Suspicious, I went into the living room and did a thorough search, the dog following me. Finally I turned up a slip of paper hiding under the corner of the rug. On it was some handwriting that I recognized as Chloés. It seemed to be in code.
Living room §
Kitchen §
Kitchen table ¤
Bedroom
Bathroom shower
Basement
It appeared to be some sort of checklist. At first I imagined that she had gone around the house checking to make sure that everything was where it should be. I tossed the paper into the wastebasket and went back to making my dinner.
After dinner I fished the list back out of the wastebasket and checked it again, peering at the arcane doodled symbols. These kids, what had they done in my house? Living room, they wrote, followed by the strange coupled § symbol. I walked into the living room and sat down, not on the sofa, but on the floor. I closed my eyes and imagined these kids, the house sitters, also in the living room, engaged with each other so that their bodies formed a §. They laughed, they came together, they were solemn, and then they rested.
I imagined them, these kids, these newcomers to love, doing what kids do, exploring a house, having sex in the rooms, then the girl making a list of where and how, and as I sat there I heard the happy cry again plain as nightfall, and I thought: this house isnt haunted, but it does have a memory, this house remembers what people have done here, and then it plays back those sounds like a bored and absentminded African parrot. I moved through the rooms, feeling my way through the passions these kids had had, how they laid each other in bed, forming a
In the basement I felt the two of them passing by me, felt the memory of their having been physically present there as the boy, Oscar, teased the girl, Chloé, while they looked at my paintings and talked about them, the girl leaning over and the boy, behind her, reaching over to touch her there at the base of her neck, a delicate spot for her. Then he extended his arms around her, still standing behind her, as if grasping for her animal heart. Words were spoken. They made love quickly, standing up, I think, and Chloés back, when she came, got damp. Then they turned off the lights and went upstairs. They were still somewhat frightened and impressed by the size and the majesty of their attraction to each other.
I follow them up the stairs. I watch them go into the kitchen and observe them making a dinner of hamburgers and potato chips. They recover their senses by talking and listening to the radio. I watch them feed each other. This is love in the present tense, and finally I have had enough of them, and I close my eyes, and when I open my eyes again, they are gone, and the house is mine again, at least for the time being.
All the same, there is still no comfortable place for me in the house. I am not much of a king, in my present condition. Passion occupies a space that is not vacated until another passion occupies it.
EIGHT
SMELLING OF ONION and garlic, what we did was, wed lie in bed together, jabbering about the future, Oscar and me. This was in his room, because I was moving out of my roommates palace into my own efficiency and spending more time just now in Oscars bedroom, except for those days we house-sat at Bradley Smiths. Oscars bedroom: like I already told you: trophies with bronzed guys running in place up on the shelf, his track shoes still on their nail, and snow drifting down outside. On his bookshelf: board games like Monopoly and Clue, relay batons from his track team, and busted video cartridges, dead Super Mario circuits and dead Ninja Warriors likewise. And right over there, up above us, located on the wall, was a crucified bronze Jesus I didnt want to ask about, what he was doing there or anything. I was lying snug under the covers one day with my hand peacefully on Oscars dick, you know, holding it, it being only half-awake, similar to Oscar himself, cause wed already done our lovemaking a couple times, and he, Oscar, was talkin about the future.
I have this image, he said.
What image?
You know how people when theyre ultra-rich, theyve got front hallways?
I said yeah.
Theres a name for it.
For what?
He lowered himself down in bed and kissed me, a little tongue and lip thing, on my nipple. His tongue stud gave it, I dont know, metallic content. Next to the bed we had acquired a bowl of popcorn that we microwaved a little while ago. When he kissed me, he tasted inside his mouth of buttered popcorn. Sometimes burned popcorn. It was like he was cooking snacks in there. My nipples stood up, it was almost painful.
Theyve got a name for that, that room inside the front door. Where they put the big grandfather clocks and shit. You know. Also those things they put the umbrellas into.
Like, the foyer?
Fucking A. He nodded. The foyer. He was so pleased with himself or with me, he woke up utterly and got a boomer Woodrow immediately. It lifted my hand up. His dick is like a human barometer that way. I started to go down on him but he said, No, no, wait. He put his fingers on my face and drew it up back to the pillow. His woody didnt get discouraged. It stayed nestled in my girl-grip, and I could feel his heart beat through it. See, here I am, comin home. Heres Oscar. Oscar-of-the-future.
Yeah?
Yeah, you gotta imagine this. Okay? Here I am, Oscar, and Im comin home.
All right. Youre comin home. Im imagining it.
Right. From what am I coming home? From whatever shit it is that I do. From my work.
Okay.
Its, like, the end of the day. Quitting time. Factory whistles are blowing. And Im comin home. Right? And in my truck, Ive run into a detour which takes me around that new drive-in bank and this pond where the ducks have already flown south and that mini-mall and the multiplex. Im just drivin, my hands on the wheel. And Im like, I dont care about this detour. I am not bummed. Were thinking up the future, okay? Now? This is what were doin?
Okay. Outside, I heard the sound of an airplane or something taking off. The furnace in the house started up.
Im comin home. He got distracted and kissed me on the mouth and our tongues swirled for a while. Tongue stud action again. He shook his head like he was waking up. Im not comin home, I am home, see, and Im comin in the door. My trucks in the driveway.
Where am I, Oscar?
Where are you? Oh, okay. Honey, youre inside. Youre inside this big house, Chloé, youre doing household shit. How the fuck should I know? You gotta decide that for yourself, right? Cause youd be totally adult and feminist and everything about it. You want something done in the house, you give orders and it happens. Youre tough. Youre a take-no-prisoners woman. A real tough chick. Were alike, that way. Tough, I mean.
Im in the house? I live with you?
Yeah, youre there.
Wow. Okay. I moved over and slipped his cock inside me. He was ultra-hard like a broomstick, but softer, Oscar being human.
Dont distract me, he said. So Im comin in the front door, and Ive got, like, the bills, thatve come in the mail?
Right.
And Chloé, these are fucking huge bills. You never saw bills like this! These are bills for mortgages and shit, bills for the fucking dentist, bills for I dont know the eye guy, and the shrink, and bills for the phone and the electricity, these are the biggest colossal bills you ever saw, and they came in the mail, and Ive got them. I got them in my hand.
Whats so great about this? We were lying side by side, doin our thing with our hips sedately, but its weird because its so secondary, though Im heating up? I was so wet down there but I was also trying to concentrate on what he was saying. Whats so great about getting bills?
Hello? Youre not listening to me, he said. Cause Ive got these bills, theyre like, uh, you know, the national debt, but look at the look on my face.
Now? His eyes were kind of not-focusing just then. He was staring toward the Monopoly game, on the other side of the room, and his glass Mason jar full of pennies, and the other Mason jar full of old shoelaces.
No, not now. In the future. Look at me, Oscar-of-the-future. Uh. Do I look scared?
I cant see you.
Yes, you can. Look harder. Close your eyes.
I closed them.
Okay, now imagine Oscar-of-the-future. Thats me. Thats me comin home to the house, not-bummed by the detour. Look at the look on my face while Im holding these huge bills I gotta pay. Do I look scared?
No.
How do I look?
I kept my eyes closed. Like a man. Confident and like that. A hero, even. Youre smiling?
Fucking A. Im smiling. You know why Im smilin?
Cause you can pay all those bills, right?
Oh, yeah. Cause Im a big man and nothin scares me and I can pay all the bills because we got plenty of money, and, uh, Im fearless
He made a yelp, and he suddenly came, to his surprise. When he comes, his shoulders sometimes jerk back, and they did this time, too. It made me so happy to see him that I came with him, right on the dotted line, but quick. Efficient. Its like were connected with wires that way. Something happens to him, it happens to me. Were concerted. Is that a word? It should be. Now it is.
We took a minute out for a breather, though we kept ourselves together. No condoms, I dont like them, Im on the pill. Its funny about Oscar, he can come and pretty soon hes got his hard-on back, standing up and smiling at me. Weird. Maybe this was, like, the month of his sexual peak. I mean, in some ways he was still a boy. You could tell how he was still treating sex like it was a drug and vastly illegal. He had that addict glint in his eye. But it could be tiring also, like shoplifting. It goes from being hip to being a chore. You get to where you want to do something else. The righteousness goes out of it. That can happen.
Now you, he said.
What about me?
The future, man. We were talkin about the future. He put his finger on my earlobe, where it had been pierced, as per his suggestion, my earlobe where I wasnt underpierced anymore, thanks to him.
I cant see anything.
Sure you can. Chicks can always see the future, its what they do. Guys dont, so much, except those weathermen, you know meteorologists. Forecasters. So whattya see?
I cant see anything, I repeated.
Dont be lame. Close your eyes. I did. Okay. Whattya see?
I put my head on his chest. Well, maybe in that foyer we were talkin about? With the, what do you call it? umbrella stand? I was speaking real slow. Groping love-talk.