The calls come every night at 6 PM sharp, and they are diverse in their
emotions. Sometimes the phone radiates happiness other times it is laced
with carefully chosen words that sound choked and secretive. Any call is
better than no call at all, and so he takes each one like candy, addicted
to the energy it provides him, no matter how small the dosage. He stares
out at the twinkling universe around him, and listens to her mumble and
shout and cry and laugh and everything seems so perfect, so blinding he can
barely see afterwards. The rest of the day he walks around like a shadow,
his eyes haunted and mysterious. He's still brilliant of course, solves
crimes left to right and surprises everybody, but he's just not into
anymore. Nothing can surpass the electricity that floods him every time the
phone rings and her voice slides easily through his ears.
It won't last much longer, soon he'll desire more than just her voice; he'll want her face and body to match. He'll look at her picture and dream her into the room, lying on the couch, phone cocked between her shoulders and her head, twiddling the cord with her fingers. He's greedy, he devours all she can give and wants more. He wants time to speed up and slow down at various moments, to preserve minutes so he can live in them forever.
The phone rings and he stares at it, wondering what will happen if he doesn't answer it. However, temptation gets the best of him and he swoops up the phone on the last ring, sighing at his cowardice.
"Hello?"
"What took so long?"
"I just got in, traffic is hectic."
"You're lying," His eyes peer through the windows as if she's watching him, and then he hears chuckling. "Kidding of course."
"Kidding," He repeats and settles into the couch. "So what happened today?"
"I made brownies for the nursery school fund-raiser, we made five hundred dollars."
"I knew you'd grow up to be the next Martha Stewart."
"I cheated, bought them at Vons."
"Eames, how could you?"
"I can't cook," She complains and he hears somebody mumble something in the background and then she laughs. "Ron chipped his tooth on my lasagna." Goren wishes he had broken his whole jaw.
"How is Ron?"
"He's fine," The rest of the words are muffled in a mixture of fast movement and the crinkle of clothes. Finally a door shuts and she comes back on the line, breathless and panting. "Goren?"
"Still here."
"Good," She stops breathing for a moment and then she lets it all out in a rush of sentence. "You'll always be here, won't you?"
"I suppose so," Then he smiles. "Everybody dies Eames." She chuckles at the statement.
"You know what I mean."
"Sure," He clears his throat. "As long as you want me to be."
"I think Ron is having an affair." The sentence hits him with a blow to the chest and for a moment all he can do is form a gaping whole with his mouth.
"Jesus," He shakes his head. "You sure?"
"No," Her voice sounds childish. "He's just gone all the time and once I picked up the phone and there was this strange woman asking for him. When she heard it was me she hung up."
"Doesn't mean anything." He soothes, playing the part of the good friend. But inside he wants to tear the man to shreds, rip every scrap of his gleaming face. Instead he just clenches his fist.
"I'm just so insecure," She mumbles. "He's great, he's wonderful. I'm just so worried sometimes."
"Hey Eames? I have to go." He's acting stupid but he can't take anymore. He can't hear her praise the man who could be wasting her life. She's silent; he wonders if she's already hung up.
"I miss you."
"Miss you too."
"He told me I shouldn't call so much."
"Well maybe you shouldn't. I mean, if I was a guy, I'd be a little bit worried if my girl were calling her old partner every night."
"Okay," She's angry now. "Fine then, once a week." His heart is screaming for him to stop, that taking away her voice every night will ruin them. He's gone too far. He assures himself that it is for the best.
"Fine." He whispers.
"Goren?" He doesn't reply, but she knows he's there. "Can I call you on special occasions? You're my only friend, my only real friend and I need you." She needs him, she needs him and that's all he wants.
"Sure," He grins. "Forget Ron, call whenever you want." She laughs.
"Bye, I lov." Her voice cuts off and there is a sharp intake of breath. Finally the silence is replaced by the dial tone. She was so close; so close he could feel it, or maybe he was just imagining it. Imagined her voice so pure and loving, made it seem as if she shared his feelings. The phone still hums in his hands and he places it back into the cradle. He feels drained and worn out, a pale slither of skin stuck to cracking bones. He tosses his shoes to the floor and flicks off the lights in the apartment, fighting the darkness to his bed. The phone rings just as his eyes begin to close. He doesn't open them, just reaches for the phone on the bedside table.
"Hmm?" He mutters.
"I love you." She says it so calmly he thinks he's dreaming.
"Eames?"
"No Santa Clause, course its me."
"Of course." He's still dreaming.
"Goren did you hear me?"
"You said I love you." But he isn't sure if she's real or not or if he's finally blown his casket and is talking to himself.
"Yes," She sighs. "Ron isn't having an affair, there was no woman. I think I'm just trying to create a reason for leaving him."
"Are you still in the closet?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know," A door creaks in the background. "Do you think I'm acting crazy?"
"Yes," He says stiffly. "Go to bed." The phone clicks and the dial tone rings in his ear again. One of these days, his mind accuses; the phone will never ring again.
**************
She says she's coming to his apartment and he can't stop her. She needs to see him desperately, says she's turning into a hillbilly. He doesn't say anything, just listens and nods and sometimes adds in a mumble that only stops her rant for the amount of time that it takes her mind to refuse the comment. His pulse is racing beneath his skin, filling his body with the kind of adrenaline that makes him want to run a marathon. He doesn't know what to do with him self, so he cleans his apartment and buys groceries and organizes his books and then he just watches TV until his brain is a numb clog of tissue. When the doorbell rings, it takes all his courage not to dive under the couch and wait till its over.
"Bobby," She greets. She looks different, more relaxed, less conflicted. He can't help but gulp. "You haven't changed." And he doesn't know if this is a good thing or not.
"No, but you have." She blinks at the statement and then shrugs, sitting down on the couch with a sigh.
"Yeah, 2 years of marriage will do that to you." 2 years. Hell it's been a long time. Within a minute she's settled down with a drink and has her legs resting on the coffee table in front of them. She keeps cocking her head and peering through his eyes, what she's looking for he doesn't know, he just nudges her playfully and turns away.
"How's Tania?"
"Good," She looks at the carpet and smiles. "Ron says she looks a lot like me."
"Then she's beautiful." Goren whispers. Her head snaps up and she studies him again, he clears his throat and gets up.
"You're nervous," She observes. "You shouldn't be."
"Well," He shakes his head and tries to place words together in sentences that make sense. "I don't know, it just seems so much easier to talk on the phone."
"Because you can hide."
"No," But she's right. "It's just different." She rises and goes close to him, clutching his hand in hers. It sends shivers through his whole body.
"Do you want me?" He doesn't know if he's breathing or not. He blinks, opens his mouth and then shuts it again. How is he supposed to answer this question?
"Eames," He croaks. She pushes herself closer to him and he takes a shudder of a breath.
"Do you want me?" She asks again. If she had asked him before her marriage and her child he would have said yes. "Goren?" He's so scared he's going to pick the wrong answer. "Are you listening?" He could imagine saying no. "Are you okay?" And yes. "Look, what's going on?" He loves her; yes he loves her very much. He just isn't ready for this.
"I can't." And she steps back, the hunger vanishing from her eyes and he feels cold and dark and angry. Why does she always make him look like the bad guy? Her lips tremble and then she shrugs again, like it doesn't mean a thing.
"I'm sorry," Doesn't mean a thing. "I'm tired."
"I set up the guest room for you." She looks at the room he points to and she bites her lip.
"Maybe I should stay at a hotel." Doesn't mean a thing.
"Whatever you feel comfortable doing." The words leave his mouth like melted butter and he's surprised he can say it without falling apart. She picks up her coat, her hair hiding the eyes he assumes are leaking tears.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" Her voice asks.
"Sure," The door opens and her figure pauses in the frame. "Eames I'm sorry."
"It doesn't mean a thing." But it does. It means everything.
It won't last much longer, soon he'll desire more than just her voice; he'll want her face and body to match. He'll look at her picture and dream her into the room, lying on the couch, phone cocked between her shoulders and her head, twiddling the cord with her fingers. He's greedy, he devours all she can give and wants more. He wants time to speed up and slow down at various moments, to preserve minutes so he can live in them forever.
The phone rings and he stares at it, wondering what will happen if he doesn't answer it. However, temptation gets the best of him and he swoops up the phone on the last ring, sighing at his cowardice.
"Hello?"
"What took so long?"
"I just got in, traffic is hectic."
"You're lying," His eyes peer through the windows as if she's watching him, and then he hears chuckling. "Kidding of course."
"Kidding," He repeats and settles into the couch. "So what happened today?"
"I made brownies for the nursery school fund-raiser, we made five hundred dollars."
"I knew you'd grow up to be the next Martha Stewart."
"I cheated, bought them at Vons."
"Eames, how could you?"
"I can't cook," She complains and he hears somebody mumble something in the background and then she laughs. "Ron chipped his tooth on my lasagna." Goren wishes he had broken his whole jaw.
"How is Ron?"
"He's fine," The rest of the words are muffled in a mixture of fast movement and the crinkle of clothes. Finally a door shuts and she comes back on the line, breathless and panting. "Goren?"
"Still here."
"Good," She stops breathing for a moment and then she lets it all out in a rush of sentence. "You'll always be here, won't you?"
"I suppose so," Then he smiles. "Everybody dies Eames." She chuckles at the statement.
"You know what I mean."
"Sure," He clears his throat. "As long as you want me to be."
"I think Ron is having an affair." The sentence hits him with a blow to the chest and for a moment all he can do is form a gaping whole with his mouth.
"Jesus," He shakes his head. "You sure?"
"No," Her voice sounds childish. "He's just gone all the time and once I picked up the phone and there was this strange woman asking for him. When she heard it was me she hung up."
"Doesn't mean anything." He soothes, playing the part of the good friend. But inside he wants to tear the man to shreds, rip every scrap of his gleaming face. Instead he just clenches his fist.
"I'm just so insecure," She mumbles. "He's great, he's wonderful. I'm just so worried sometimes."
"Hey Eames? I have to go." He's acting stupid but he can't take anymore. He can't hear her praise the man who could be wasting her life. She's silent; he wonders if she's already hung up.
"I miss you."
"Miss you too."
"He told me I shouldn't call so much."
"Well maybe you shouldn't. I mean, if I was a guy, I'd be a little bit worried if my girl were calling her old partner every night."
"Okay," She's angry now. "Fine then, once a week." His heart is screaming for him to stop, that taking away her voice every night will ruin them. He's gone too far. He assures himself that it is for the best.
"Fine." He whispers.
"Goren?" He doesn't reply, but she knows he's there. "Can I call you on special occasions? You're my only friend, my only real friend and I need you." She needs him, she needs him and that's all he wants.
"Sure," He grins. "Forget Ron, call whenever you want." She laughs.
"Bye, I lov." Her voice cuts off and there is a sharp intake of breath. Finally the silence is replaced by the dial tone. She was so close; so close he could feel it, or maybe he was just imagining it. Imagined her voice so pure and loving, made it seem as if she shared his feelings. The phone still hums in his hands and he places it back into the cradle. He feels drained and worn out, a pale slither of skin stuck to cracking bones. He tosses his shoes to the floor and flicks off the lights in the apartment, fighting the darkness to his bed. The phone rings just as his eyes begin to close. He doesn't open them, just reaches for the phone on the bedside table.
"Hmm?" He mutters.
"I love you." She says it so calmly he thinks he's dreaming.
"Eames?"
"No Santa Clause, course its me."
"Of course." He's still dreaming.
"Goren did you hear me?"
"You said I love you." But he isn't sure if she's real or not or if he's finally blown his casket and is talking to himself.
"Yes," She sighs. "Ron isn't having an affair, there was no woman. I think I'm just trying to create a reason for leaving him."
"Are you still in the closet?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know," A door creaks in the background. "Do you think I'm acting crazy?"
"Yes," He says stiffly. "Go to bed." The phone clicks and the dial tone rings in his ear again. One of these days, his mind accuses; the phone will never ring again.
**************
She says she's coming to his apartment and he can't stop her. She needs to see him desperately, says she's turning into a hillbilly. He doesn't say anything, just listens and nods and sometimes adds in a mumble that only stops her rant for the amount of time that it takes her mind to refuse the comment. His pulse is racing beneath his skin, filling his body with the kind of adrenaline that makes him want to run a marathon. He doesn't know what to do with him self, so he cleans his apartment and buys groceries and organizes his books and then he just watches TV until his brain is a numb clog of tissue. When the doorbell rings, it takes all his courage not to dive under the couch and wait till its over.
"Bobby," She greets. She looks different, more relaxed, less conflicted. He can't help but gulp. "You haven't changed." And he doesn't know if this is a good thing or not.
"No, but you have." She blinks at the statement and then shrugs, sitting down on the couch with a sigh.
"Yeah, 2 years of marriage will do that to you." 2 years. Hell it's been a long time. Within a minute she's settled down with a drink and has her legs resting on the coffee table in front of them. She keeps cocking her head and peering through his eyes, what she's looking for he doesn't know, he just nudges her playfully and turns away.
"How's Tania?"
"Good," She looks at the carpet and smiles. "Ron says she looks a lot like me."
"Then she's beautiful." Goren whispers. Her head snaps up and she studies him again, he clears his throat and gets up.
"You're nervous," She observes. "You shouldn't be."
"Well," He shakes his head and tries to place words together in sentences that make sense. "I don't know, it just seems so much easier to talk on the phone."
"Because you can hide."
"No," But she's right. "It's just different." She rises and goes close to him, clutching his hand in hers. It sends shivers through his whole body.
"Do you want me?" He doesn't know if he's breathing or not. He blinks, opens his mouth and then shuts it again. How is he supposed to answer this question?
"Eames," He croaks. She pushes herself closer to him and he takes a shudder of a breath.
"Do you want me?" She asks again. If she had asked him before her marriage and her child he would have said yes. "Goren?" He's so scared he's going to pick the wrong answer. "Are you listening?" He could imagine saying no. "Are you okay?" And yes. "Look, what's going on?" He loves her; yes he loves her very much. He just isn't ready for this.
"I can't." And she steps back, the hunger vanishing from her eyes and he feels cold and dark and angry. Why does she always make him look like the bad guy? Her lips tremble and then she shrugs again, like it doesn't mean a thing.
"I'm sorry," Doesn't mean a thing. "I'm tired."
"I set up the guest room for you." She looks at the room he points to and she bites her lip.
"Maybe I should stay at a hotel." Doesn't mean a thing.
"Whatever you feel comfortable doing." The words leave his mouth like melted butter and he's surprised he can say it without falling apart. She picks up her coat, her hair hiding the eyes he assumes are leaking tears.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" Her voice asks.
"Sure," The door opens and her figure pauses in the frame. "Eames I'm sorry."
"It doesn't mean a thing." But it does. It means everything.