“I didn’t think you were coming,” Boots said, her hand rubbing sleep from her face. “I ate and went right to bed.”

I nodded and leaned my head against the doorframe. Her eyes widened as she noticed the bloody jacket. “What the hell is that?” she asked, anxious and afraid.

“Me.” I held the denim away from my arm.

“My god, what happened to you?” She leaned forward, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into the room. She kept hold and started toward the bathroom but I yanked her to a stop. As I waited for the dizziness to subside, I looked at the spectacular view of the city pouring in through her living room’s window wall. As usual, the glittering lights surrounding the ink of the river left me speechless. Nowhere else were the town’s blemishes so well hidden.

“What happened to you?” Boots repeated, letting go of my hand and walking between me and the apartment’s glass face. She wore a pair of men’s black-on-black silk paisley pajamas, a couple of sizes too large. Framed by the magnificent wall, it was as if an advertisement from Vogue was superimposed over the city.

Most of the time I would have grown excited. Tonight, I saw myself in the picture and felt like a bum who had slept through his train stop.

I started down the short hall to the bathroom without answering. Boots followed and leaned against the doorway while I cleaned and bandaged my arm. The wound was deep; I worked to keep the tears in check. Our silence gave me time to question why I’d come. Unfortunately, there wasn’t going to be enough time to figure the answer.

I looked at Boots’ reflection in the medicine chest above the sink. Her eyes were full of concern. I avoided them, staring instead at her lightly accented lips. I caught the faint fragrance of perfume, and realized she wore more makeup to sleep than Melanie wore during the day.

The comparison only added to my discomfort. I opened the chest and pulled out a container of Motrin. “Can I have something to drink?” I asked.

Boots pointed to the bathroom glass but I shook my head. “Stronger.”

We walked back into the living room where I corkscrewed myself onto the floor next to her sleek, lacquered maroon Japanese table. She poured our drinks and carried them over; I was glad she brought the bottle. While she sat down behind the other side of the table I gulped the pills.

I lifted the bottle, added more alcohol to my glass, and teased, “Why don’t you spring for a table with legs? You can afford it.”

The worried look remained but she played along. “I can’t bear to spoil the view. Don’t you know what furniture looks like these days?”

“I don’t buy retail.”

“I know, I know.” A brief smile flashed across her unhappy face. “If it doesn’t come from the Forties, it doesn’t exist.”

I raised my good arm. “I’m no purist. I have lots of things from the Fifties.” “Sorry, my mistake. You’re only forty years behind the times.”

We’d run out of lines. I sat silent, sorry for myself. For the hurt in my arm and the choreographed banter between us. I tamped down a sudden image of Melanie, and felt relieved when Boots broke the quiet.

“You didn’t cut yourself shaving, did you?” she asked.

“I ran into a group of rednecks in The End.” “Did they rob you too?”

I shook my head. “No. I don’t think it occurred to them. It was sport, trash a stranger. A game I remember from the old days.” I wondered if I’d been on the ground long enough for one of them to grab at my wallet, but couldn’t recall an accurate time sense.

Boots grimaced. “It’s hard to imagine living there, much less returning.”

Her remark reminded me of our breakfast at Charley’s. Which reminded me of her breakfast there with Hal. “I told you I was working. It’s not like I’m moving back.” I couldn’t keep the hostility out of my voice. “I’m sorry,” I lied, “I’m still angry about the beating.”

Her eyes combed my face. “Is that all?” she asked quietly.

The words were out of my mouth before I could muzzle up. “Why the fuck did you go to Charley’s with Hal?”

Boots pushed herself back from the table and wrapped her arms around bended knees. “Okay,” she said. “At least I know what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m glad someone does. But I really am angry about the beating,” I insisted, embarrassed by my outburst.

She nodded at my last sentence then ignored it. “I planned to speak with you.” Boots unwrapped her knees and curled her legs under her bottom. “Do you want to talk now?”

I nodded, but all I really felt was a mixture of dread, jealousy, and guilt. “Hal wanted to meet. He wanted to ask me something.”

I stood, walked to the expanse of glass, and looked down at the quiet river. A few months after I’d married Chana, we had visited Quebec for a long weekend. Our hotel overlooked the St. Lawrence Seaway, and we’d spent hours at the window holding hands, watching ships and barges work the water beneath us. The only boats you saw on the Charles were built for pleasure. But there was no pleasure on this river in November.

“You must have really liked Phil’s cornflakes.”

“I went to Phil’s to keep my relationship with Hal in perspective.”

I kept gazing out the window. She didn’t have to tell me Hal’s question. Off in the distance I thought I saw Melanie invite me to come back. I turned toward Boots. “I don’t see how cornflakes could do that. Even Phil’s.”

“Look, I want you to understand,” she said.

I glanced away. “There’s nothing to understand. It’s a free country. You can eat where you want, marry who you want.”

She waved her hand. “Look at me, will you? I took Hal to Charley’s to turn him down.” Boots stood, giving a characteristic shake of her thick black hair. She took two cigarettes from a bowl on the island between the living room and her tiny walk-through kitchen, lit, and brought them, and a gleaming crystal ashtray to my side. I took the offer and inhaled gratefully.

Her voice had a brittleness that surprised me. “I can’t really imagine myself married,” she continued. “You see, I’m more like you than you realize.”

“I still don’t understand what Charley’s has to do with anything.”

She ignored me. “But I’m tempted by security and, the fact is, marriage to Hal would be as secure as it gets. If he left his wife after thirty-five years, I wouldn’t have much to worry about.”

“Sounds like a good deal.”

She looked directly into my eyes. “Fuck you Matt, I said tempted. Whatever it’s taken, I’ve lived this long without that kind of ‘deal.’ I took Hal to Charley’s to reinforce our differences.

It’s exactly the kind of place I love and he hates. I wanted him to understand why I could never feel at home with him—or he with me.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just to protect yourself from entangling alliances?” I wanted to push her away.

“You still can’t see past my makeup, can you?” she snapped. “If I went there to protect myself from anything, it was from giving you up.”

Giving me up. I felt a rush of panic cleave my gut. I didn’t know what was happening between us, but I didn’t want her to give me up either. I walked back to the bathroom and fished around in my jacket. Miraculously, the joint was still intact, and I lit it off the cigarette. I returned to the table and sat awkwardly on the floor.

“I thought you were getting your jacket to leave.”

I still wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t want to go.”

“Good. I don’t want you to go either.” She reached across the table and took the joint from my hand, inhaled, and placed it in the ashtray. “We have more to talk about.”

“Yeah,” I agreed halfheartedly. “But not tonight.”

I thought she would protest, but she nodded and looked relieved. “Will you tell me about your case? I don’t want to sit here in silence.”

And we weren’t yet ready for sex. I filled her in while we both calmed down. I thought she looked at me strangely when I gave her an abbreviated version of my meetings with Mel, though I couldn’t be sure. But I was relieved when she asked, “Could Blackhead have arranged your beating? He said he wanted you out.”

“Nah, I don’t see him willing to go to the trouble, nor able to pull it off.” But something inside me still wondered, and I mentally added her question to the others I had. I smiled grimly: I wasn’t done with The End yet.

“What’s so funny?” Boots was calm. Probably as pleased as I to be back on the right side of our line.

But we weren’t on the right side and I knew it the moment we sprawled across her damask sheets. When I closed my eyes and touched her breasts, I felt Melanie’s. I pushed the head of my cock into Boots, but felt Melanie open and bathe me with her wet. I grew more excited as Melanie’s mouth ate mine, and her hands held me in. It was Melanie’s softness, not Boots’ muscle I felt, until someone’s cry pierced my shudder. I opened my eyes, startled to see Boots’ face. We shifted positions and I felt the ache in my wounded arm as my movements took their toll and the Motrin its leave.

Boots’ head was on my belly, her hand stroking my thigh. “Something was different,” she said.

“The beating, our fight,” I lied to the back of her head.

“No, something else.” She kept her head where it was, but her fingers stopped moving on my leg.

“Only thing left is Lou,” I lied again.

“Lou?” She turned her body and propped herself up with her elbow. “Yeah, he’s coming to visit.”

“You don’t want him to?” She sounded surprised.

This was one time when “out of the fire, into the frying pan” really was upwardly mobile. I could tell the truth about this problem. I sat up, lit two cigarettes, and handed her one. “You don’t know how he’s been lately,” I said. “It’s like there’s no air left for me to breathe when we talk. I’m afraid I’ll suffocate when he comes to town.”

“He’s needy, Matt. Martha…”

I was immediately defensive. “Believe me, Boots, I understand about Martha. And I don’t mind trying to help. But I have trouble with someone grabbing at me.”

“I know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Damn, woman, how many times do I have to apologize for my reaction to Hal?”

“I wasn’t talking about you and Hal, Matt. I was thinking about how it feels the same for me.” I felt like a fool. The back of my head throbbed where it had been hit and I wanted to disappear. From her, from Lou, from my head.

“He’s coming for Thanksgiving,” I said. “There’s going to be a party. Of course, you’re invited.” I stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and passed it to her.

Boots took the ashtray, put out her smoke, but kept her eyes averted. “I won’t be able to come.”

I started remembering where I’d dropped my clothes. “I’m going on a trip with Hal.” She paused, then said gently, “I didn’t know about Lou’s visit. Holidays never mean anything to you.”

I stood up and hunted for my pants. I didn’t think Boots would object: Hal gets his consolation prize, I get to go home. “Holidays don’t mean anything,” I agreed. “It’ll go all right.”

“If everything is so okay why are you running out of here?” she asked. “I’m going to work tomorrow;”

“You’re leaving because of the malls?” “The End.”

That sat her up. “Why?” She jumped off the bed and pulled on her pajamas. “Why?” she repeated. “You don’t have a case. He fired you.”

“I got a new client. Me.” I finished dressing, hoping to leave while the ensuing argument still obscured the real conflicts between us. It even brought us closer.

“You’ll freeze if you don’t wear your jacket.”

I looked at the bloody ball of denim in my hand. “I don’t want to wear it.” For a moment I was tempted to tell her to call when she returned from her trip, but I bit my tongue. I leaned down and kissed her lips. “I’ll be fine,” I said, pulling out of her grasp, then out of her house.

But I wasn’t fine. I walked to my car, threw the damp jacket on the back seat, and took off, hardly giving the engine a chance to warm. I drove straight for home. Hard. Too hard, and too fast to decide whether I felt lost or free.