Roommate
âGood morning.â
When Jennifer greeted Andy, she had evidently been up for some time. She was still wearing Andyâs sweats, and was making toast and drinking coffee.
âThanks for helping me out last night,â she said, âI didnât want to go home alone, after what happened.â
âItâs alright, it was good to have you here, to have someone to take the edge off,â Andy said as he poured his coffee, âWhatâs up now, for the rest of the week-end, or has your phone high-jacked your life?â
âThereâs something you should know about me,â said Jennifer, âAbout my phone calls.â
âTell me.â
âWhen I was going to college, I was a bit, shall we say, wanton. Or, to be more precise,
wanting,â said Jennifer, âI knew what I wanted, and the niceties of dating never held me back, if you get my drift.â
âDo go on.â
âI was living in a bed-sit on Hennepin Avenueâthis was before Tom Waits made it fashionable. I had been sleeping with a guy, âThe Weaselâ is what I called him. My big mistake wasnât fucking him, it was fucking him
twice. Lord, some lessons take a long time to learn.â
âI take it it did not end well,â said Andy, âIâve got some experience in bad endings.â
âWell, it doesnât matter how it ends, just that it
must end when it goes bad,â said Jennifer, â
âThe Weaselâ, in addition to his other shortcomings, wasnât too bright when it came to knowing when he had worn out his welcome to my bed. I knew a theater major, gay, but was just crazy enough to go along with my scheme. I would invite Weasy over to my room, but when he got there my friend and I would act as if we had just âdone it.â Needless to say, Weasy wasnât into âsloppy secondsâ and left in a huff. Out of my life, forever, or so I thought. This was thirty years ago. Last week he somehow got my cell number. Heâs been texting me, he wants to be my âsugar daddy.â I havenât acknowledged him, but he still calls.â
âIâll take that you arenât keen on a reunion,â said Andy, âThere isnât an upside?â
âBelieve me, even if he was a rich as Trump, he still would be a toad. I have enough issues with self-loathing already.â
âWhat are you going to do?â said Andy.
âJust ignore him. He might go away.â
âDoes he know where you live, Or work?â
âNot yet, although he has my area code. Heâll probably get my car registration, although it is still at last years address,â said Jennifer, âI donât know, Iâd hate to move again. My job is pretty safe, they keep us out of the spotlight there, for legal reasons.â
âWould you like to stay here, for a while?â Andy blurted out, âI mean, I donât mean⊠â
âI donât know. We arenât loversâyet,â Jennifer smiled, âRoomates?â
âFair enough. I can sleep in the study, itâs got a bed, you can keep your car in the garage, out of sight. I could even drive you to work, in my car, I need to get up earlier, anyway.â
âO.K., letâs try it for a month,â she said, âAnd a super-big favor, would you pick up some of my clothes at my place? I donât want to be seen there, at least not yet.â
âIâll do that. We can Facetime it, so you can tell me what to get. Iâll walk over to the pub and get your car.â
âThanks, youâre a pal.â
The Reader is serial fiction, published every Friday