“Marjorie, this is Phillip. Tell Henry I’m sick.”
“O.K.”
She hung up.
I sat on the bed, chuckling. How silly of her to have done that. Now she had the rest of her life to wonder about what form my revenge would take. I chuckled, “Kill, kill, kill.” The phone rang. I grabbed it. Henry’s voice said, “Phillip? Phillip?”
“Phillip. Phillip.”
“Don’t tell me you’re sick.”
“Of course not.”
I cracked the receiver against the wall, let it crash to the floor.
He piped: “Pheeleep, Pheeleep … Sometheen hapeen tee Pheeleep, Marjoreep.”
I pushed over a chest of drawers.
“Pheeeep, Pheeeep.”
I sang, “La, la,” and vomited on the receiver.
“Pheeweep, wa dee mawee? … dee oo ha fie wee Ceceeweep?”
I felt better, hung up, undressed. I lay down, shut my eyes, began screwing Ceceeweep, but everyone was jumping, shouting, except the marine and me. There had been a crash. He nodded in my direction. I nodded back, very pleased to have been recognized by a person like him, with his moral haircut. The man dropped his crossword puzzle, yelled, “Breakdown. There’s been a serious breakdown.” He started to masturbate, but the train wouldn’t move and suddenly, pop, he ripped his prick off. I screamed and a girl said, “Phillip, what’s wrong?”
“Who?”
“A succubus.”
I tried to smile. “You come back later, baby. I’m a tad indisposed.”
She stood beside the bed, didn’t move. I heard her breathing.
“Don’t stand in the vomit, sweets.”
“Shit!”
“You stood in it, eh?”
“Never mind. I see you’re wearing a shoe, Phillip. Do you always sleep with a shoe?”
“Get up to leak, hop right to the bowl. Saves fuss.”
“Phillip, don’t you want to look at me?”
“I’m sick.”
“A man is the sum of his actions.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I believe you, Phillip, though some would say I’m mad.”
“You good succubus, baby.”
“Open your eyes. I’ll take my clothes off, too.”
“It’s cold.”
A coat and trousers dropped on me. A hat, shirts, ties, laundry bag, suitcase, something heavy. I smelled it.
“Good idea.”
“Do you have another rug?”
“That’s the only rug.”
“May I get under it with you?”
“Gimme a cigarette.”
I tried to sit, but there was too much weight on my chest. She put a cigarette against my lips. I dragged.
“Light it.”
“Sorry.”
“Light it.”
“The answer is nopey nopey.”
“Get under.”
I smoked. She put a leg across mine, a hand on my belly. She said, “I want to ask you something.”
“Ask.”
“When a man is as sick as you, inhibitions vanish, right? He’ll say anything, right?”
Her lips were in my ear.
“Ask, ask.”
“What do you think … I can’t. See that. Ha, ha. I’ll never get another chance like this.”
“Oh, Cecily, ask, ask.”
I crushed the cigarette against the wall.
“I want to ask what you think of me. What do you think of me, Phillip?”
She seized my prick.
“I like your style,” I screamed.
“What else?”
“There’s nothing else.”
She flung my prick down.
“I didn’t have to come here, Phillip. I didn’t have to chase out screaming for a taxi. You talk to me, you. I asked a question. What do you think of me, Phillip?”
“There’s general agreement.”
“That so?”
“Pretty general fucking agreement.”
“What, what do people say?”
“They say you’re an asshole.”
“Is that what you feel? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I’m too sick to make qualifications.”
“Goodbye, Phillip. This is the last time.”
I grabbed her wrist. Things hit the floor. The rug scratched everywhere. She twisted, kicked, thrashed.
“Bastard. Take a shower. You wanted to infect me.”
“No one else.”
“You don’t love me. Say it. I want to hear you say it.”
“No one else.”
“You swear?”
She kissed me. I pushed down on her head.
“I’m tired, Phillip.”
I pushed, pushed.
“Say you love me, Phillip.”
I pushed, pushed.
“Merm,” she said.
“No teeth,” I yelled. “Watch the teeth.”