on incomes and spending patterns.
Eugene glanced up at Susan on the stairs. «Good morning, sunshine. Dressed for casual Friday, I see.»
On the walls surrounding Eugene's work area were dozens of wood and velvet plaques of clouds and sun and snow and temperatures ranging from 230 up to 120. She walked down the steps and picked up a velvet sun. «Whoo-ee! I'm all sunny today.» She noted Eugene's flash of disapproval and placed the sun back in its correct orbit.
«Thank you,» said Eugene, who continued with his clerical chores. Susan came up close to get a better peek at his documents, backing into Eugene.
He turned around. «Can you work a copier?»
«Back on the set of
«Near the end. A few times. Once the weather got wrecked.»
«I guess you'd know.» She sat down on a stacking chair and watched Eugene. «When the show was canceled, Glenn, the head writer, loaded a commissary drinking straw with NutraSweet. Back on the set, he opened the copier's top and blew the NutraSweet into the machine, onto the drum. Killed the machine dead. They had to throw it out. It's like the worst thing on earth for copiers.»
«This house is a Nuclear Weapons Free Zone. We'll be having none of your white-collar sabotage during your stay here.» But he couldn't hold back a smile.
The copier created a relaxing rhythm. Susan's eyes glazed and her thoughts wandered. «Did your TV station can you because you were nuts?»
Eugene, sorting papers, spoke: «Nah. They didn't can me. I was injured on the job. I took early retirement.»
«You were injured doing the nightly weather?»
«As it happened, yes. You want to know what happened? I was crushed by a Coke machine.»
«On the job?»
«In the studio, so it was insured and unionized up the ying-yang. They installed a talking Coke machine which weighed, like, a ton more than a normal mute Coke machine. So this ugly little twerp with hockey hair shakes the machine back and forth, getting a rhythm going, until a can or two pops out, and the thing toppled down on top of him and it crushed him like a piсata. I happened to be passing by and my right foot got smashed. Look …»
Eugene removed his sock, and Susan bent down to look at Eugene's right foot, which, with its scars and stitches, resembled a map of Indiana divided into small, countylike chunks. «Ouch City, Arizona,» said Susan.
«You said it, baby. The kid was a goner, and I didn't walk for maybe seven months afterward. In the meantime they brought in a new guy with a fresher, perkier smile than me, who also focus-grouped like a royal wedding. I didn't have it in me to flog my butt around to the other stations. Too old. And if you're old in the weather biz, you either turn into a wacky eunuch real quick, or take a hike. So I hiked.»
«Let me see your foot more closely.» She sat down. «Put it in my lap.»
Eugene turned off the copier, and silence, like solidified Lucite, filled the air. He sat on a chair opposite Susan and hoisted his leg up and dropped it into Susan's lap.
Susan said, «Mom trained me
«No. Some of it I can't feel at all. And some of it feels like regular touching and …»
Susan looked him in the eye and applied more pressure but was also more thoughtful, kneading both the bottom leathery pads and tender spots between the toes.
«I saw you that night — at the pageant. You winked. Your wink almost bruised me,» Susan confessed. Her hands locked onto his ankles. She stared him down: «I've been through a lot this week. I need a shower, Eugene.»
He led her up out of the basement. They reached the bathroom. Susan turned on the water, clean and hot, and in an instant they were naked and wet and all over each other like scrapping dogs. Susan felt her skin shouting with relief, as though it had been long smothered, and her insides felt like she was riding in a fast elevator. They slammed into each other, releasing unknown volumes of anger and lust and loneliness until finally the water went cold and they left the tub. Eugene opened a cupboard which contained, to Susan's surprise, fresh towels.
A few minutes later, Susan was looking into Renata's old closet for something to wear. «I'm going to borrow one of these Bob Mackie gowns here. I see she left her stuff behind.» There were hundreds of dresses and outfits hanging from a dry cleaner's mechanized conveyor belt. The outfits did a dainty little jig as Susan turned the system on and off. «Boy, if Mom could see
«Christ, turn that thing off. The noise is like the theme song to a show I don't watch anymore.»
«She can't have been that bad.»
«
«Still am, technically. We never divorced.»
«Rock star guy. Rough stuff, I imagine.»
«Chris? Rough, yes, but stuff, no. He's gay as a goose. I married him so he could get a green card and so I could remain close to his Catholic and very married manager Larry Mortimer.» She stopped playing with the clothing rack.
Eugene was dialing on the cordless, ordering groceries. «Oh God.»
«What?»
«You're real,» he said.
«As opposed to … ?»
He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling fan. «I've got a good thing going here. My time is all my own. I don't have to deal with …»
«With what?»
«With
Susan looked at him. «I agree. You
Now they were both looking at the ceiling and holding hands. Eugene asked her, «What did the focus groups say about you?»
«What do you mean?»
«You know. The focus groups. The ones they brought in to pick you apart so the network could figure out what makes you
Susan was intrigued. «Why?»
«I'll tell you what they said about me. Then you tell me what they said about you.»
«Okay, deal.»
«Women said, “What's with his hair? Is it real? Is that his real color?” They said, “Ooh, me so horny, me want humpy astronaut.” They said, “I'd go metric for you, baby.” Guys weren't as descriptive. They just called me nothing, but once they saw my face, they knew the sports segment was over and could switch off the set.» He lit a cigarette then lay back and chuckled. «TV.
Susan spooned into him. The sheets felt like cool pastry marble.
She said, «Near the end they knew they had enough episodes to syndicate, so they stopped focus-grouping. But at the start I got stuff like “I can see the zits underneath her makeup. Can't you guys find her a putty knife? That's one helluva thick paper bag she's trying to act her way out of. Her tits are like fried eggs gone all runny.” That kind of stuff.» Their eyes caught and they both laughed.
