Ronnie walked up to the gate and entered the code Calvin had given her back when they started dating. She was sure the manager, Mr. Fingers, would have shit a brick, but it was such an unnecessary pain in the ass to use the callbox. On top of that, Mr. Fingers was such a cheap-ass that he didn’t even send an electrician to fix the intercom in Calvin’s unit. Because of a short that damn thing only worked half the time. Back when they started dating Ronnie would have to toss pebbles at his window to get his attention when the callbox wasn’t working.
She walked up the concrete and iron stairs to the second floor. Celia sat in the plastic chair outside her apartment, smoking. Jesus-god it smelled like she was smoking a clove cigarette. Who the fuck smoked those anymore? She think she’s a vampire or something?
Celia smirked and flicked her ash. She wore that glossy lipstick that men supposedly liked so much. Ronnie didn’t get it. She figured sluts wore that shit. Made it look like they were sucking dick all day.
“How you doing?” Celia said as she blew smoke into the air.
“Doing alright, how about you?” Ronnie could have slapped herself for saying something so stupid. How are you? Like she gave a damn.
“Meh. I’m still alive.”
Ronnie nodded as she passed by. Under her breath she said, “Well good for you.”
“Maybe you and your dude should come over here and have a shot sometime,” Celia said.
What, so you can ply my dude with alcohol and try to steal him from me?
Ronnie knocked on Calvin’s door. She looked at Celia over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. Figured that would send the right message. She didn’t understand why Celia even bothered to talk to her in passing like that. Probably to be a bitch. Sluts did that kind of thing. Made them feel good about themselves when deep inside they felt like offal.
Calvin opened the door and greeted Ronnie with a smile. “Hi, it’s good to see you.”
Ronnie gave him a kiss in the open doorway so that Celia would see, and then she entered the apartment and closed to door.
In the past few weeks the spark Ronnie had felt in the honeymoon stage of their relationship had come back in waves. Though they had only been together for a year, they had become comfortable enough to slip into that often times disastrous stage people find themselves in when they forget to admire and cherish the one they love. Work and circumstance began to take front seat as compassion was slowly pushed to the back and all but forgotten, which had begun to worry Ronnie and cause her to consider whether she and Calvin were meant to be. Her mother had always told her to give a serious relationship a year before even expecting a proposal. Two years would give you enough time to really know someone, and any longer than that without a proposal and you don’t have a man—you’ve got a boy. Run like hell and don’t look back. No woman wants to go through life with an adolescent man-boy.
Ronnie set her purse on the small table in the dining area, not that they did much dining there. Calvin couldn’t cook a grilled cheese sandwich without a fire scare and Ronnie, though a decent enough cook, couldn’t make a proper meal in a bachelor pad that hardly had a matching set of dishes much less measuring cups and cooking utensils more advanced than a fork, knife and spoon. When they ate at his house it was always fast food, consumed on the coffee table in front of the television.
Calvin sat next to her and asked, “So how are you?”
“I’m good. The whore next door said we should come over for a shot.”
“She says a lot of things.”
Calvin reached for Ronnie, gently caressing her arms and legs with the backs of his fingers like he used to do.
“I don’t like her,” said Ronnie.
“Neither do I.”
“You should move.”
Ronnie didn’t really mean that, not as some sort of ultimatum or anything, but it would be nice not to have to face the whore every time she came over. And maybe it would be nice if they moved in together, not that she would bring the subject up. That was on Calvin. He was going to bring it up eventually, right? What did he think they were going to do after the baby was born?
“I would if I could. Gotta get a car first.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
The attention Calvin was giving her was nice, but she was beginning to feel smothered. It was when he ran his fingers across her neck that she drew the line. Something about that gesture freaked her out. She wasn’t scared of Calvin—had no reason to be—but the way he glided his fingers across her neck was creepy, almost as if he had some kind of fascination. Just the other night, while they were making love and he was going to come, he kissed her neck, whipping his tongue around like slurping up ice cream dribbling off the cone on a summer day. It was so strange that she was completely drawn out of the moment, but he didn’t even seem to notice her go frigid.
She could see the bulge of his erection and knew now that he was caressing her because he was horny. Calvin always had a strong sex drive, but recently he was like someone else in bed. Not just the business with her neck, but an entirely different exploration of her body during foreplay. She liked it, but then again it made her wonder where he was learning these new techniques.
With Celia fresh in her mind, Ronnie was in no mood for sex.
Gently, she repositioned herself to make it clear that his efforts were not going to move them into the bedroom—maybe later, but not now. “So what are we doing today?”
Calvin withdrew his hand, clearly getting the picture. Unlike so many other men Ronnie had been with, Calvin was good at picking up on her signals.
“Let’s go to Balboa Park. They have that Organ Pavilion and lots of cool trails. Plenty to do.”
“I haven’t been there in a long time. I think the last time I went was back in high school on a trip with some friends to the museums to look at a painting for a project or report or something. What a bore-fest.”
“There’s a lot more to see than just the museums.”
Ronnie shrugged. “All right. Let’s go.”
Ronnie drove them to Balboa Park. Calvin had his driver’s license, but since he hadn’t had a car in so long Ronnie was more comfortable driving. Calvin didn’t mind. It was far more relaxing and entertaining to watch people in the cars beside them or on the street. He found it fascinating to see the various ways their corpses were presented to him. They were like little gifts. One man in an old Ford escort wagon had so much of his head missing it looked like he went into a wood chipper head first but was pulled back just a minute too late. Calvin could swear his eyes were globs of pulped jelly, and yet somehow he was driving.
Ronnie talked about this and that. Calvin only half listened to her. He smiled a lot, but it was easy to smile when she spoke, for her neck wound was like a second mouth and seemed to echo the words coming out of her mouth. Just a few days ago he suggested they have a cigar, which was such an unusual request that Ronnie laughed at him. He fumbled out some half-assed excuse for celebration, but she wouldn’t have any of it. “I’m pregnant. Duh!” she’d said. Really he just wanted to see the smoke drift up and out of her throat. Wanted her to take a drag from the laceration. Wouldn’t that be fucking cool!
Then again, he wondered whether she could even do that. She wasn’t aware of the way she looked to him. None of them were. He kind of wondered whether any of it was real at all. Where he once harbored resentment, back when the images of death haunted him, he now found great comfort. Death was a great big goddamned quilt, the kind made with the blood, sweat and tears of a loving mother or granny. The kind that a child cherishes and drags along everywhere he goes.