Whenever You Call

by Anna King

  I dialed her number immediately, but not before I’d figured out for myself that she was probably so stressed by the prospect of a date that she was making herself ill.

  “It’s me.”

  “I’m very nauseated,” Jenny said.

  “Did you drink some flat coke?”

  “Is that what I should do?”

  “Yeah, pour a little in a glass and sip it slowly, then call me back.”

  “Okay.”

  We hung up. I checked my e-mail. Nothing, naturally.

  Since I hadn’t eaten yet and it was relatively early, I decided to go for a run. As I was changing from nightgown to jogging clothes in my bedroom, the phone rang again.

  Jenny’s voice was weak and pathetic. “I feel a little better.”

  “Would you like me to come over?”

  “Maybe that would be good.”

  She lived in a sleek high-rise condo with a spectacular view of the harbor.

  “I’m just getting dressed, so it’ll be at least an hour from now. Do you want me to bring you anything?”

  “Mmm—maybe I’ll be ready for some breakfast—”

  “Bagels?”

  “Yeah.” Jenny sighed. “I really need to go into the office.”

  I bit back my initial response, finally ending with a tepid, “I don’t think that’s in the cards today. I’ll see you soon.”

  I pulled off my running shorts and replaced them with blue jeans, then a white t-shirt and black blazer I loved because it bagged in the elbows. I ran up the stairs to the second floor, grabbed some bagels from the freezer, and made a quick pit stop in the bathroom next to the kitchen. I, therefore, had no reason to descend to the basement where my computer might harbor an e-mail response from Mr. Rabbitfish. I, therefore, tried not to run down there, but in the end, I simply couldn’t help myself.

  My reward for being silly was the boing sound. An e-mail! From him.

  Aren’t you being impetuous?

  I wrote back, in a flash.

  Hope so.

  Then out the door and into my Volvo to battle Saturday morning traffic. All the way to Jenny’s, I also battled euphoria. I was too mature to get sucked into something that smacked of love notes sailing through a third-grade classroom, like little missiles landing on my head and shoulders. Or I thought I was. Or I certainly should be. But I was a surprisingly happy chick given that I didn’t have a date on the Saturday night glaring down at me.

  I decided I needed someone to whip me into a more rational point of view, and it was clear I wouldn’t be able to count on Jenny, under the circumstances. I activated the handsfree cell phone in the car and hit the number 1, which automatically made the phone dial my daughter, Alex’s, apartment. When her phone trilled for the second time, I realized it was only nine o’clock in the morning. As a fourth-year medical student, her schedule was both intense and impossible for me to follow from week to week. I never knew if she might be catching up on sleep or working, but 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning suddenly seemed like it could be a ripe time for sleeping. I quickly hit the disconnect button.

  A couple of seconds later, the car’s cell phone rang.

  “Hey, Mom, you called?”

  “I’m sorry—I forgot it was so early.”

  “I just got back from a run—don’t worry about it.”

  The matter-of-fact tone in Alex’s voice abruptly made me change my mind about telling her anything. In fact, it struck me as quite odd that I’d ever imagined doing so. I hoped I wasn’t becoming one of those mothers who treated their kids as pseudo-best friends. Instead, I’d made the more heinous mistake of bothering one of my grown children for absolutely no reason. Also something I’d vowed never to do.

  “So, how was your week?” I said.

  “Exhausting. Plus, I went to a party last night, where I drank too much and I think I met this really nice woman. I wanted to follow up with her, but I can’t even remember her name.”

  “You should post something on the Craigslist Missed Connection board!” I said, undoubtedly with too much enthusiasm.

  “How do you know about the MC board?”

  “I read an article about it and visited the site a couple of times, out of curiosity, you know? For a writer, it’s fascinating.”

  “Maybe I should—”

  “Okay, I’ve arrived at Jenny’s place.” I pulled into the underground garage of her building. “She’s got a blind date tonight, arranged courtesy of her mother, and I think she’s having a panic attack.”

  “It must be hard.”

  We said good-bye quickly, but not before I managed to get in another plug for the Missed Connections board. Alex probably didn’t realize that if she posted something, her dear mother would definitely see it. I hoped she wouldn’t make it sexually suggestive, but it would be my own fault if she did.

  I had a key to Jenny’s apartment so that I could always let myself in without making her come to the door. I found her stretched out on the low white couch in her living room, moaning dramatically.

  “Have you puked yet?” I said.

  “No.” She rolled her eyes towards me.

  I crouched next to the couch, holding out a hand. “Time for some tough love, sweetheart.”

  She ignored my hand. “If I sit up, I’ll definitely spew.”

  “Good word, spew.” I picked up first one of her hands and then the other. They were limp and clammy, like octopus tendrils. “Heave ho, Jen.” Without the lower parts of her legs, she had to be a little more careful in finding her balance. But I knew, from long practice, that she was perfectly capable.

  She moaned again, except I could tell it was just for show. “I hate you,” she muttered.

  The color was already coming back into her cheeks.

  “You want a toasted bagel dripping with butter?”

  “Yeah.” Jenny gave me a disgusted look.

  The pristine kitchen had a wall cutout so that I could see straight through the dining room, living room, and to the view of sky beyond. Up close to the window, looking down, you could see the harbor.

  Jen yelled, “I don’t want to go on this date!”

  I yelled back. “Could’ve fooled me!”

  “What am I going to do?”

  I cut the bagels and popped two halves into the toaster. As I turned to open the ’fridge, searching for orange juice, I shouted, “You’re going on the date, falling in love with him, and getting married so that I can finally be your bridesmaid instead of it always being the other way around.”

  Total silence greeted what I’d thought was quite the inspired speech. I peeked through the kitchen’s cutout. Her face was averted and I couldn’t see her reaction. “I’m just joshing,” I said.

  Still no answer.

  Two minutes later, I brought out the plate of buttered bagels. She finally turned to face me, obviously embarrassed by the tears spilling down her cheeks.

  I rushed to sit next to her, plunking the plate down on the coffee table. “I’m really sorry,” I said.

  “That’s not why I’m crying.”

  I put my arm around her thin shoulders. We’ve never been much for a lot of touching. Maybe it had to do with her disability, but I’d been wary of coming too close, though, at the same time, there had been countless occasions when I’d had to physically help her. Still, that was different from expressing solicitude. Jenny hated the idea that people—including me—were sorry for her.

  “I’m going to ask you a funny question,” Jen said.

  “Okay.”

  “If you met a really good-looking guy, let’s say he was sitting at a table, and after you noticed him, only then did you see he was in a wheelchair—”

  I interrupted, “I can guess where this is going, and it did happen to me once.”

  “You never told me.” She swiped at the tears drying on her face.

  “I was in Widener library, doing some research for one of my novels, and there was this totally handsome guy at one of the reading tables. I
thought later maybe he was a vet because he was dressed like a hippie and had a ponytail.”

  I picked up the plate and offered Jen a bagel. She grabbed a half and immediately took a huge bite. I took the second half and nibbled. She waved at me, obviously saying, Keep going with the story.

  “So he must have become aware of my noticing him.”

  “Yeah?”

  “And he followed me.”

  She stared at me. I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to have hooked up with this guy in a wheelchair, and somehow that fact would magically make her date tonight go well. Trouble was, I had to tell her the truth.

  “I kind of freaked out,” I said. “It wasn’t because he was in a wheelchair, but more his extreme interest. I felt like he was stalking me.”

  I glanced at Jen, who was still aggressively chomping on the last of the bagel. “You’ve had tons of guys attracted to you, Jen. The cripple thing really isn’t an issue, and you know it.”

  “I’d never be attracted to someone in a wheelchair,” she said abruptly.

  “Under the circumstances, I think that makes sense, but it doesn’t mean you can assume your feelings are the only possible feelings out there.”

  “How can I figure a man is truly attracted to me if I don’t see myself as attractive?”

  “You know you’re beautiful.”

  She nodded. “I do … I know I’m beautiful.” Jen’s face was somber as she agreed with me.

  So I said, “I was kidding. You’re not beautiful at all. I’ve been meaning to break it to you.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  I finished my bagel half. “You could try therapy again.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me except that I don’t have legs from the knees down, and I’m entirely missing feet.”

  Our eyes met and then all hell broke lose. We laughed so hard that I got the hiccups and Jen toppled sideways on the couch. I was too swamped by my own laughter to help her back up, so she lay there like a knocked over bowling pin, her hands in little fists beating at the couch pillows. By the time we stopped laughing and I’d hauled Jenny back into a sitting position, I was pretty sure we both felt like we’d been reborn.

  Jen said, “I guess I’m going on this dumb date.”

  “I have a good feeling about it,” I said, grinning.

  I cleaned up the kitchen and did a few odd jobs around Jenny’s apartment, until she ordered me to leave. I looked at her suspiciously. “Are you going to work now?”

  “No choice. We’re in court first thing Monday morning, and I’ve got a ton of material to review.”

  I shook my finger at her, and she shook hers back at me. We laughed, and I took off. I knew she was going to be all right. Her date might not actually succeed, but I could hope that it would. So I did. Hope, that is.

  5

  I POWERED THROUGH THE rest of that Saturday with an unusual, and yes, excessive display of energy, especially for sluggish me. Three loads of laundry, all ironing done immediately, a five-mile run, major grocery shopping that included enough fresh fruit and vegetables to stop any cancer cells in their tracks, and the beginnings of a tomato sauce simmering on the stove. At seven o’clock in the evening, I became quite ill from the smell of the tomato sauce, an odor that I normally found intoxicating. That was when I remembered I didn’t have a date for the evening ahead, and I plunged into despair. I wandered down to my basement study and checked my e-mail. Nothing from Rabbitfish. I swung around in my chair and tried to imagine what he was doing. The only possibility that seemed at all feasible was a fabulous night out with a hot blonde babe, age thirty-five, who spoke five languages and could have had a professional singing career if she’d wanted.

  Unknowable, he’d said. Undoubtedly true.

  Back up the stairs and in my living room, I sat down on the flowered chintz couch. The two front windows were open and the early evening spring air was surprisingly chilly. I felt so tired and dispirited that I knew I had to do something to cheer myself up. I laid a fire in the fireplace, struck a match, and lit it. Then I ran upstairs, opened the windows in the kitchen so that the tomato sauce smells wouldn’t be quite so overpowering, and made myself a Tom Collins. I settled into a corner of the living room couch, with a Mozart CD playing quietly, and the lights turned off. I gazed into the fire and began to give myself a talking-to. The kind that says, Buck up, Be grateful, Quit complaining, It could always be worse, Who needs sex anyway, You have your health.

  Before I’d gotten very far, the phone rang.

  Isaac said, “Rose, am I interrupting?”

  I didn’t want him to know that I was sitting alone in my living room, drinking a Tom Collins. So I answered his question with a question. Always a good tactic. “How can I help you, Isaac?”

  “If you weren’t busy tonight, I was wondering if I could come over. I need to talk to you.”

  I swallowed. He sounded so damn serious, and this was the second time he’d asked to get together and talk. Obviously, something was up and I had this gruesome feeling that it might be serious. Maybe he was dying. How would I feel if I’d refused to listen to him when he really needed me at such a terrible moment in his life?

  “I just built a fire and I’m having a drink. You can come by, if you want.”

  “Thanks—I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  In the kitchen, I packed a crystal glass with ice and carried it back downstairs where a small cabinet held my collection of liquor. I took out the bottle of Scotch and placed it with the glass on a tray. Then I poked at the fire. I did not check my hair or make-up. The days when I wanted to impress Isaac were long gone. In fact, I prayed that my mood of depression had made me look unattractive. Maybe the same thing would be true of him, too. I opened the front door so that he could just walk in, then settled back on the couch.

  Naturally I began to worry about what he was coming to talk to me about, but he arrived before I managed to get very far with the worrying.

  I stood up and he kissed me on both cheeks. I pretended to do the same to him, but I was really just smooching the air around his face.

  “Help yourself to a scotch.” I gestured to the tray.

  “Great, thanks.”

  I sat back down in my corner, and he took the opposite corner. Very cozy. The fire crackled and spit sparks.

  “I have something to tell you that may come as a shock,” he said immediately.

  “Are you sick?”

  “Oh, god, no! I’m sorry you thought—”

  “I didn’t think you were sick, it’s just that when someone sounds so serious and determined to talk, it can be worrisome.”

  “It’s serious, but not bad.”

  I found I was genuinely relieved. “Now I can enjoy my drink.” I took a hefty gulp.

  Isaac matched my gulp with his own. “I’m making a big life change, and you’re one of the first people I wanted to tell.”

  “Must be something in the water,” I said. “Seeing as how I quit the writing life.”

  “I did wonder about both of us doing this at the same time.” He smiled, but gently, without much joy in it.

  “Or maybe it’s the approach of the big five-oh.”

  “The big five-oh?”

  “Fifty years old!”

  He shook his head. “Doubt that has anything to do with my situation.”

  I cocked my head and swallowed more Tom Collins.

  He sucked in his breath. “I’m just going to spit it out.”

  “This better be good,” I said.

  “I’m becoming a monk.”

  I blinked at him, then glanced at the fire while I replayed the words in my mind. Finally, I said, “Uh, Isaac, you’re Jewish.”

  He nodded. “Was.”

  “You’re not Jewish anymore?”

  “I’m a Buddhist now.”

  “I think I’d feel better if you’d said you had a brain tumor.” After the words were out, I clapped both hands over my mouth, horrified.

 
“You’re awful,” Isaac said, pulling his face into a funny expression. “I know you don’t have much use for organized religion.”

  “Or disorganized religion,” I said. “Or any kind of religion in any way, shape, or form.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t seem troubled by what I was saying. I was very troubled. The smell of the tomato sauce seemed to cascade down the stairs and swirl into the room with us. I tried to get a handle on what Isaac had announced, first of all, but also on why he’d somehow felt it necessary to confide in me. His future was his future. He knew we were over, particularly if he was becoming a monk. Not much room for an ex-wife in a Buddhist monastery, for crying out loud.

  “So I know this isn’t something that you care about, but at the same time, I feel you know me better than almost anyone. You may not understand or respect religion, but I think you do understand and respect me. What do you think of my plan?”

  I stared at him. I’m afraid my mouth had dropped open a little bit. I was at a loss. “I can’t imagine what makes you say that I understand you. I don’t understand you at all. I never did.”

  “But you’re the one who told me I was running from love by engaging in so much promiscuous sex.”

  Frankly, I couldn’t remember having said that, but I was pleasantly surprised that he seemed to think I had. It sounded wise to me. Suddenly, I was wise.

  Isaac continued, “And you’re the one who’s been celibate for two years, showing me the way.”

  “You don’t know for a fact that I’ve been celibate!”

  “It’s obvious.”

  “Oh, great.” I drained the Tom Collins and got up to ferociously jab at the fire before throwing in two more logs and watching with satisfaction as they burst into flames. I whirled around and pointed the poker at him. “Whether or not I’ve been celibate is none of your business and whatever I’ve done has nothing to do with showing you the way!”

  “I disagree. And I do agree that I was running from love by using sex. The really surprising thing is that I was running from God’s love when, if anything, I figured I was running from your love.”