In Stereo Where Available

by Becky Anderson

  He looked over his shoulder at me. “You want one?”

  “No.”

  He’d done it over and over again. Reaching into his worn leather wallet and handing them the money. He took his cup of coffee over to the table and sat in his usual place, looking over the newspaper he’d brought in from the doormat. I could see him with his eyes closed, his chest heaving the way it did right before he let go. I wasn’t the only one who had seen it. A lot of women had seen it. They did it for a living, making their money off of being good and fast. Next to them, I’d be an amateur. He’d known that the whole time, that I couldn’t possibly compare. It was a secret he had kept. All the things I had seen him doing, handing me flowers and changing Marco’s diaper and tossing his golf clubs in the trunk while wearing his funny-looking shorts, and this was something that had been there the whole time, the thing I hadn’t known about. It was something else he did.

  I showered and got dressed upstairs, dawdling so he’d be gone by the time I came back down. His school started earlier than mine by half an hour. But he was still there when I came back down, standing by the door with his shoulder bag on the floor beside him.

  He smiled crookedly. “Just wanted to kiss you good-bye.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  His smile went away and he sighed. “We’ll talk this evening, okay? I’ll try to get back early.”

  “I really don’t have anything to say to you.”

  “Work with me, Phoebe.” He looked at me imploringly. “We’ll talk. We’ll fix this.”

  I hurried back after work and let myself in, gathering up some clothes, my toothbrush and shampoo, my journal, and a couple of CDs. I threw it all on the passenger seat of my car and loaded Pepper in the back, her food and dish in the trunk, her leash trailing across the floor. I didn’t leave a note or break anything or take anything that didn’t belong to me. I just drove home. My mother didn’t ask any questions. She didn’t seem surprised.

  It didn’t take Jerry very long to figure out where I was.

  “Is Phoebe here?”

  I could hear his voice from where I lay in my room upstairs. It was a dumb question. He could see my car perfectly well, parked right in front of his along the curb.

  “She’s busy,” said my mother.

  “I need to talk to her.”

  My mom dropped the charade. “I don’t think she wants to talk to you.”

  “Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I want her to come home.”

  “She’s already home.”

  “Look, can I just talk to her for a minute?”

  “No. She knows where you live. If she wants to talk, she’ll come by.” I heard the door close. My mother was good at being hard like that. She’d brought up two teenaged girls by herself. She knew how to close a door in a guy’s face.

  Ten seconds later, my phone rang. I let it go to voice mail. It rang again. And again.

  “What do you want, Jerry?”

  “Phoebe, don’t make me stand outside the damn window with a boom box playing ‘In Your Eyes.’ Come out and talk to me, all right?”

  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Yes, you do. You’ve still got your engagement ring on. You want to work this out as much as I do.”

  “You don’t know that I’ve got it on. Just because I didn’t leave it on the dining-room table with a sappy note. Maybe I threw it in the gutter next to your house.”

  “You want me to go look?”

  “Yeah, and while you’re down there, see if you can find your morals.”

  He sighed. “Will you just come outside?”

  “No. Go home. You can talk to me in a few days when I come to get the rest of my stuff.”

  “Come on, Phoebe, work with me here. You’ve made your point, all right? I’m sorry. Just come home, okay?”

  I hung up on him and dropped the phone on the bed beside me. Hearing his car’s engine turn over and slowly fade off into the distance made me even angrier, and I lay with my hands behind my head, fuming. The diamond of my ring dug into the palm of my right hand. I tugged it off and slapped it down on the night table. Then, impulsively, I picked up my phone and dialed, the same way I had when Carter had ditched me for the dog shows all those months ago.

  He answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Carter,” I said cheerfully. “It’s Phoebe. Whatcha up to?”

  Carter looked like his normal self again—all brown corduroy and farmhand-styled hair. When he opened the door to me, I noticed right away that he’d moved things around—the teeter-totter and flexible tunnel pushed over to the wall, the loveseat moved closer to the TV. There were drag marks in the carpet, as though he’d moved everything within the past ten minutes or so. Empress Ming, reclining on a jade-green velvet dog bed in the corner, looked up when I stepped into the room. Her mane of white hair flopped into her eyes.

  “How’ve you been?” Carter asked, jamming his hands down into his pockets.

  “Good. Busy. We’ve been doing standardized tests all week.” I hadn’t said anything about Jerry during the phone call. I’d hoped Carter would have either the intuition not to ask, or no intuition at all.

  “That’s cool. The Empress won Best of Show in Tucson. I just got back in town the day before yesterday.” He stretched his long body to reach the remote and snapped off the TV. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Yeah, I’ll take a Coke, if you’ve got one.” I followed him into the kitchen. His pants weren’t intended to be baggy, but on his body they looked that way anyway. “Congratulations on your win.”

  “Thanks. The Danforths were happy. They’re thinking about getting another Chinese crested from the same breeder. I’m kind of into the idea. It wouldn’t be much more work, but it’d be more money.”

  I took the Coke he handed me. Empress Ming was sniffing around my feet, snuffling deeply. She could probably smell Pepper. “I’m surprised they aren’t worried about sibling rivalry.”

  “They are, actually. They’re trying to find a doggie shrink in the area who makes house calls. There’s one, but she mainly deals in large breeds.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  He shrugged. “Beats me. Probably. Little dogs do seem to think differently from big dogs. And the Empress probably won’t like sharing the attention. Speaking of sibling rivalry, I heard your sister won that show. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, yeah. They’re getting married next month.”

  “I know, I saw the promos for it on TV. Bet you can’t wait to gain a sleazebag brother-in-law. What do your folks think?”

  I leaned against the counter while he poured himself a Sprite, trying to let the comment about Rhett roll off my back. “They’re just sort of going along with it. I think they expected that anyone Madison married would be…sort of a character.”

  Carter laughed. “That’s putting it nicely. So did you ever hear back from the dud your roommate set you up with at Club Cabo?”

  “Once, but I didn’t call him back. How about you?”

  He shook his head. “She told my friend she thought I was weird-looking.”

  I frowned sympathetically. “That’s not true. I thought you looked great that night. The way you had your hair—it looked good. You should keep it like that.”

  “You mean with the gel? It’s too much trouble. Anyway, I can’t get it to look right. My buddy’s girlfriend did it for me.”

  “Oh, it’s easy. Do you have any around?”

  He set his soda on the counter and gestured toward the hallway. “Yeah, in the bathroom.”

  “Well, come here. I’ll show you. You’re probably just using too much.”

  We walked down the hall to the bathroom, along with Empress Ming, who minced along next to Carter’s ankles. Carter found the tube of gel in the medicine cabinet and handed it to me.

  “Good luck,” he said.

  I hopped up to sit on the gold-flecked counter beside the sink and squirted a dot of gel into my
palm. On my ring finger there was a pale indented line. I rubbed my hands together and tried not to think about it.

  “Come here,” I said.

  He stepped up to the counter, bumping against my knees. Empress Ming sniffed frantically at the bathroom rug, getting high on the smell of hair gel. I rubbed my hands through Carter’s thick hair until it spiked up in little clumps. Except for the dingy tan shirt, he looked just like he had at the club. I was impressed with my work.

  He looked at himself in the mirror over my shoulder. “Not bad.”

  “Not bad at all. See what a difference it makes?”

  “You really think so?”

  “I sure do. You should let me take a picture of you like that so you can put it up on Kismet. You’ll be fighting the women off with a stick.”

  He laughed. “I don’t really see that happening.”

  I wiped my sticky hands against my thighs. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

  He smirked and slipped his hand around my waist, sliding me closer to him. My knees moved apart, the insides of my thighs touching his hips. I caught my breath as his other hand went up into my hair, turning my face toward his. If he had looked into my eyes he would have seen my surprise, but he wasn’t looking at my eyes at all. He was looking at my mouth.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” he said quietly.

  He closed his eyes and I did, too—whether out of anticipation or fear, I wasn’t sure. His lips brushed softly against mine, and then, abruptly, he jerked his head back and let out a yell.

  “Ow,” he called. Empress Ming’s collar jingled as she hopped backward from his ankle. A thin trickle of blood ran down across his foot. “Damn it. No. Empress, sit. No.”

  I dropped my head back and stared at the ceiling. “Damn dog,” I grumbled.

  “Hey, watch your mouth.”

  I looked at him sharply. “What did you just say to me?”

  “I said, watch your mouth. Don’t talk to my dog like that.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He pulled a drawer open and took out a cotton ball. “It’s just her protective instinct. It’s her house, remember?”

  I hopped down from the counter. “Oh, sorry,” I snapped. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  He dabbed at his ankle with the cotton ball and rubbed Empress Ming’s neck. “I think she hit bone that time. I hope she didn’t hurt her teeth.”

  I brushed past him as he pulled the dog’s lips back, examining her mouth. She looked up at me, grinning like the Big Bad Wolf.

  “Nice knowing you, Carter,” I said. “It’s been real.”

  His reply was belated and distant, coming from the bathroom as I stepped over the chew toys in my path.

  “Seeya,” he called distractedly.

  I showed up at the door of my former apartment with my old grad-school backpack heavy on my shoulders and my ski jacket zipped all the way up to my scarf. My bangs stuck out from beneath my winter hat, snappy with static electricity. Lauren answered the door in a too-short T-shirt and pajama pants.

  “When did you get your belly button pierced?” I asked immediately.

  She looked at me like I was one of the Ghosts of Christmas Past materializing at the foot of her bed. “What are you doing here?”

  “That’s a nice welcome-home.”

  “No, no. I mean, come on in.” She whisked me inside and gave the hallway a quick check before closing the door behind her. The first thing I noticed was a Playstation beneath the TV—that was new—and then, in the corner, boxes and boxes of records and a few crates of CDs stacked beside them. Next to Lauren’s teal hand weights was a set of plain black ones about four times their size. As if on cue, Prabath stuck his head around the corner from the kitchen and waved. His hair was slicked-back and shiny, like he’d just gotten out of the shower.

  “Hi, Phoebe.”

  “How’s it going, Prabath?” I dropped my backpack heavily to the floor.

  Lauren stood with her hands on her hips, looking at me warily through her clunky glasses. “Everything okay with Jerry?”

  “Could be better.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “You think we could talk for a minute?” I threw a pointed glance at Prabath.

  “Yeah, sure. Sure. Just come on back to the bedroom.”

  I followed her down the hall. My old bedroom was empty except for my stripped-down bed, which I’d left behind, and a bunch of stereo equipment strewn all over the floor. We stepped into Lauren’s room and she closed the door snugly. Lauren had always been a slob, but now the room was twice as messy with Prabath’s T-shirts and cast-off boxer shorts, Beastie Boys CDs, and anime cartoon sketches taped to the wall.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  I sat down on her bed and crossed my legs in front of me. “Jerry had a surprise for me.”

  “Oh, no. I knew this was coming.”

  “I know you did. You warned me and I didn’t listen.”

  “You looked in his cookies, didn’t you.”

  I peered at her in confusion. “What?”

  “On his computer. Guys will usually remember to clear out the Internet history, but then if you look in the cookie file, you’ll find out they’ve been hanging out at every porn site they can get their hands on.”

  “Oh. Probably, but no, that wasn’t the surprise. You’re on the right track, but it’s a lot worse than that.”

  She sat down backwards in her computer chair and scooted toward me. “Come on. Out with it.”

  I frowned and looked over her shoulder, where her calendar hung on the wall. Instead of the squares being inked-up with men’s names, they said things like “Moby Concert—9:30 Club” and “meet @ Bennigan’s 4:00.” The shock of Jerry’s confession had faded, but I still had to gather my courage to say it out loud to Lauren. It didn’t reflect well on me, that was for sure—either on my taste or on my judgment. I took a deep breath.

  “He’s hired hookers,” I said. “And got arrested for it once.”

  She whistled and sat back in her chair. “That’s a doozy.”

  I lay back on her bed and rubbed my eyes. “But not for regular sex,” I added, with all the irony that Jerry’s reassurance had to offer. “Just for oral. I guess he’s too cheap to pay for the real thing.”

  “He’s done this since he’s been with you?”

  “No, before. Jerry wouldn’t cheat. He’s too attached to me.” I groaned and tucked my hands behind my head. “I’m so mad at him, Lauren. The whole time I’ve been with him he’s been giving me this sweet-talking sex-is-love routine, and now I find out it’s all an act. I feel like an idiot. And if you say ‘I told you so,’ I swear I’ll throw one of these Star Wars figures at you.”

  “Hey, I’m as shocked as you are. I didn’t even realize Jerry had a libido. Last I heard, you guys were curling up in bed and playing Scrabble all weekend.”

  “That was before I moved in with him. He’s got a sex drive like a teenaged boy.”

  “And the same level of emotional maturity, apparently. How could he have been arrested? I looked him up way back in September. His record was clean.”

  “They dropped the charges because he went to some sensitivity class for men who get caught with their pants down. So to speak.”

  “Sheesh. Sounds like he needed it.”

  “Yeah. Can I stay here tonight? My mother’s driving me crazy. She keeps telling me that all men are pigs and I shouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t even tell her what Jerry did—it’s just her catchall lecture about men. There’s only one TV, and my stepfather watches World War II shows on The History Channel all day long. And then it’s dinnertime—and Lauren, I swear my mother is the worst cook in the universe. I’m used to Jerry making these three-course meals out of his Emeril Lagasse cookbooks, and the stuff my mom does with boxed macaroni and cheese just doesn’t cut it anymore.”

  “So you’re actually moving out?”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do, move back in and pick up where we lef
t off? Get back in bed with him? Since November I’ve been listening to him talk about intimacy when he’s really just describing a financial transaction. He’s screwed everything up. It’s over.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the one who lectured me that I needed to be more forgiving of men and their loser qualities. You see where it got me? The entire apartment’s been taken over with LPs and deejay equipment.”

  “Yeah, I’m happy for you, really. Prabath’s a nice guy. I always thought you guys had some really good chemistry. But when I said you should be more forgiving, I was talking about things like video-game obsessions and tattoos. I didn’t mean actual issues with the guy’s character.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t be melodramatic. It’s sex, Phoebe. Entire religions have been built off of trying to get people to control their sex drives. It’s not like Jerry’s the first one to get run over by his own hormones. They don’t call it the world’s oldest profession for nothing.”

  I nodded. “So if you were in my shoes, you’d go back to him?”

  She laughed. “Hell, no. Stay with a guy who feels like he’s entitled to what he wants out of women because he happened to be born male? Like he’s got some kind of a right to it, whether or not it’s freely offered. Last I heard, it was ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’ There’s nothing in there about blow jobs.”

  “Depends on how you define ‘happiness,’ I guess.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d find myself a guy who doesn’t make me feel like dinner and a movie is a down payment. I’ve got a couple of guys I can set you up with, you know. One’s a pharmacist who lives about two minutes from here. He used to be in the Peace Corps, and he’s cute, Phoebe. He swims at the gym I go to.”

  “Does he wear one of those weird little Speedo suits?”

  “No, he wears trunks. He’s got a nice body. I see him a lot, for work. I can ask if you want me to.”

  “If he’s so great, how come he’s single?”

  “He’s divorced. No kids. His wife left him for a guy she met in a chat room.”