By Philip Lear
“Hi Joe, this is Ellen.
“Ellen?”
“You know your wife’s college roommate.”
“Oh. Ellen.”
“I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“At least five years.”
“ How are you doing?”
Joe remembers her tall slender body and her defiant sultry look.
“Murray just died and I was calling to tell Sally.”
“Jesus. I didn’t even know he was sick.”
“It was sudden. Last week we were at the club. One minute he’s telling stories at the bar and the next he keels over dead.”
“I remember he liked to tell stories.”
“Long stories,” Ellen says.
“How are you holding up?” Joe asks.
“Oh!” she sighs. “I guess most of the time I’m alright. But like yesterday I was doing the laundry when I saw his worn red flannel shirt. And at night, sometimes I’ll reach over in bed and no one’s there.”
“Sally’s upstate at her sister’s. She’s been staying with her for a while.”
“Is her sister all right?”
“She’s fine. I think Sally needed to take a break. It’s been two months now. We talk occasionally. She seems to be happy up there.”
“Just like that? Was it sudden?”
“I didn’t see it but I guess it was coming for a long time.”
There’s a pause.
“Are you still in Doylestown?” Joe continues.
“Yes.”
“I could drive down.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’d like to spend the night with you.”
“I call and tell you my husband just dropped dead and you proposition me!”
“Neither of us has to spend the night alone.”
“Joe, you’re fucking outrageous.”
“I always found you very attractive. I never understood what you saw in a slug like Murray.”
“Murray’s not even warm in his grave and you’re coming on to me.”
“Fucking is a good way to deal with your grief. You can get on with your life. Besides, it would be good for me too. I don’t like sleeping alone either.”
“I don’t know how you can live with yourself.”
“I try to be honest.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing but …”
Ellen gives Joe directions to her house and hangs up.