“What’s the point? I’ve been to plenty of these types of office administration seminars and they’re always the same. There’s just nothing else I can learn for this kind of work.”
“The point, Joyce, is it looks good in your file, which in turn reflects well on our department. Besides, Baltimore’s a nice town. You may enjoy some time away. Maybe meet a handsome traveler?”
Joyce looked back at Carmen and smiled politely. Carmen’s hair hung loosely around her shoulders today and the odd strand waved about as the breeze from the window blew into the break room.
“Like ships in the night, huh? The problem is I have to come back here.” Joyce stretched her neck as she bobbed her head back to finish the cup of coffee in her hand.
Carmen chuckled and stood up from her seat on the windowsill. “Relax, sweetie. You should lighten up. You’re too young to worry so much.”
Joyce smiled again and returned her gaze to the glass of the window.
“Why don’t you come out with me tonight?” said Carmen. “Just us, and maybe Laurie. We’ll have a girls’ night out before you leave tomorrow. It’ll be fun.”
Joyce’s eyes slowly roamed back to Carmen, half-closed and distant. “Thanks Carmen, really. But I can’t. I already have plans.”
“You don’t seem very excited about these plans.”
“It’s nothing big. Just meeting a friend.”
*****
“So when are you leaving?” Ben asked.
Joyce turned her head as it rested on the pillow, away from the slow hum of the spinning fan above. She moved and her hair got in her face, forcing her to gently nudge aside the short dark strands so she could see Ben. Her eyes came to rest upon his cheek. The slight ravine along his jaw faded in and out as he clenched his teeth and pondered the ceiling. His typically pallid skin shone brightly as dawn’s sunlight seeped in through the apartment’s blinds.
She then turned away and asked, “What makes you say that?”
“You know I can’t stand you.”
“That’s funny. I was just thinking the same thing. Do you suppose we had a moment of simultaneous thought?”
“No, not us. That’s for people who care to acknowledge each other’s worth. Really, if it wasn’t for sex I’d have no use for you.”
Joyce sighed and sat up, facing the door of his loft apartment where the blank expression of a woodcut child prompted a tear to emerge from her eye. She wiped it away and stood, still looking into the eyes of the plump child whose expression became more devastating with each passing moment.
“You’re a melodramatic prick, you know that?”
“And you’re a misandric bitch, but here we are.”
“Go to hell.”
Ben groaned as he stretched his right arm. “I’ll call you.”
She mumbled something as she entered the bathroom and Ben yelled “What?” before Joyce repeated, louder than before, “You can kiss my ass and next time you can get yourself off!”
Ben silently rolled onto his side and watched a sparrow flutter and hop across a tree branch. It paused midway along the branch and looked past him and through the wall of Ben’s apartment, into the hallway. He waited for the sparrow to look at him until he fell asleep, which was well before Joyce was in her car and on her way back to her South End apartment.
The light of the Saturday morning revelers blinded Joyce, as she was not in the mood to shine. She would need to get home and shower again before packing her things and calling her dad to take her to the airport for the 9:00 AM flight to Baltimore.
Ben met his friend Michael for lunch later that day while he was in town. They discussed matters of the utmost importance.
“I don’t see the point of black,” said Ben.
Michael laughed and picked up his cup. “What point? It’s tea. People drink it.”
“Well, it’s essentially coffee. You drink it for the caffeine.”
“Not necessarily. Some people might just prefer tea.”
“Over coffee? Have you tried black tea? The stuff is rancid.”
“Some might argue that coffee is just as acrid.”
Ben shook his head and lifted his cup so that it rested in the air between them. He sniffed, as if it were right under his nose. “The simple man may believe so. I defy anyone decent to choose black tea over a cup of dry roasted from Charlie’s with cream and sugar.”
“Simple man?”
“Yes. A fool. Someone who doesn’t know good coffee because he’s caught up in the machinations of a counter-culture where running against the grain amounts to being cool in the eyes of his peers.”
“Ah. Thanks for the clarity.” Michael tipped his mug and smiled as Ben stared on.
“Simple fools,” he said. “All of you.”
“Maybe,” said Michael, “but this simple fool knows what he likes. Simple as that.”
“You can go to hell.”
“Only if they serve black tea.”
Ben scowled and stood up to leave.
“Oh, come on now,” said Michael. “Where are you going?”
“Somewhere else.”
Michael shook his head and smiled as he looked up at Ben. The Swedish flag waving from the window of the building across the street momentarily grabbed his attention, and as his eyes wandered Ben began to reach into his pocket for money.
“You know, you’re just like a child,” Michael finally said. “Throwing tantrums doesn’t become you. No surprise that you and the wife are ending it.”
“Well at least Irma would go along with my thoughts instead of opposing every damn point I tried to make. In fact, what becomes me is company that doesn’t bore me with ridiculous conversation about inferior drinks.” Ben dropped a five dollar bill on the metal grating that was the table top and walked away. “Fun as always, Mike.”
Michael was left alone to enjoy his tea.
When Ben was around the corner Michael smiled again and said, “Simple fools.”
*****
Ben called Joyce while she was at a conference. A bottle of rum, 151, lay empty on the floor beside him.
“Hey… fuck, where are you? I mean, you know… call me back. I’m leaving Friday.”
She called him back on a Thursday, a few days after her return from Baltimore. The rain had ceased that day and she was in a mood to check her voicemail.
01… Irma calling to ask if she could come to visit. It’s been a long time and Joyce really should come by for a girls’ weekend. And Irma supposed she would like someone to keep her company. Joyce isn’t too busy, is she? Call Irma back!
02… Joyce Freeman, this is just a reminder that her dentist appointment has been cancelled on the twenty seventh due to an unfortunate accident in Dr. Bose’s family. If Joyce could please call back the by the end of next week they will be glad to reschedule her appointment.
03… Ben asking where the fuck she was and telling her to call him back.
She muttered the word “asshole” loud enough to believe it, then picked up the wireless phone and stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the same dull street scene she had born witness to for the past two years. She remembered the first day she entered her apartment on the fifth floor. The grove of trees across the street and a cute little bakery on the corner gave her hope that this was a wonderful place, and she would be happy here as she worked on her career and her new life.
Joyce dialed the phone and leaned against the rail, staring down into the masses on their way home from work.
“Hello?”
“Do you think it’s funny to leave me a voicemail like that?”
Ben laughed. “Well it got your attention.”
“Hardly. I can assume you only called so that I could come over and screw you?”
“You know me too well.”
“Sadly, I do.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
Joyce smacked her lips and allowed her hair to gather around her face as she leaned further out over the edge of the railing. She wondered if it was this easy.
“I’ll come by, but only if you apologize for being a dick to me.”
He told her, “I’m sorry.”
“Will you ever mean it?”
“Maybe. Just don’t hold me to it.”
She remained silent as the noise from the traffic below rose up around her. Her bare toes jutted out from beneath the railing, and she wiggled them.
“Joyce?”
“Yea, Ben, I’ll be there in a bit.”
“Great. Pick up some beer on your way over.”
“I’m not picking up shit.”
“You’re a real peach, you know that?”
*****
Joyce was in Rockport visiting her friend Irma that following Saturday. Irma was in the middle of a divorce and needed a friend, which Joyce still considered herself to be for the time being, so she decided to spend the weekend with Irma. The city was oppressive that time of year anyway. The Sox fans were out in full force.
Irma, wearing an atypically unattractive frumpy red t-shirt and jeans, answered the door and began to cry immediately. Joyce held Irma’s shoulders and allowed her to cry into the newly purchased Burberry jacket. Irma’s tears were going to be costly, but Joyce was fine with that. Her mother used to tell her, “Money’s money, honey, but it’s the friends in life that keep things sunny.”
Quaint sayings amused Joyce.
When Irma paused her inharmonious sobs, she brought Joyce to the dining room and explained again that he had been cheating on her with a bitch from the secretary pool at one of his offices.
“A secretary pool? Really?” Joyce asked.
“Yea, a fucking secretary. How cliché, right? Fucking Ben… and some fucking bitch.”
“Well isn’t that kind of antiquated? I mean, I hadn’t heard of such a thing these days. Is this woman working in 1962?”
“What?” asked Joyce. “I mean, Christ, what does it matter? My husband cheated on me! Some, some… some trollop eager to bounce on the boss’ penis just ruined nine years that I had to spend with that mother fucker.”
Joyce told her, “Sorry, it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t take him back. Do you want some more –”
“I’m not going to stand by and let him be an idiot and then come crawling back to me. And he’ll do it, too. Idiot. He’s screwed… himself.”
“I know, but calm down. Tea?”
Irma told her yes, chamomile, and then apologized for being so ridiculous when Joyce came all the way down there to visit. She still just couldn’t believe it.
Irma’s words were: “I hate him.”
Joyce nodded as she looked down at the mug and the teabag within, slowly floating down to the bottom. She thought, then, that perhaps things shouldn’t be easy. Perhaps her things should be difficult, or painful, or complicated. Perhaps it’s all supposed to fall apart.
Joyce remained at Irma’s house until late Sunday afternoon, then drove back to Boston and arrived home in the evening. She turned on the stereo on the shelf near the balcony and stepped outside with a six pack to just watch for a while. The people on the street began to thin out, and the shopkeepers closed up for the night. The odd bird still sang out to its mate, but she could not see where they were perched. Joyce sat and watched and drank until her eyes began to burn and the area between her throat and chest became thick and choked her, making her work to inhale every breath. She rubbed her eyes and fought hard to keep them contained, going as far as to yell, “I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck!” in hopes that she could beat them back with the strength of her voice.
Joyce’s phone began to ring and did not cease as she leaned back against the brick wall with the final beer in hand, and finally had to check who was calling. One from her father, and one from Ben. It all felt very familiar.
She stared at the list of names displayed on the phone’s screen, then lowered her hand to her side where it rested against the edge of the balcony, beneath the rail. The music from the apartment wafted out into the open air as she finished the beer with her left hand and dropped the phone over the edge with her right.