“It came over me one day. With chills and prickly heat.”
“Why did you get divorced?”
“Well, Barbara, it came down to a question between the cat and me. One of us had to go. The cat went first.”
“I didn’t call you all the time you were married.”
“Thank you.”
“I just heard you got divorced last week. I bumped into Charlie.”
“How’s Charlie?”
“Fletcher, do you think you and I could make it together again?”
“How much weight did you say you’ve gained?”
“A lot. I’m really gross.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I don’t like the place I’m living. Are you still in the apartment on Clearwater Street?”
“I still live on the Street of Magnificent Plumbing.”
“I’m sorry I divorced you, Fletch. I really regret it.”
“Ah, well. Easy come. .Easy go.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m trying to eat a sandwich.”
“What I’m trying to say is, I’m trying to apologize to you. For divorcing you.”
“Don’t give it a thought.”
“I’ve grown up a lot.”
“It comes with gaining weight, I think.”
“The girls really bothered me, you know.”
“Girls? What girls?”
“Oh, Fletch. You were just making love to everybody in town. All the time. You’d be gone for days on end. Sometimes I think you were making love to five or six different girls a week. I mean, you never hesitated.”
“I get seduced easily.”
“I thought it was awful. Every girl I looked at on the street, complete strangers, their eyes would say: I’ve made love to your husband, too. It was spooky. I mean, you never hesitated to make love to anybody.”
“It’s good exercise.”
“Anyway, I think I’ve grown up. To accept that.”
“You have?”
“Yes, Fletch. I understand. You’re a male nymphomaniac.”
“I am not.”
“You are, Fletch. You just run around the city fucking people.”
“Well…”
“You can’t deny it.”
“Well…”
“I think it’s cute. I can accept it, now. You do understand that at first it bothered me.”
“I don’t know why it should.”
“It did. But it won’t anymore. I’m all grown up now, and you can play with anybody you like.”
Fletch drank from the carton of milk.
“Fletch?”
“Yes, Barbara?”
“What I mean is: can we live together again?”
“What a wonderful idea.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure, Barbara.”
“My lease runs out the end of this week—”
“Move in Friday.”
“Really?”
“Friday morning. Sorry I won’t be able to help you, but as you know, I have to run down to court for a few minutes.”
“I know. How awful.”
“But it would make everything all right, if you’re there at the apartment when I get back.”
“I’ve got a lot of junk now. I’ll need a whole moving van.”
“That’s all right. You just back the moving van up to the service elevator and get yourself moved in. Arrange things as you like. And then when I get back from court, we’ll have a nice lunch together.”
“Terrific. Fletcher, you’re beautiful.”
“Just like the old days, Barbara.”
“I’d better get packing.”
“See you Friday. Maybe I’ll take the weekend off.”
“Fletcher, I love you.”
***
As Fletch was reaching for the second half of the second sandwich, the phone rang again. It was almost two o’clock.
“I.M. Fletcher’s line.”
“Fletcher, that’s you.”
“Linda—my second wife.”
“What happened to you the other night?”
“What other night?”
“Friday night. You told me to rush right over. To the apartment. You weren’t there.”
“I got held up.”
“It wasn’t funny, Fletcher. I mean, if that’s your idea of a joke.”
“Are you sore?”
“Of course not. At your apartment, I got all ready. I washed my hair and everything. It took me a while to find the dryer. The hair dryer.”
“You washed your hair?”
“And I waited and I waited. I slept on the couch.”
“Poor Linda.”
“It wasn’t very funny.”
“I told you I was stoned.”
“What happened to you.”
“I ended up at The Beach.”
“Couldn’t you have waited for me?”
“I didn’t know I was going.”
“Did you spend the night with a girl?”
“Yes.”
“You’re something else.”
“Linda, I’ve been thinking…”
“Doesn’t sound it.”
“I mean, since the other night. I had to go think.”
“I understand. You always had to go think.”
“I’ve been thinking about you since the other night. What I mean is, you know, I don’t earn much here on the newspaper.”
“I know. By the way, Mr. Gillett says there was something funny about your check.”
“I know. He has me in court Friday morning.”
“Poor Fletch.”
“I agree. We must do something, Linda.”
