He flung open the oak door of his East Side loft and made straight for the answering machine.
“August 27th 4 pm. Will it’s Jillian come and get your shit before I throw it out… And by the way I hope that slut has enough common sense to realize what a coward you are.”
He tossed his weighty key chain on the custom mahogany side table, next to the turned down picture frame
.
“September 1st 5 pm. Will…it’s your ex…if you want to see your dog again you better come and get him”
He ambled into the well-lit corner and sat down his suitcase. Once polished it was now moldering from unnumbered hotel lobbies of auxiliary lives. The acronyms of several airports ringed its ergonomic handle- LAX, BKK, SHA, DXB, DKR, CDG.
“September 21st 8 pm. Will its Jill. Fucking come get your shit you selfish bastard or are you occupied fucking that rake on that wretched sofa? Bye.”
It was true. The ivory sofa sat huddled in the middle of the piece as well Club Med resort in a third world country. He had had it delivered in a whim after an embattled minute with a ravishing woman as thin as Eucharist wafer. He had taken her card just in case the color didn’t correspond. A week later he had invited her up to see the results. And with the inexplicable habit of laughing at the worst moment he didn’t even have enough time to cry out “it’s not what you think” when Jill walked in.
October 28th 9pm. It’s Jill. Just calling to wish you happy Halloween. Maybe this year you could be Judas. I hope all is well at the bank you monster.
He had been in Bangkok during Halloween, traipsing around the red-light with a mob of his compatriots. He had eavesdropped on them in the hotel bar and feeling in need of talk bought them drinks until they invited them out. “I am writer” he had told them, fearing his true occupation would bore there rapacious idealism. They were ten years his junior and consequently, similar to the youth of today, they washed every festivity down with copious amounts of booze. They must have figured their bottles were trumpets. He struggled to keep up but pressed himself for a second youth. The next morning while hugging the toilet Jillian’s face came back to him but the traces of anger had dissipated from her downturned lips.
“Nov 20th 11pm. Will. Ten years ago we met on the elevator. I just wanted to thank you for wasting the best ten years of my life.”
The 20th had been their anniversary. He had passed it in a Shanghai massage parlor. He had gotten sucked in by a smiling yet submissive woman who had complimented him on his attire. This was true; His clothes had become classier and more presentable the older and uglier he had become. He had no longer feared looking like everyone else.
“Jan 1st 4 am. Will…? Are you there…? Where the fuck are you…? Bye.”
New years had found him in Dakar, struggling through the smoke and testosterone stratosphere of early morning courtship. That virus of Rastafarianism had struck particularly hard and the happy-go-lucky upstroke on the guitar pushed him out into the fresh night. He finally had a girl under his sturdy arm, like a swing set. They had communicated not without difficulty. It had been the language or it had been the culture or whatever the fuck it was and he paid her a cab home. She left insulted and he continued under the fireworks of the palm trees. The sun rising, pregnant like a newlywed he had kept behind him until he made it back to his hotel. He booked the next flight to Paris.
“January 31st 11pm Jake told me you were in Paris. You won’t find what you are looking for there.”
Maudlin women in boots walked like spiders up and down the boulevards. He had pretended to wait on the corner. He had waited on a bridge. The whole city played hard to get. He had felt invisible amidst the couples and groups of youths. Will had sat in cafes, thinking. He had made a furtive glance at his reflection, just to see how much he could afford not to care. Will had stumbled home in the lime colored light at dawn and booked the next flight home
.
“Hello”
“Hello”
“You were right about Paris”
“I guess you can only be disappointed to the extent of your expectations”
“You still have our dog?”
“Yes”
AT
this is sharp. i like the discontinuity of the little snippets, and messages as the plot-mover is clever. i want to know more about jill, but she's not the focus, so i dunno. i like it.
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