He reached out the window of the Mercury Montego and hung up the pay phone. Big rain splotches darkened the sleeve of his Coastal Mist windbreaker, though he didn’t have to reach far. It was one of four payphones in town, all at Circle K’s, that you could roll right up to and not even have to get out to make a call.

Just one of many such nuggets he knew.

But others knew too. So if somebody was on it when he drove up he’d usually go inside for a cup of coffee or a tube of hot peanuts, sit at one of the sticky laminated plastic booths by the window and wait for the person to leave. Usually.

These days, he rarely had some place to be, which he enjoyed…for the most part.

But this wasn’t one of those days. So he had waited in the Montego, by the curb with his high beams on, facing a Mustang II Cobra. At least he was pretty sure that’s what it was.

Shitty little car.

Because of the downpour, he couldn’t see the driver. But he knew it was a woman…probably a teenage girl who’d be easily intimidated…it had to be. No self-respecting-man would be caught dead driving that car.

Now Farrah Fawcett…she looked good in hers…but that, of course, was different.

Stupid television show. He’d never watched a single episode.

Sure enough the driver wrapped it up quickly. He didn’t budge when the Mustang backed up and had to make an awkward about face near the gas pumps.

That was the hurry up part. Now he was in for the wait.

Tiny beads of rain streaked down the window and settled around the control panel. Don’t let water get anywhere near that power window button, his mechanic had warned.

But he had to hear the phone ring.

He wiped the droplets away with his thumb and lit another cigarette.

______________________________________________________________

Her bare feet hit the cold tile that led to the in-laws apartment. The Buick, visible through the glass exterior door, signaled he was there.

Cautiously she tried the door handle of the apartment. It was pretty fifty fifty whether it would be locked.

It wasn’t.

The room was lit by the television turned to a barely audible murmur. A figure lay curled up on the couch, a shock of platinum hair just visible beneath a custom made quilt of gold and purple Crown Royal bags. She bent over it and gently shook the shoulder.

“Jay?…Jay, honey… wake up.”

He shuddered and rolled onto his back, blinking sleepily up at her.

“I’m sorry to wake you, hon, but Moe called the residential line. He said you have the answering machine on.”

“I must have slept through it,” he rasped.

She side eyed the end table, inventorying what was on it: telephone, answering machine, his glasses and prescription bottles.

“Here. Let me help you with that.”

She pulled off the quilt and he swung his legs down; she waited for him to settle before handing him his glasses.

“He said he was calling from a payphone. Do you want me to dial the number?”

Hitching up his broad angular shoulders he heaved an uncharacteristic sigh. She flinched. Her expression, though, as still as early morning lake water.

“Roger,” he said.

______________________________________________________________

She walked back toward the apartment, this time gingerly, carrying a mug of hot chocolate.

She knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

“I made you some coco. No pressure. I’ll drink it if you don’t want it.”

“Thanks. Sound’s delicious.”

She carefully handed it over.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m good. Why do you ask?”

“That’s not funny.”

“Yes it is. I told you to quit asking me that. Please.”

It was true; he looked much as he always had. Like a perpetual sexagenarian. Sansabelt slacks. Golf shirts. Premature gray. Just a little paler…a little thinner.

“Ahh! This really hits the spot.”

“Jay…”

“Hmm?…”

“You know I don’t get into your business…”

He sat the mug on the end table.

“And I don’t get into yours.”

“Moe. He knows…”

“You were there when I told him.”

“So?…”

He patted the couch cushion, inviting her to sit. She obliged.

“He needs my help.”

“What else is new?”

“To be fair, the man’s never asked me for a dime. Not even when he had to sell everything he had.”

“But that’s the way it’s done. That’s what you’ve always said.”

“That’s the way its supposed to be done. He’s the only one that hasn’t.”

“Besides me.”

“Lonna!”

He watched her eyes fill. A tear ran onto her lips.

“You’ve never had to ask.”

“No. I haven’t,” she admitted.

He leaned in and kissed her.

“And you never will.”

They sat there for awhile and watched the NBC Mystery Movie…McCloud. Then she went back to bed.