbage. he scrubbed the bathtub and vacuumed the bedroom. he sneezed out dust. he was coming down.

            finally, after 2 a.m., tommy stood, recalling the day he and jess first saw the place. it was clean and empty just like this, except there had been sunlight. that day the light was troubling to him. the landlady had opened the front door and the sun poured through the windows onto the golden floors. it was love at first sight for jess. during dinner at her mother’s house, jess could not stop talking about the apartment, decorating it, hosting dinners. but tommy was ready to keep looking. the apartment had not welcomed him. the sun was lying and a hostile wind had blown time into the corners.

            he stood with the broom in his hands and shouted. his voice was a pathetic disturbance. half drunk, overcome by the great space. he hoped nobody had heard him. then he said, “goodbye.” he was self-conscious, but he said it loud enough. goodbye to the last set of a first love that had played well. goodbye to the best thing that had ever happened to him. the bare walls, the hardwood floors, sent the word back. he picked up the vacuum and garbage bag and turned off the light. he left the door unlocked.