Bill lived in a glass closet fogged by breath. He exhaled in Newport. He was waiting until his parents died in Greenberg, so he could come out and breathe fresh air instead of boxed. He scribbled his name and his plans n the door as he waited. He had a telephone and TV in there so he wasn’t entirely cut off from the world. He had a wife outside that waited for him. There was a son who wanted to know him. He felt gut twinges. He felt regret. Waiting for the phone call to be himself. He only left it when he went out into the world of business, briefcase at his side. As soon as he came home, into the rolling closet he went. His son brought him the food. Bill never could remember his name. It came and passed like leaves pass in winds.
“Here’s your dinner, Dad.”
“Thanks, Junior.”
“Dad? Can you help me with my homework?”
“What do you have to do, Hector?”
So the Nameless Son went into the world wondering and didn’t com back for a long time. Bill could hardly ever make it up the stairs to his wife’s room. It took the burning necessity of an anniversary (or another special annual event) for him to leave that closet, to go up those stairs, to crawl under those sheets, and be a husband.
Her name was Tracey. She and Bill had been married since they could afford a ring.
She, Tracey, had a series of semi-serious affairs before her Bill found out. He walked in mid-coitus and walked out soon there afterwards. Tracey and her lover got dressed and went downstairs afterwards. They feared the possibility of a firearm ending the situation.
“You think that he has gun?”
“He wouldn’t do that.
“How do you know?”
“I just know. Bill’s not like that.”
“Has he caught you fucking guys in his bed before?”
“No.”
“Then you really don’t know. Do you?”
“Don’t be such an ass.”
“I think I can be an ass when I’m afraid for my fucking life, here.”
“Just shut up and get ready.”
They went down. Bill left a note.
“Went out. Don’t wait up.
-Bill”
With the romance out the window and out of the question, Tracey’s lover left in his khaki pants, grumbling underneath his breath. Tracey sat at the kitchen table. She twiddled her thumbs.
Her ass fell asleep beneath her and her head drooped with fatigue. She got up ad looked at the clock on the wall. She went into the living room. She looked out the window shade and saw the Bill’s care was where she though it was. Gone. She sat on the couch. She was cold. She covered herself with a blanket. She turned on the TV. Buy a set of dolls and get a new set of dolls free. She soon fell asleep.
Bill came back after the sun had set. Tracey woke up when she heard the screen door slam. She went up towards it to meet her husband.
His jacket was over his shoulder and his shirt was dirty, untucked.
She expected Bill through the door with loaded guns. She expected to be cursed at, have her name dragged through the mud; to have their business known to the gossiping neighbors. She anticipated that she would be called the terrible names that she had been calling herself in the kitchen.
Her Bill only looked at her. They stared at each other with the doll house selling as white noise, price-cutting, Tracey’s pulse jumping.
Bill looked at her impassively. After about 30 seconds, Bill broke eye contact and headed towards the stairs. He creaked as he went upwards. Tracey unfroze and went to the stairs. He cried after him:
“Hey…”
Bill turned down the stairs. He said:
“Hey.”
“I w-waited up for you…”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Bill continued up the stairs.
“Hey…”
“Hmm?”
“You wanna talk?”
“Talk about what?”
Pause. Tracey froze in her thoughts. She quickly thawed.
“About what happened earlier today…”
Bill paused, turned around. He said:
“Not really.”
He continued up the stairs.
Tracey stood confused. She came back to life when she heard the bedroom door slam. She then realized that she hadn’t remade the bed.
No sex kills a marriage. That’s the message every magazine, day dream, and other piece of media shown to Tracey. She wasn’t a fool or an idiot. She didn’t believe all the printed words se heard. How can ears turn someone on? The word “pussy” ruins a conversation instead of making it sensual. But she couldn’t help but feel that her world was collapsing when she read those words, while waiting for her dentist appointment. Was her Bill watching porn on the computer? Should they rent a movie together? Should they go out for a picnic? Should they have awkward sex in the car like teenagers? Handcuffs? Books on the topic? Lubricant? Should she get a haircut? Should she do something weird? Should she wear a sign around her neck saying “C’mon?” Should she get new bedsheets? Should she visit him at his office? Should wear edible underwear? Would those taste good? DO they rot? Do they have an expiration date? Would she have to refrigerate edible underwear? Would they be could when she put them on? Should she whisper in his ear? How could she stop the seemingly inevitable event of the death of marriage?
She decided to spice things up. Wax, manicure, pedicure, shoes, lotion, candles, music of guttural noises, softcore, she didn’t get edible underwear but got classic, their son was at college so what should they care if he came home, strawberries, rose petals, beer, wine, roasted duck from a gourmet delivery service, some champagne, all of these were up for decision, a new bottle of perfume, she watched a couple of episodes of Real Sex, read a couple of pages of female magazines, she learned 20 ways to turn her man on, she took them to heart, she practiced on a pillow, she realized that the pillow wasn’t anatomically correct nor appropriate, she got all the things ready, threw away he receipts, recycled the shopping bags, closed the blinds, lead the rose petals from the door, up the stairs, to the bed, she couldn’t decide if it was sexier to meet n the bed with lingerie or in a bubble bath, she consulted the magazines, decided for the bed, she took some of the pain medication for the root canal she had, she took a shower, sprayed herself with perfume, turned on her cell phone, checked the time, dried herself off again, used the restroom, sprayed the bathroom with perfume, put on the ridiculous lingerie, felt herself be cut off with all those straps and interconnecting wires, she put on the high heels, she debated whether or not they were appropriate, were they nice or were they hooker-esqe, should she be a hooker, role-playing, she decided no, one step at a time, they were nice shoes though she thought, she put them on, tried to walk in them, she fumbled and her thigh hit the bed rail, she could feel the bruise forming, she said a dirty word, she said multiple dirty words, she enjoyed the fact that she could say them now without damaging her child o giving him right to say them, it had been so long she was rusty with her obscenities, she jumbled them, she looked in the mirror, her navel was showing in between the top ad the panties, her crotch was above the table, she was usually sorter than this, she was feeling altitude sick, “Fuckin’shit I look good,” she took off the heels though, she laid on the bed in repose, her head holding her head up, she looked at her phone on the end table, she turned off the lamp, she thought about how they would do, improvise, plan, crazy desire spread from sheet to wall to sheet to pillow to floor to bathtub from back to front sweat embraces and exhaustion eventually, she was no spring chicken, she didn’t know what that meant she thought that it could mean that she couldn’t have sex for over an hour without falling asleep or pulling a hamstring, should she have gotten some Bengay, man that bruise was growing, it grew like a weed, what time is it, is it time, should be home now, he should be home now, it’s getting late, she got up, she looked out the window shade, she didn’t want the neighborhood kids to see her all dolled up for lovin’, is that what it’s called, what cool words were the white kids stealing from black kids now, should she make herself ready, no, that’s weird, and a little nasty, is that nasty, would he like to see that, maybe he gets himself then I get myself ready, like take turns, or at the same time, to one another, is that weird, nasty, it’s nasty she decided, does he want to, she checked the magazine again, then she laid on the bed, these sheets are nice, like really good, they are so worth the cost, should I have gotten a different color, white is kinda tacky, maybe blue, is he gonna wanna stick it in my ass, checked the magazine again, no, I’m not going to do that, should he be home by now, he should, I wonder what our little boy is doing so far away, she looked at the picture of her boy on the drawer, she looked at him, all blonde curls and smiles, Bill was in the back smiling, dog was wagging his tail, that was good day, our baby got a balloon and Bill held my hand on the boardwalk as the sun set in the west over the ocean, we haven’t been to the beach in forever, would it be sexier if I had my hair u or down, she looked at her reflection I the glass of the frame, she took the picture, she now was a lot older and had too much makeup on, she put the frame back on the drawer, she set it face down, it would be odd to see that in the middle of the business, kind of a turn off, she thought of the times when they first had their boy, he laid in the bed with them, night after night until he was ten or so, then he got his own room, nighttime encounters were at a standstill, what if he comes back in, what if he comes in when it’s storming and he’s scared and he wants to sleep with us and he walks in on us, that would be horrible, she wondered what happened to him, he left the nest and flew towards the sun, the son and the sun, he flew and she didn’t know what had happened to him when he went to college, he called every so often from a phone that the caller I.D. didn’t recognize, he would call, say hi, then go away, she wouldn’t hear from him until later, oh junior, oh my son, my son, where are you going, where have you been, we miss you, Bill and Tracey abstained from sex, so they didn’t do anything, they still hadn’t done anything since the last anniversary they had, hotel, nice dinner, steak, 20 minutes, done, TV, sleep, wake up, done done done, there’s an empty nest now, no eggs or chicks, so they need to fill it again, “Ways to Turn Up the Heat in Your Empty Nest,” “Ways to Make Your Man Come Back for Seconds,” “ Keep Your Sex Life Golden in Your Golden Years,” Tracey looked out the window again, she checked the clock, she checked her phone, 20 minutes left, he’s late, you think he’d call, maybe this wasn’t a good idea, she got on the bed sprawled out and read the magazines, she kept her hair down, her makeup was starting to get hard, and licked her finger to turn each page, she took some more pain medication, she drifted asleep.
She and Bill were under the covers. The rose petals were on the floor. He had his back turned towards her. And the whole room reeked of cheap perfume.
She held no great concern for her lovers as she did for her Bill. She was a black widow in her eyes. She bought them dinner, fucked their brains out, sent them on their way. They were young. About 20-25. Old enough to keep their mouth’s shut to heir friends young enough to be lured by their dicks. Some never grow outta that stage though. She kept the perfume in a bag in the lower drawer. The ridiculous lingerie was thrown in the garbage along with the magazines. And she hadly kept that picture frame down for the majority of the time.
She thought she would not die blind to her desires. She always felt bad for her Bill, though.
Bill drove the car with clench fists. Sweat came out of his work shirt. He looked at the road with bitterness. He stopped at a house he knew. He got out. He knocked on the door. The door opened. Bill said:
“Hey…”
“Hey, Bossman. What’s up?”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure. Go on.”
He went into the door. It was closed behind him.
He was soon soaking in the bathtub. He looked up at the ceiling. White boards. He counted the slits. He looked at the tile yellow. He looked at is feet covered in hobbit-hair. He looked at his navel. He looked at his slowly growing man breasts. He saw his dick bobbing in the water like a deep sea buoy. The setting sunlight shined through the window. He had a beer. He was nursing another one now. It sat beside the tub. He put the rag on his forehead. His sweaty workshirt was on the floor somewhere. His jacket was somewhere lost. His shoes were kicked off. His socks were on the bathroom floor. His wedding ring was in the drink holder of the sedan in the driveway.
He felt release now. He felt at ease. E felt freed and unchained. He felt a whoosh of wind. He felt as light as air, as bundles as the ocean, he felt immortal, he had a Walt Whitman aura going in the lukewarm water.
The bathroom door opened.
“Hey…”
Bill said without opening his eyes but with a smile on his face.
“Hey.”
“How are you?”
“I am perfect.”
“Enjoying your bath?”
“Mmmmhmm.”
The voice eased towards the bath. Bill tried to raise his head out of the water.
“Shhhh. No. Lay back.”
He did. He closed his eyes. He exhaled.
A hand was on his thigh and moving upwards.
At that moment, Bill was sure that if the water were to be emptied he would follow it.
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