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I hate going to the post office. I also hate being unemployed and living on, largely, unemployment pay. I don’t miss my job; I’m better off without it. But I know that The Job might have filled an important role in my life. It made me get up before four o’clock in the afternoon. It’s only been a few weeks and already I can’t get up on time. 4–fucking–o’clock. And then it will be 5 o’clock before I’m finished showering and eating. After 5 o’clock, some places will be closed and the rest will be closing. These “places” are the important places: the doctor, attorney, dentist, accountant and post office. I also hate going through job listings in the middle of the night. Sitting in my underwear at 3 a.m., looking at listings placed by responsible people and smoking fags is hard because it feels strange and morbid. It feels like I’ve already begun lying about something. I’ve known Valerie for three years. We share more of less a bit in common. We both lived in America for a few years, but in different places and at different times. We both inherited some money, but she a lot more than I did. The phone rings. “Hello?” “It’s Valerie.” “Oh, hi Valerie.” “I’m coming over.” “When?” “Right now.” “It’s 2 a.m.” “I know. I’m coming over.” “Give me a half-hour.” “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
A bolt of lightening. Zeus has ordered my flat clean. I have to do something with my dirty laundry, take out the trash, stash my dirty magazines, clean the hair out of the bathtub, wash the dishes and pick up the mess of things that have collected in every room. Valerie is coming.
Valerie arrives. “Nice place, Greg.” “Just cleaned it.” “Where’ve you been?” “Nowhere. Here. Why?’ “Just wondering.”
Valerie walks through my flat. I’m sweating from cleaning. She’s looking for signs that I’ve been depressed. Absently, Valerie picks her nose. She’s always done that sort of thing in front of me. Not in front of others. Just me.
“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” she says. “Thanks. I know.” She walks into the kitchen. “I’m hungry.” “I don’t have anything.” Valerie lights a fag. “Let’s get something. I’m starved.”
We leave and Valerie drives because she owns a Porsche, and because I don’t have an automobile. I have two D.W.I. tickets on my record, so I sold my car.
“What've you been doing, Valerie?” “I’ve been doing what I always do.” “You never do anything.” “Yes. But you usually come ‘round for me.” “I know. I’ve been…down.” She looks at me, but she doesn’t say anything. We don’t speak until we’re back at my flat.
We sit on my couch and eat our food. I hadn’t thought that I was hungry, but now I can’t stop eating. Probably something to do with the fags.
“So. You’re down?” Valerie asks me. “Yeah. Lately.” “What from?” “Don’t know really. I think it’s just circumstantial, though.” “Like how, circumstantial, exactly?” “Well, I don’t think it’s just in my head.” “Oh.” Valerie nods her head. “I think something outside caused it. Not having a job, or something.” “Yeah, probably.” She seems glad and disappointed. “Is that bad?” I ask her. “No, not really. Good, most likely.” We eat chips quietly. “It’s scary,” Valerie says. “What?” “That you’re down.” “Why?” “Because you always help me out. Like last year.” “You were just having a hard time.” “Yeah, but you always get me out.” “Well, yes. Thanks.”
Valerie begins eating my chips because she has finished hers.
“Will you sleep with me?” she asks. “What?” “Will you sleep with me?” “Valerie…I need a shower.” “We’ll do that too. And I need a shower, anyway.” “Why?” “Because I only woke just before I came here.” “No. I mean, why sleep together?” “Because maybe we’ll both feel better.” I pause to think. It seems logical. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”
Valerie is very attractive. I’ve always thought so, but I’ve also always thought she wasn’t my type. She still isn’t my type—too clingy, too crazy, too self destructive, too completely fucked up. But she’s beautiful and well made. Creamy skin, blue eyes and dark hair.
She has nice things, but they’re always abused. Her lingerie is nice, expensive, but I can tell that her bra has been on the floor for days, and she’s been stepping on it. Her panties are clean, but I wouldn’t care if they weren’t. Would I prefer them dirty? I don’t know. Maybe.
Sex with Valerie is as I knew it would be. It is good, and it is loud.
Valerie lights a fag for us to share. “Had you been thinking of doing that?” “What?” “Of having sex with me?” “Obviously. Yes.” Valerie rolls over and puts her chin on my chest. She doesn’t look at me. I tell her, “I had been wondering.” “What’s that?” “I had wondered, why we hadn’t had sex.” “Oh. Well, we’re friends.” “Yes.” Valerie kisses my stomach. I ask her, “Did you think it would be good?” “The sex? I don't know. I suppose I couldn't have thought it would be bad. Did you think it would be good?” “I was sure it would be good.” “Why?” “Sometimes I imagined us having sex. It always seemed good.” “Yes? I didn’t know that.” “Sure you did.” Valerie smiles. Then she tells me, “But you don’t want me. Not really.” “No?” “No. What’s that about?” “I’m not sure. I don’t want anyone, I suppose.” “Hm. Perhaps.”
We stop talking. I stroke Valerie’s hair, and she tickles the skin on my stomach. We have sex again, and then we take a shower. And in the shower, we feel natural. Already. We kiss for a long time. It isn't quite like I imagined, but it certainly isn't worse. We sit on my couch to watch television, and Valerie opens a bottle of wine. I find wineglasses and fill them.
“What made you come over here? I mean, why now?” I ask her. “I don’t know.” She takes a sip of wine and says, “I just woke, sat up in bed, and decided that coming here was the least painful thing that I could do with myself.” "Listen Valerie, I hate to belabor the situation, but you decided to have sex with me...” “Why is it so Goddamned important to establish why we had sex?” she asks. That’s a good Goddamned question. “I want to know why I finally had sex with Valerie Sagulara. After three years of knowing her.” “Hm. Well, because, you’re always there. I count on you. And that gives you certain privileges.” “Hm. I have privileges?” “Yes. For now. Sometimes.” She starts to laugh. “How long do I have these privileges?” “As long as things stay like this.” “Like this?” “As long as we keep making each other feel better.” I take a drag of Valerie’s fag. She pours me another glass of wine. “I decided to have sex with you, for certain, when I saw you.” “That’s curious.” “Yes, well, then I knew for sure that you were down. And when I was down, for all those months, and you came over all the time and helped me, I always wanted you have to have sex with me.” “Why didn’t you say something?” “I don’t know. It seemed like too much to ask, at the time.” “Sometimes I was just there because you owed me money.” “I know.” “Sometimes to borrow money.” “I know.” “I was very angry with you, sometimes.” She kisses me. But softly, as if we haven’t kissed before. “You were kind to me.”
Valerie lights another fag. “So. I have to find a job,” I tell her. “Yes, you do. It’s making you ill.”
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