Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?

  “Okay, forget it,’’ he said.

  “No, you're right,” she said. “I’ll do something.”

  “What about exercises?” he said.

  “I’m getting all the exercise I need down there,” she said.

  "Just quit eating,” Earl said. “For a few days, anyway.'’

  “All right,” she said. “I'll try. For a few days I’ll give it a try. You’ve convinced me.”

  “I'm a closer,” Earl said.

  He figured up the balance in their checking account, then drove to the discount store and bought a bathroom scale. He looked the clerk over as she rang up the sale.

  At home he had Doreen take off all her clothes and get on the scale. He frowned when he saw the veins. He ran his finger the length of one that sprouted up her thigh.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Nothing," he said.

  He looked at the scale and wrote the figure down on a piece of paper.

  “All right,” Earl said. “All right.”

  The next day he was gone for most of the afternoon on an interview. The employer, a heavyset man who limped as he showed Earl around the plumbing fixtures in the warehouse, asked if Earl were free to travel.

  “You bet I’m free,” Earl said.

  The man nodded.

  Earl smiled.

  He could hear the television before he opened the door to the house. The children did not look up as he walked through the living room. In the kitchen, Doreen, dressed for work, was eating scrambled eggs and bacon.

  “What are you doing?” Earl said.

  She continued to chew the food, cheeks puffed. But then she spit everything into a napkin.

  “I couldn’t help myself,” she said.

  “Slob,” Earl said. “Go ahead, eat! Go on!” He went to the bedroom, closed the door, and lay on the covers. He could still hear the television. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

  She opened the door.

  “I’m going to try again,” Doreen said.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Two mornings later she called him into the bathroom, “Look,” she said.

  He read the scale. He opened a drawer and took out the paper and read the scale again while she grinned.

  “Three-quarters of a pound,” she said.

  “It’s something," he said and patted her hip.

  He read the classifieds. He went to the state employment office. Every three or four days he drove someplace for an interview, and at night he counted her lips. He smoothed out the dollar bills on the table and stacked the nickels, dimes, and quarters in piles of one dollar. Each morning he put her on the scale.

  In two weeks she had lost three and a half pounds.

  “I pick,” she said. “I starve myself all day, and then I pick at work. It adds up.”

  But a week later she had lost five pounds. The week after that, nine and a half pounds. Her clothes were loose on her. She had to cut into the rent money to buy a new uniform.

  “People are saying things at work,” she said.

  “What kind of things?” Earl said.

  “That I’m too pale, for one thing,” she said. “That I don’t look like myself. They’re afraid I’m losing too much weight.”

  “What is wrong with losing?” he said. “Don’t you pay any attention to them. Tell them to mind their own business. They’re not your husband. You don’t have to live with them.”

  “I have to work with them,” Doreen said.

  “That’s right,” Earl said. “But they’re not your husband.”

  Each morning he followed her into the bathroom and waited while she stepped onto the scale. He got down on his knees with a pencil and the piece of paper. The paper was covered with dates, days of the week, numbers. He read the number on the scale, consulted the paper, and either nodded his head or pursed his lips.

  Doreen spent more time in bed now. She went back to bed after the children had left for school, and she napped in the afternoons before going to work. Earl helped around the house, watched television, and let her sleep. He did all the shopping, and once in a while he went on an interview.

  One night he put the children to bed, turned off the television, and decided to go for a few drinks. When the bar closed, he drove to the coffee shop.

  He sat at the counter and waited. When she saw him, she said, “Kids okay?”

  Earl nodded.

  He took his time ordering. He kept looking at her as she moved up and down behind the counter. He finally ordered a cheeseburger. She gave the order to the cook and went to wait on someone else.

  Another waitress came by with a coffeepot and filled Earl’s cup.

  “Who’s your friend?” he said and nodded at his wife.

  “Her name’s Doreen,” the waitress said.

  “She looks a lot different than the last time I was in here,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t know,” the waitress said.

  He ate the cheeseburger and drank the coffee. People kept sitting down and getting up at the counter. Doreen waited on most of the people at the counter, though now and then the other waitress came along to take an order. Earl watched his wife and listened carefully. Twice he had to leave his place to go to the bathroom. Each time he wondered if he might have missed hearing something. When he came back the second time, he found his cup gone and someone in his place. He took a stool at the end of the counter next to an older man in a striped shirt.

  “What do you want?” Doreen said to Earl when she saw him again. “Shouldn’t you be home?”

  “Give me some coffee,” he said.

  The man next to Earl was reading a newspaper. He looked up and watched Doreen pour Earl a cup of coffee. He glanced at Doreen as she walked away. Then he went back to his newspaper.

  Earl sipped his coffee and waited for the man to say something. He watched the man out of the corner of his eye. The man had finished eating and his plate was pushed to the side. The man lit a cigaret, folded the newspaper in front of him, and continued to read.

  Doreen came by and removed the dirty plate and poured the man more coffee.

  “What do you think of that?” Earl said to the man, nodding at Doreen as she moved down the counter. “Don't you think that’s something special?”

  The man looked up. He looked at Doreen and then at Earl, and then went back to his newspaper.

  “Well, what do you think?” Earl said. “I'm asking. Does it look good or not? Tell me.”

  The man rattled the newspaper.

  When Doreen started down the counter again, Earl nudged the man’s shoulder and said, “I’m telling you something. Listen. Look at the ass on her. Now you watch this now. Could I have a chocolate sundae?” Earl called to Doreen.

  She stopped in front of him and let out her breath. Then she turned and picked up a dish and the ice-cream dipper. She leaned over the freezer, reached down, and began to press the dipper into the ice cream. Earl looked at the man and winked as Doreen’s skirt traveled up her thighs. But the man’s eyes caught the eyes of the other waitress. And then the man put the newspaper under his arm and reached into his pocket.

  The other waitress came straight to Doreen. “Who is this character?” she said.

  “Who?” Doreen said and looked around with the ice cream dish in her hand.

  “Him,” the other waitress said and nodded at Earl. “Who is this joker, anyway?”

  Earl put on his best smile. He held it. He held it until he felt his face pulling out of shape.

  But the other waitress just studied him, and Doreen began to shake her head slowly. The man had put some change beside his cup and stood up, but he too waited to hear the answer. They all stared at Earl.

  “He’s a salesman. He’s my husband,” Doreen said at last, shrugging. Then she put the unfinished chocolate sundae in front of him and went to total up his check.

  ARE YOU A DOCTOR?

  In slippers, pajamas, and robe, he hurried out of the study
when the telephone began to ring. Since it was past ten, the call would be his wife. She phoned—late like this, after a few drinks— each night when she was out of town. She was a buyer, and all this week she had been away on business. “Hello, dear,” he said. “Hello,” he said again.

  “Who is this?” a woman asked.

  “Well, who is this?" he said. “What number do you want?”

  “Just a minute,” the woman said. “It’s 273-8063.”

  “That’s my number,” he said. “How did you get it?”

  “I don’t know. It was written down on a piece of paper when I got in from work,” the woman said.

  “Who wrote it down?”

  “I don’t know,” the woman said. “The sitter, I guess. It must be her.”

  “Well, I don’t know how she got it,” he said, “but it’s my telephone number, and it’s unlisted. I’d appreciate it if you’d just toss it away. Hello? Did you hear me?”

  “Yes, I heard,” the woman said.

  “Is there anything else?” he said. “It’s late and I’m busy.” He hadn’t meant to be curt, but one couldn’t take chances. He sat down on the chair by the telephone and said, “I hadn’t meant to be curt. I only meant that it’s late, and I’m concerned how you happen to have my number.” He pulled off his slipper and began massaging his foot, waiting.

  “I don’t know either,” she said. “I told you I just found the number written down, no note or anything. I’ll ask Annette—that’s the sitter—when I see her tomorrow. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I only just now found the note. I’ve been in the kitchen ever since I came in from work.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “Forget it. Just throw it away or something and forget it. There’s no problem, so don’t worry.” He moved the receiver from one ear to the other.

  “You sound like a nice man,” the woman said.

  “Do I? Well, that’s nice of you to say.” He knew he should hang up now, but it was good to hear a voice, even his own, in the quiet room.

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I can tell.”

  He let go his foot.

  “What’s your name, if you don’t mind my asking?” she said.

  “My name is Arnold,” he said.

  “And what’s your first name?” she said.

  “Arnold is my first name,” he said.

  “Oh, forgive me,” she said. “Arnold is your first name. And your second name, Arnold? What’s your second name?”

  “I really must hang up,” he said.

  “Arnold, for goodness sake, I’m Clara Holt. Now your name is Mr. Arnold what?”

  “Arnold Breit,” he said and then quickly added, “Clara Holt. That’s nice. But I really think I should hang up now, Miss Holt. I’m expecting a call.”

  “I’m sorry, Arnold. I didn’t mean to take up your time,” she said.

  “That’s all right,” he said. “It’s been nice talking with you.”

  “You’re kind to say that, Arnold.”

  “Will you hold the phone a minute?” he said. “I have to check on something.” He went into the study for a cigar, took a minute lighting it up with the desk lighter, then removed his glasses and looked at himself in the mirror over the fireplace. When he returned to the telephone, he was half afraid she might be off the line. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Arnold,” she said.

  “I thought you might have hung up.”

  “Oh no,” she said.

  “About your having my number,” he said. “Nothing to worry about, I don’t suppose. Just throw it away, I suppose.”

  “I will, Arnold,” she said.

  “Well, I must say goodbye, then.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “I’ll say good night now.” He heard her draw a breath.

  “I know I’m imposing, Arnold, but do you think we could meet somewhere we could talk? Just for a few minutes?”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he said.

  “Just for a minute, Arnold. My finding your number and everything. I feel strongly about this, Arnold.” “I’m an old man,” he said.

  “Oh, you’re not,” she said.

  “Really, I’m old,” he said.

  “Could we meet somewhere, Arnold? You see, I haven’t told you everything. There’s something else,” the woman said.

  “What do you mean?” he said. “What is this exactly? Hello?”

  She had hung up.

  When he was preparing for bed, his wife called, somewhat intoxicated, he could tell, and they chatted for a while, but he said nothing about the other call. Later, as he was turning the covers down, the telephone rang again.

  He picked up the receiver. “Hello. Arnold Breit speaking.”

  “Arnold, I’m sorry we got cut off. As I was saying, I think it’s important we meet.”

  The next afternoon as he put the key into the lock, he could hear the telephone ringing. He dropped his briefcase and, still in hat, coat, and gloves, hurried over to the table and picked up the receiver.

  “Arnold, I’m sorry to bother you again,” the woman said. “But you must come to my house tonight around nine or nine-thirty. Can you do that for me, Arnold?”

  His heart moved when he heard her use his name. “I couldn’t do that,” he said.

  “Please, Arnold,” she said. “It’s important or I wouldn’t be asking. I can’t leave the house tonight because Cheryl is sick with a cold and now I’m afraid for the boy.”

  “And your husband?” He waited.

  “I’m not married,” she said. “You will come, won’t you?”

  “I can't promise,” he said.

  “I implore you to come,” she said and then quickly gave him the address and hung up.

  “/ implore you to come'' he repeated, still holding the receiver. He slowly took off his gloves and then his coat. He felt he had to be careful. He went to wash up. When he looked in the bathroom mirror, he discovered the hat. It was then that he made the decision to see her, and he took off his hat and glasses and soaped his face. He checked his nails.

  “You’re sure this is the right street?” he asked the driver.

  “This is the street and there’s the building,” the driver said.

  “Keep going,” he said. “Let me out at the end of the block.”

  He paid the driver. Lights from the upper windows illuminated the balconies. He could see planters on the balustrades and here and there a piece of lawn furniture. At one balcony a large man in a sweatshirt leaned over the railing and watched him walk toward the door.

  He pushed the button under C. HOLT. The buzzer sounded, and he stepped back to the door and entered. He climbed the stairs slowly, stopping to rest briefly at each landing. He remembered the hotel in Luxembourg, the five flights he and his wife had climbed so many years ago. He felt a sudden pain in his side, imagined his heart, imagined his legs folding under him, imagined a loud fall to the bottom of the stairs. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. Then he removed his glasses and wiped the lenses, waiting for his heart to quiet.

  He looked down the hall. The apartment house was very quiet. He stopped at her door, removed his hat, and knocked lightly. The door opened a crack to reveal a plump little girl in pajamas.

  “Are you Arnold Breit?” she said.

  “Yes, I am,” he said. “Is your mother home?”

  “She said for you to come in. She said to tell you she went to the drugstore for some cough syrup and aspirin.”

  He shut the door behind him. “What is your name? Your mother told me, but I forgot.”

  When the girl said nothing, he tried again.

  “What is your name? Isn’t your name Shirley?”

  “Cheryl,” she said. “C-h-e-r-y-l.”

  “Yes, now I remember. Well, I was close, you must admit.”

  She sat on a hassock across the room and looked at him.

  “So you’re sick, are you?” he said.

  She shook her head.

  “Not sick??
??

  “No,” she said.

  He looked around. The room was lighted by a gold floor lamp that had a large ashtray and a magazine rack affixed to the pole. A television set stood against the far wall, the picture on, the volume low. A narrow hallway led to the back of the apartment. The furnace was turned up, the air close with a medicinal smell. Hairpins and rollers lay on the coffee table, a pink bathrobe lay on the couch.

  He looked at the child again, then raised his eyes toward the kitchen and the glass doors that gave off the kitchen onto the balcony. The doors stood slightly ajar, and a little chill went through him as he recalled the large man in the sweatshirt.

  “Mama went out for a minute,” the child said, as if suddenly waking up.

  He leaned forward on his toes, hat in hand, and stared at her. “I think I'd better go,” he said.

  A key turned in the lock, the door swung open, and a small, pale, freckled woman entered carrying a paper sack.

  “Arnold! I'm glad to see you!" She glanced at him quickly, uneasily, and shook her head strangely from side to side as she walked to the kitchen with the sack. He heard a cupboard door shut. The child sat on the hassock and watched him. He leaned his weight first on one leg and then the other, then placed the hat on his head and removed it in the same motion as the woman reappeared.

  “Are you a doctor?” she asked.

  “No," he said, startled. “No, I am not.”

  “Cheryl is sick, you see. I've been out buying things. Why didn't you take the man’s coat?” she said, turning to the child. “Please forgive her. We’re not used to company.”

  “I can’t stay,” he said. “I really shouldn’t have come.” “Please sit down,” she said. “We can’t talk like this. Let me give her some medicine first. Then we can talk.”

  “I really must go,” he said. “From the tone of your voice, I thought there was something urgent. But I really must go.” He looked down at his hands and was aware he had been gesturing feebly.

  “I'll put on tea water,” he heard her say, as if she hadn’t been listening. “Then I'll give Cheryl her medicine, and then we can talk.”