NINE

My cat meets me at the door screaming and whining. Barry must have forgotten to feed her again. “All right, baby,” I soothe the cat.

I kneel on the floor to pet her, and I drop my knapsack down next to me. It thuds loudly against the hard wood. I hear the coughing start in the next room over the blaring of the TV he fell asleep watching. Guess he’s awake now.

The cat rubs her face insistently against the side of my hand, mewling. I pick her up and start to walk down the hall towards the kitchen. Barry stumbles into the hallway, still half asleep. “Got a cigarette?” he mumbles.

I glare at him in answer. I continue into the kitchen, where I put the cat down next to her bowl and fill it. Her litter box is overflowing with old turds. The kitchen sink is full of dishes that are crusted over with dried grease.

“Just what exactly is your function around here aside from smoking all my cigarettes and eating all my food?” I fume.

The official agreement is that Barry does the housework, since I’m the only one of us who makes money. I’m still waiting for him to hold up his end without me yelling at him to do something around here. I take his laziness personally.

“Hi, angel. You’re a little bit late. Did you have a good time?” Barry’s voice is laced with sarcasm. “Fuck anyone?”

“I wish,” I mutter under my breath.

He leans closer, his eyes piercing. “Got a cigarette?” he repeats.

It’s about one o’clock in the afternoon, and I still haven’t been to sleep. That after-hours nonsense did a job on my head. I’m starting to get really cranky.

Barry just woke up, so he’s cranky too. I’ve never seen anyone wake up as mean as Barry does. He reminds me of a caged, prowling animal. He looks dangerous right now, so I give him the cigarette. He lights it off one of the burners. He blows streams of smoke into my face.

“When are you going to clean?” I ask.

“I said that I would do it,” he hisses at me between drags. “Now get off my fucking back!”

“Off your back? You have some goddamned nerve!” I explode. “You are so unbelievably lazy! You do absolutely nothing around here! You’re twice my age and I’m the only one who ever brings in a red cent! You haven’t made a dime since I’ve known you! It’s supposed to be the other way around! The girls at work all have older men taking care of them!”

The neighbor below us pounds on the ceiling. I stomp my foot angrily a few times in response. Whoever lives downstairs needs to mind his own business.

“You said that you would do it three days ago,” I continue. “Here is the broom. Do it now. Do it now, or get the fuck out of my house. Those are your choices.”

I have my hands on my hips. I sound exactly like my mother. Except she doesn’t cuss. I wonder whether yelling at us ever made her feel as ridiculous as I do now. I hear myself, and I wince inwardly. But I keep going, because I know I’m right. Barry needs to pull his weight.

“Barry, goddamn it, what’s it gonna be?”

“I HEARD YOU!” he yells.

“THEN PICK UP THE FUCKING BROOM AND GET STARTED!” I yell back.

Barry makes a sudden move. I flinch, waiting for a blow. It wouldn’t be the first time. He pulls back the punch, walks out of the room and grabs his jacket instead. Then he walks out the front door, slamming it.

“Bastard,” I whisper under my breath. He’ll be back in a few days. In the mean time, if I want this place clean I will have to do it myself. It’s going to take forever.

I don’t have the strength right now. I smoke a cigarette, inhaling in quick gasps, and then I collapse in my bed.

I don’t have to work tonight. I sleep until dusky shadows haunt my windows, and I wake up hungry. I phone the diner down the road to order a sandwich and fries. They say they’ll deliver it in thirty minutes.

I have plenty of cigarettes and no one to see. There’s absolutely no reason to go outside.

The cat jumps onto the dresser while I’m smoking and lands on the answering machine. It starts to play back a message that’s probably pretty old by now. My mom called. I don’t know when. This is the first time I’ve heard the message.

I should call her back to let her know I’m still alive.

I should, but I won’t. I’ve got nothing good to say. Speaking to each other would only upset us both.

There’s not much on TV. I settle on a movie I’ve already seen and pull the blankets up to my chin. I’m not even bothering to get dressed. On my days off, I don’t have to be pretty for anyone.

I hate to admit it, but the place is empty without Barry’s specter roaming the remote control next to me.

All of the people I could call to hang out are working at Angels tonight. I can’t think of a single thing to do now that I’m not there with them. So I’m marking time in my own home until my next shift. Toward what, I haven’t a clue.

I don’t know anyone who isn’t in the night life. Most of my friends are people whose real names I’ve never learned. Sometimes one of them will call me at home. It’s unnerving when someone calls here and asks for me by my stage name. But I always answer to it.

I’m lonely and I’m bored. My legs are still sore from yesterday’s shift. The underlying fatigue never really seems to go away.

I’ve got better than three grand in cash sitting right under my mattress. I could use that money to go any place I want to go. Why do I feel like I’m trapped here, instead?

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