Chapter 4

Liam was home. I didn't see him, but the shower was running and the pipes were doing their usual imitation of Niagara Falls. I plopped down on the couch and took a swig of the warm beer that was still where I'd left it and turned on ESPN. Ugh, tractor pulls are not my thing. I surfed the channels giving every station the standard 2-second shot at catching my interest; there was nothing on. I turned the TV off, and went up to my room.

Now that I really looked, it was kind of a pit. I walked over to where I'd stashed the Playboy and the scuzzy briefs. I picked them up and threw them both in the wastebasket. That was better. I figured if I could just take care of one thing a day, I'd have the room clean again in three, maybe four years tops.

I undressed and dropped my clothes in a ball on a chair. Then I got back into my sweatpants and a clean T-shirt, having already hung up my lucky Bulls jersey for next time. I do, after all, have some regard for the important things in life.

Liam was out of the shower by then and I could hear him slamming drawers in his room. I thought he must have been going out with Broom Hilda again.

I went downstairs to check out the freezer for something I could maul and microwave. I was still risking frostbite with my head in the box, when I heard Liam start swearing.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

That was different. Liam was usually too lazy to get upset over anything. A second later, I heard him slam down the stairs and then he was in the kitchen, dressed in his tiger striped bikinis and peering into the dryer like it held the meaning of life.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't have any Goddamn clean socks." He slammed the dryer shut with a tinny thwack. "I can't believe it. Amy forgot about my socks!"

Yeah, I thought, there's a sin right up there with child abuse, genocide and destroying the ozone layer. Liam started rummaging through the pile of clean clothes I'd left on top of the dryer. Okay, the pile of clothes I keep, on top of the dryer. They might get dirty in my room.

He grabbed a couple of stray dark socks and waved them in front of me. "Are these navy or black?"

I looked at them for a minute.

"Both."

"Good enough," he started to push past me, but I stopped him.

"Hey, what's her phone number anyway?"

"Whose?"

"Amy's."

He gave me this really disgusted look like I'd just said the most idiotic thing he'd ever heard. Then he rolled his eyes. "Dude, she doesn't have my socks at her house."

"You know Liam, this may surprise you, but I really don't give a fuck about your socks."

"Whatever," he shrugged.

"I just want her number, okay?"

"I don't know it."

"How can you not know it? You call her every day."

"It's 2 on the speed dial. She put it there. Can I go now? I'm late."

He took off past me and thundered up the stairs again.

I went over to the phone and punched the # sign and then the 2. It was busy. She was probably talking to Miriam.

This annoyed me though there was no reason it should. I honestly didn't know why I was calling Amy; I had nothing to say. In fact, when I thought about it, I didn't know what I would say if I actually got hold of her. I put the receiver back on the hook.

"Fucking H. Christ!" Liam screamed at the top of his lungs.

Now what? Were we out of toothpaste?

Down the stairs he stormed again. Except for my mismatched socks, Liam hadn't gotten any further in dressing.

"This is fucking unbelievable," he stormed, "she forgot to pick up my shirts at the dry cleaners."

Something inside me snapped, and it was my turn to go charging through the house. I jerked open the closet door and grabbed the shirts that Amy had hung there that morning.

"Here, asshole. Take the Goddamn shirts and get out of my sight." I threw them at Liam who caught them to his chest.

He looked at me like I'd just lost my mind. "What's your problem?"

"You, you piece of shit; you're my problem!" I closed in on him and he backed up. I looked at the shirts he was holding and my eyes narrowed. "I'm sick of the way you treat that girl. Did it ever occur to you, that maybe you could take care of your own fucking laundry?"

I reached over and grabbed the receipt off the cleaning and waved it in his face. "Christ Liam, you even let her pay for this!"

It was true. Amy's name and address were on the slip along with an imprint from her credit card.

"Hey, I'll pay her back."

"Yeah right," I shook my head and stood there a moment until I could speak in a more reasonable voice. "She's a nice girl, Liam, really sweet, with a good heart. And you don't even know that about her. You don't even care!" I turned on my heel and grabbed my coat out of the closet. Liam was still trying to defend himself when I slammed the front door behind me.

Luckily, I'd had my keys in my coat pocket. I jerked open my car door and slid roughly into the driver's seat. Then I jammed the key in the ignition, slammed the stick into drive and squealed out into the traffic. I had no idea where I was going, you understand. I just knew I wanted to get as far away from Liam the asshole, as I could.

I'd gotten about six blocks away when I realized I'd probably made a mistake. The rain was turning to ice now, and my predictions about Chicago turning into one big skating rink, were quickly coming true. One more block and a van up ahead fishtailed and slammed into a parked car at the curb. I took my foot off the accelerator and slid to a stop.

There didn't seem to be any way around it, I was going to have to turn and go back and face Liam. Not that I felt I had anything to apologize for; my problem with going home was I couldn't stand the thought of seeing him for a while - like the next eight or ten years.

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel as I waited for the accident to clear. I looked around the car for a snack. It wasn't that unlikely, somewhere in the piles of cellophane and Mickey D bags, there could have been something edible.

It was while I was looking, that I saw I'd thrown the cleaning receipt onto the seat next to me. I'd still been clutching it when I'd stormed out of the house. I picked it up and looked at it. Hmmm, it seemed Amy lived another block over. It only made sense to try to get there rather than drive all the way home, right?

The traffic started to move again. I had to make up my mind, take a right turn at the next one-way street and go home, or drive another block, turn left and double back to Amy's. I put my foot on the brake and slid right past the stop sign and through the intersection. Hey, I can recognize a sign from God as quick as the next guy.

It took 15 minutes to drive those two blocks. Finally, I pulled in front of a greystone that had Amy's address over the top of the door. This was a much nicer neighborhood than where I lived, even if it was only a couple of miles away.

I got out of my door and fell on my ass. Oh, this was going to be a suave entrance. I managed to make it to the front door by practicing my old hockey skating technique, sans blades. God, I hoped she wasn't watching.

Of course she was.

She met me at the door, her eyes wide and her hand holding a cordless phone to her ear. I stood on her stoop with a wet ass and a runny nose from the cold, and hair that was already getting a crust of ice.

"It's Charlie," Amy said into the phone, not at me.

She listened some more as I accumulated more ice. "Uh huh. Uh huh. Oh, no." She looked at me like a deer in headlights. "I couldn't."

"Sure you could," I said. "If it means I can come in."

Amy gasped and reddened, and jumped away from the door. I slid past her into the foyer.

"I have to go." She said into the phone. "I'll call you tomorrow," and she clicked the off button.

"That was Miriam; she's a lot better."

I leaned over and checked out her phone ear. "Can you hear me?" I whispered.

Amy giggled. "Of course I can hear you."

"Amazing," I shook my head and icicles flew off my hair and hit the wall.

"Oh gosh, Charlie, I'm, sorry you must be freezing. Come on in and I'll make you something warm to drink."

I followed her into her living room and stopped. It was nice, very nice. Like somebody really lived there. All my friends just sort of camped out with used furniture and a lot of plastic crates for color. Amy, however, seemed to have gotten her decorating ideas from somewhere other than Wal-Mart.

She had a red sofa and two blue stuffed chairs that actually looked like they were all meant to be in the same room. She had a coffee table and a bunch of other wooden furniture that was light and modern and looked like it had just been unloaded off a boat from one of the Scandinavian countries. There were pillows everywhere, nice fat ones in different shapes and covered in all kinds of crazy patterns in bright, primary colors. The lamps were modern and plentiful, and the pictures on the wall had real frames and there wasn't a sports figure or rock star on one of them.

She even had knickknacks like my mom. Except Mom tends towards cute little figurines of kids with big eyes, while Amy had thick pottery and small, painted, wooden animals that I'd only thought could live in the mind of a Dr. Seuss.

"This is really great," I said.

"Thanks, I've always liked this kind of decor; so when I got a bonus last year, I decided to splurge."

I shook my head. I was having a hard time connecting the girl, with the bag lady clothes, with the woman who'd put together this warm and sophisticated room. Of course, I suddenly realized, the bag girl was gone and the woman who stood in front of me matched the room perfectly.

"Have a seat," she said.

I started to sit on one of the chairs, but half way down I remembered my butt was still wet and I popped back up. Amy saw my predicament and went to get me a towel, but when she came back; she was holding a pair of sweat pants that would have been a little baggy on Namu the killer whale.

"I found these in the spare bedroom," she said. "My dad left them here when my folks visited last. Why don't you put them on and I'll put yours through the laundry?"

I looked at them skeptically. Maybe they'd work as a sleeping bag, but I didn't think they were going to be much use as pants since there was no way they were going to stay up over my ass.

"They have a draw string," Amy said, reading my mind.

I took them from her and went into the bathroom to change. Two minutes later I was back again, looking like I was wearing Oprah's fat clothes and tripping over the drawstring ends that now dragged on the ground. I handed Amy my wet pants and dared her to laugh with my eyes. She didn't even crack a smile, bless her.

"Well at least you'll be decent this way," she said.

Which was certainly true. It was hard to tell I had legs in all that material, let alone see any other parts of my anatomy.

I sat down and Amy disappeared again, but she was back soon with two mugs that steamed from whatever they held. Amy handed me one and I looked into it. Oh God, it was hot chocolate, and it even had two big marshmallows melting on the top. I moaned in delight, as I took my first sip.