Bob was careful to wake up that morning on the right side of the bed. Last night he had heard the news that his mother was dead. It was the best news he had gotten in a year.
Recently, time had brought him one disaster after another. First, he had lost the two million he had accumulated while working for Quick & Reilly. The stock market did him in. Then his body began to succumb to sickness. His weak heart was laboring to carry him around these days. With the many visits to and from the doctor’s office, he soon began to feel old – so old that he was not enjoying sex anymore. Now and then all he could do was crack a wry joke to Phyllis.
“You know the fastest way to make two million in the stock market these days, Phyllis? You first start with 10?”
Phyllis had heard it all before. At first it was funny. Now it was just old pasta.
Soon he lost his get-him-by-the-rough-times job. Soon Phyllis left him for another man. Soon he learned that the other man was younger, had polished teeth, and the ability to go all night long in the bedroom. The only thing the younger man did not have (that was more than what Bob had) was more money. Their wealth were about even – at least if you assessed their belongings a day or two before the News. And Bob did not want to factor in the equation that the younger man had many more years of earning potential than he did.
Bob pulled himself up on the right side on the bed that morning, and looked at himself in the mirror. The beard had progressively worked its way to cover most of his face. Here and there was a sprinkling of gray. The pajama he was wearing for the last five days was starting to smell. He looked at his face again. Not bad, today, he told himself. Not too bad for a sick middle-aged man.
He unscrewed the cap from the top of a dusty Listerine bottle, and took a sip of the Listerine, letting it go around in his mouth for about 30 seconds, and then spitting it out into the sink. He reached for the telephone on the bathroom wall, and called Phyllis. He heard the telephone line ringing, then click, and her voice was at the other end.
“Phyllis,” he said. Mother passed away. She left me about 80 grand.” “Phyllis,” he said. “You think you could have lunch with me today?”
He could feel her thinking for what appeared to be forever, and then her mouth opening to speak before he heard the man saying in the background. “Are you coming back to bed?” And then the telephone line went dead.
