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“Yes?” the doorman says. James has never seen him before.
“I’m James Dieke. I live here,” he says, holding up his keys.
The doorman lets him in. “Are you new?” James says. It feels better to talk. If he can just keep talking, maybe he can get through this. “Are you married? I’m married. I’m not sure if I like being married, but what can you do?”
“Good night,” the doorman says.
James rides the elevator to his floor. Does it take a minute or forever? He grew up on Long Island in a row house. Every house was the same. His had rattan furniture from Sears.
(His grandmother ate red-and-white-striped candies. Peppermints, she said. She wore flowered housedresses.)
Winnie’s house had a pool and a tennis court. Her father was a judge. Winnie had a black Prince tennis racket.
This is very, very important.
Someone brought a monkey to school once. Its tail was worn.
Birds are chirping. It’s a terrible noise. Who knew New York City had so many birds? He enters his apartment. He’s going to show them all. He’s going to write this book. It’s earth-shattering. People have to know about this.
“Winnie,” he says.
She’s lying in bed. She opens her eyes and glares at him. Turns over.
Someone’s got to know about this.
James shakes her. “It’s this giant government plot, Winnie. Winnie, are you awake? It’s the overcrowding of the niche structures but instead of using rats they’re using monkeys and they’re finding that the same behavior occurs in primates which means that it goes all the way to the heart of the inner-city housing crisis. Of course, Stephen Jay Gould discovered the same construct in his snail studies . . .”
“Go . . . to . . . the . . . couch.”
“. . . which he then applied to primates, and Darwin never read Mendel. Do you know what that means? Darwin never read Mendel?”
“What the hell are you talking about, James?” She looks at him. Then she must really look at him because she says, “Holy shit. You’re a mess. You look like a bum. And you smell.”
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” James says. He isn’t sorry. Suddenly, he feels an overwhelming (and inexplicable) affection for her. He wants to make love. He wants to have sex. He’s got to have sex.
He sits on the edge of the bed. “You’re so wonderful. You’re such a wonderful wife. I always want to tell you how much I love you, but you never give me a chance.”
“You’re disgusting,” Winnie says. “I’d ask you to move out right now, but it’s too late. You can go to a hotel in the morning.” She pulls the covers over her head.
“Everybody admires you so much. Tanner is crazy about you.”
“I can’t have this,” Winnie says. She’s going to explode. She has work in the morning. (Why is it that everybody else thinks that their shit is so much more important than her shit? She’d like someone else to acknowledge the importance of her shit. For once.)
James puts his arms around her. He tries to kiss her.
“James,” she says.
“You’re so . . . pretty,” James says, trying to stroke her hair.
“James, go to sleep. . . . James, stop it. . . . I’m going to have you arrested for conjugal rape. . . . James, get off me.”
Winnie screams. James rolls to the side. He moans.
“Go to the couch!” Winnie says.
“I can’t.”
Winnie throws off the covers. “We’re going to have a long talk tomorrow. About your behavior. We’re going to start making some big changes around here.”
