a little while ago," Ray said. "We're in the middle of renovating." He seemed pleased with himself; I wondered if he thought I came looking for him. "Do you want to come in?" he said.
The first floor had been completely stripped. Now the rococo molding was gone, there was wall-to-wall carpeting over the floor and track lighting. The bathroom was replaced with modern equipment. It was probably neater and cleaner, but the crazy charm of the place was gone. Now that it had new windows and different doors, it was just like a million other apartments.
I looked out the windows to the backyard; it had been paved over with bricks, and small trees were stuck into redwood planters. It was too cold to go outside, but Ray said I should sit down for a minute. He pointed to a gray sofa. "I'm in the middle of working on a project," he said. "For my parents. They bought a house upstate and hired me to renovate."
I said I was about to go and give a deposit on an apartment uptown.
"We're just subletting a place right now," Ray said. "As soon as this place is finished, in a couple of weeks, then we can move in."
"Who's we?" I said.
"I got married last month," Ray said. He looked at me with a wry expression. I thought he was waiting for me to burst into tears. "My father got us this place as a wedding present."
"Oh, how great," I said. "Congratulations! Who is she?"
----
My voice sounded artificial, not because I was upset over this news but because I just didn't care. "Someone I know?" I said.
"No, no," Ray said. "She's a secretary at my firm; she just started work there a few months ago."
"You didn't know her before?"
"No," Ray said. "It was just one of those things that happen fast."
"Great," I said. His small, worried eyes looked at me with a combination of rage and love.
"I have to get back to work now," Ray said. "I'm glad you stopped by. I had hoped we wouldn't lose touch. Listen, would you like to have dinner with me? Just the two of us?"
"When?" I said.
"I don't know," Ray said. "Tonight."
"Um," I said. "Well, I have a bunch of things to do. Why don't I call you later this afternoon?"
"Okay," Ray said. "And if you can't make it tonight, maybe we could have lunch next week. Do you still have all the furniture I gave you?"
"Oh, yes."
"I'll also give you my number at work."
I took his phone number, written on the back of a card. Out on the street I went to a nearby phone booth and called my mother, who was having lunch with friends in the city. We met on Thirty-fourth Street to go shopping for shoes. My mother bought me two pairs: gray pumps, with a medium heel, and a pair of purple sandals, which resembled, at least as far as I was concerned, those worn by French prostitutes. They weren't practical, but I liked them.
A while later I saw Ray's father on television—a morning talk show—kicking a mattress to demonstrate construction. He was a vigorous man, and he chuckled to the host as he ripped open the ticking and pulled out the stuffing.
----
you and the boss
First, you must dispose of his wife. You disguise yourself as a chambermaid and get a job at a hotel where Bruce is staying with his wife on the tour. You know you are doing the right thing. Bruce will be happier with you. Does Bruce really need a wife with chipmunk cheeks, who probably talks baby talk in bed? You are educated, you have studied anthropology. You can help Bruce with his music, give him ideas about American culture. You are a real woman.
You go into Bruce's room. His wife is lying on the bed, wearing a T-shirt that says "Number 1 Groupie" and staring straight up at the ceiling. You tell Bruce's wife that Bruce has arranged for you to give her a facial and a massage: it's a surprise. "Isn't he sweet?" she says with a giggle.
You whip out an ice pick, hidden under your clothes, and quickly give her a lobotomy: you've watched this technique in the Frances Farmer story on TV. Bruce's wife doesn't even flinch.
After the operation, you present
Learning to Kill: Stories