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Story by Guy Hogan
Shacking Up
Joe Morris came into the house from work and said to Carol Jordan,
"I just told old man Schwartz today was my last day."
He wore a black and gold Steelers jersey, the number twelve with
Bradshaw on the back. The jersey was old and worn and Bradshaw
had been retired many years.
"You quit?" Carol asked. "You quit your job? Joe,
what happened?"
"Nothin'."
Joe walked to the kitchen, got a can of Iron City beer from the
refrigerator and returned to sprawl in the recliner. Carol was
on her back on the sofa in her hospital whites with her shoes
off. Her nurse's cap was in its plastic case in the closet.
Joe said, "I've been pushin' drinks now seven years in that
dive. I need a break."
Carol sat up and put her feet down on the worn carpet. Her white
pantyhose had a run in them. "Who do you think you are?"
"Save it."
"Excuse me?"
"I'll score another job."
"As what? As a dishwasher?"
"I did it once."
"You're forty three years old. That's a kid's job."
"Not just kids."
"Who the hell wants to hire an ex-boxer, ex-truck driver,
ex-bouncer, ex-cabbie and now an ex-bartender? Always a damn
ex."
Joe popped the tab on his can of Iron City and took a long drink.
Then he said, "As long as I pay my way around here you got
no squawk."
Carol stood up. "You stinking sack of shit."
"There's no need for that kind of language."
"I finally get out of waitressing and make something of
myself to end up with a bum like you. And I use to think you
were something special."
She picked up her hospital shoes from the floor and headed upstairs.
Joe, with the beer can in his right hand, got up and followed
her. In the bedroom, Carol began to undress.
"Baby," Joe said, "I am special. I ain't blinded
by the light. You think you'd be better off with one of them
educated types you wanted to hook up with?"
"At least I could look forward to children and a nice home
in a nice neighborhood and a swimming pool out back."
"Yeah?" he said. "You know what the divorce rate
is in this country? You ever listen to them moan and groan about
their bills and how they hate their jobs but can't quit 'cause
of their style of livin'? What kind of life is that?"
"What kind of life is this?"
She was barefoot and wore an ankle-length blue, terry cloth bathrobe.
The robe was new. Under the robe she was naked. She headed back
downstairs. Joe took a good drink of the Iron City then followed
her. In the kitchen, Carol opened the refrigerator and took out
a bottle of red wine. It was a very cheap wine. She took a wine
glass from a cupboard, poured the glass half full, screwed the
cap back on the bottle and put it back in the refrigerator. Now
the bottle was nearly empty. Joe finished his beer. He crushed
the can in one hand and dropped it in the plastic trash container.
The container's lid was gone.
Joe said, "I ain't broke."
Carol leaned back against the refrigerator door and sipped the
wine. She was looking down at the cracked and faded tile on the
floor.
She said, "Thirty five years old and I have nothing to look
forward to."
"What?"
"What do I have to look forward to?"
"Don't talk crazy."
"Oh, now I'm crazy."
"You know how I feel about you."
"Do I?"
"You got no cause to talk this way."
"I'm thinking of selling this dump."
"What's wrong with it?" he asked. "Everybody don't
own their own home."
"It's a house."
"Do I cheat on you?" he asked.
"How the hell should I know?"
"Do I stay out late with you wonderin' where I'm at? Do
I throw my money away? And if I want to go out drinkin' or to
a ball game or to a nice club to do some fancy steps, don't I
always want you with me?"
She sipped the wine, her right elbow resting on her left arm
which was crossed in front of her body. She did not look at him.
He stood closer to her. He said, "Don't I always treat you
like a lady in public? Don't I always treat you like a woman
in private? Don't I pleasure you the way you like to be pleasured?
Don't you love our secret, little love games?"
"Oh, Joe, be quiet."
"Go on and tell me you don't."
"Joe."
"Go on and tell me."
"I'll start supper."
Carol took her time starting supper. Joe turned on the radio
and tuned in a station playing gospel music. Then he got a can
of Iron City and leaned back against the refrigerator door. Carol
stood with her back to him. She was washing collard greens picked
from the small back yard garden in the sink. Her wine glass on
the cutting board was empty. Joe looked at the peeling, white
ceiling. He looked down at the old tile on the floor. As he drank
the Iron City, he stared out the kitchen window. The low clouds
reflected a reddish glow. Joe finished the beer, crumbled the
can and dropped it in the trash. The trash bag in the container
was now full. Joe walked up behind Carol. He put his arms around
her waist and kissed the back of her head. He pressed himself
up against her.
"Don't," she said.
"Carol," he whispered.
"I said don't."
"Not in the mood?"
"Tell me something. Why do you stay here?"
"What the hell kind of question is that?"
She stood stiffly; but she felt his hard excitement through the
bathrobe. Her own excitement began to rise. She didn't want to
feel excitement but she couldn't help it. She relaxed back into
him. With her hands still in the water she said, "Let me
finish up here." He reached inside the neck of her robe
and gently fondled her breasts until she finished up.
Later that evening the night was still warm and they were both
uncovered on the bed. He awoke naked on his back. She slept naked
face down. The lamp on her side was still on. For several weeks
now she had insisted on a light to sleep by. The bulb was only
twenty five watts. But still...
The house was full of the smell of collard greens and ham hocks
cooking in the big, slow cooker in the kitchen downstairs. Joe
turned on his side and rested his elbow on the bed and his head
in that hand. He watched Carol sleeping in the dim light. He
was filled with the sight of her womanly nakedness. He felt happy.
Then he noticed a dark speck in the dim lamplight on the white
wall. The speck moved slowly up the wall. Joe got out of bed
and quietly walked around the foot of the bed to see the speck
close up.
He was shocked. "A cockroach," he whispered. "I
ain't never seen a damn cockroach here before. And it's a baby
cockroach."
Guy Hogan's book of short
stories and his novella, In The Garden Of Love, can be purchased
at this link: http://www.ecampus.com/book/0595371469
Guy Hogan is a Vietnam
Veteran. He received his MFA in fiction writing from the University
of Pittsburgh in 2006. He lives and writes in Pittsburgh. His
homepage is Flash Fiction Tips & Short Stories About Pittsburgh
(www.flashfictionnow.blogspot.com).
For more from Guy read his January or December
short story.
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