background information.”
Claudia nodded, not looking at him. Shhhhk!
“Stop that, will you?”
“Stop what?” she asked, putting down the brush.
“Never mind.” Nudger swung out of bed and padded barefoot toward the bathroom to shower. The hardwood floor was pleasantly cool to walk on.
“One egg or two?” she asked, as he passed her on the way to the door.
“I thought we’d have breakfast out.”
“I don’t mind cooking,” she said. “I still enjoy playing with the kitchen.” She had only been in the south St. Louis apartment on Wilmington a little over a month. Considering the roach palace she’d occupied downtown, Nudger could understand why she liked her new kitchen.
“Two eggs,” he said, and stepped over his wadded white
J. C. Penney underwear where he’d tossed it last night in the throes of passion. Fortunately he kept a complete change of clothes at Claudia’s.
In the spacious old tiled bathroom, he stood beneath the stinging needles of a hot shower and thought about Claudia. Her world had improved vastly since her suicide attempt only nine months ago. She had her job, the new apartment, a self-respect she’d thought was lost forever. And Nudger liked to think he was an incentive for her to keep on living. It was nice to be needed.
He began to lather his travel-tired body. The soap was perfumed and had the consistency of whipped cream, but it would have to do.
Nudger felt better after showering and dressing. By the time he walked into the kitchen, the fresh-perked coffee scent had honed his appetite. He sat down across the table from Claudia. She had his sunny-side-up eggs ready, along with black coffee, buttered toast, and three slices of bacon. Working woman though she was, Claudia liked to cook and was good at it. Nudger and his stomach appreciated this touch of domesticity in his otherwise unruly life.
“Are you going to see Nora and Joan today?” he asked, sprinkling too much salt on his eggs. Nora and Joan were Claudia’s thirteen-and eleven-year-old daughters by her unfortunate marriage. The girls lived with their father, Ralph Ferris, in north St. Louis County.
Claudia took a sip of coffee. “No, Ralph is taking them out of town this weekend. Or says he is. The bastard.”
Nudger smiled. Bastard . It was good to hear her refer to Ralph that way. Emotion out in the open. “In touch with her feelings,” was the jargon. Her psychiatrist, Dr. Oliver, would like that. Besides, Ralph was undeniably a bastard.
“I’ll spend most of the day reading my English Two class’s essays on Shelley,” she said.
“Winters or Berman?”
“What are you going to do today?” Claudia asked. She had learned to tune out his nonsense. She doused ketchup over her eggs. Nudger didn’t understand how she could eat them that way. Or even look at them directly.
“I’m going to see an old friend,” he said. “He’s not nearly as literate as your English Two class; he communicates best through a saxophone. But he does it oh so eloquently.”
Claudia looked up from her colorfully abused eggs and frowned at him. For a moment he thought she was going to ask him to elaborate, but she didn’t. She picked up her fork instead.
“Eat your breakfast,” she said simply.
Nudger did. Then he kissed her good-bye and left, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Ketchup.
Billy Weep lived in a second-floor apartment on Hodimont Avenue on the city’s north side. That wasn’t his real name, Billy Weep. Nudger had been told what it was one time long ago, but he’d forgotten it. He figured it didn’t matter. Not to him, probably not to Billy.
Nudger trudged up narrow dim stairs that reeked of stale urine, then knocked on the first door on his right.
He stood for a few minutes, then knocked again. Harder. There was a faint noise from inside that Nudger chose to interpret as an invitation to enter. He tried the knob, found the door unlocked, and pushed it open.
The one-room apartment
Claudia nodded, not looking at him. Shhhhk!
“Stop that, will you?”
“Stop what?” she asked, putting down the brush.
“Never mind.” Nudger swung out of bed and padded barefoot toward the bathroom to shower. The hardwood floor was pleasantly cool to walk on.
“One egg or two?” she asked, as he passed her on the way to the door.
“I thought we’d have breakfast out.”
“I don’t mind cooking,” she said. “I still enjoy playing with the kitchen.” She had only been in the south St. Louis apartment on Wilmington a little over a month. Considering the roach palace she’d occupied downtown, Nudger could understand why she liked her new kitchen.
“Two eggs,” he said, and stepped over his wadded white
J. C. Penney underwear where he’d tossed it last night in the throes of passion. Fortunately he kept a complete change of clothes at Claudia’s.
In the spacious old tiled bathroom, he stood beneath the stinging needles of a hot shower and thought about Claudia. Her world had improved vastly since her suicide attempt only nine months ago. She had her job, the new apartment, a self-respect she’d thought was lost forever. And Nudger liked to think he was an incentive for her to keep on living. It was nice to be needed.
He began to lather his travel-tired body. The soap was perfumed and had the consistency of whipped cream, but it would have to do.
Nudger felt better after showering and dressing. By the time he walked into the kitchen, the fresh-perked coffee scent had honed his appetite. He sat down across the table from Claudia. She had his sunny-side-up eggs ready, along with black coffee, buttered toast, and three slices of bacon. Working woman though she was, Claudia liked to cook and was good at it. Nudger and his stomach appreciated this touch of domesticity in his otherwise unruly life.
“Are you going to see Nora and Joan today?” he asked, sprinkling too much salt on his eggs. Nora and Joan were Claudia’s thirteen-and eleven-year-old daughters by her unfortunate marriage. The girls lived with their father, Ralph Ferris, in north St. Louis County.
Claudia took a sip of coffee. “No, Ralph is taking them out of town this weekend. Or says he is. The bastard.”
Nudger smiled. Bastard . It was good to hear her refer to Ralph that way. Emotion out in the open. “In touch with her feelings,” was the jargon. Her psychiatrist, Dr. Oliver, would like that. Besides, Ralph was undeniably a bastard.
“I’ll spend most of the day reading my English Two class’s essays on Shelley,” she said.
“Winters or Berman?”
“What are you going to do today?” Claudia asked. She had learned to tune out his nonsense. She doused ketchup over her eggs. Nudger didn’t understand how she could eat them that way. Or even look at them directly.
“I’m going to see an old friend,” he said. “He’s not nearly as literate as your English Two class; he communicates best through a saxophone. But he does it oh so eloquently.”
Claudia looked up from her colorfully abused eggs and frowned at him. For a moment he thought she was going to ask him to elaborate, but she didn’t. She picked up her fork instead.
“Eat your breakfast,” she said simply.
Nudger did. Then he kissed her good-bye and left, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Ketchup.
Billy Weep lived in a second-floor apartment on Hodimont Avenue on the city’s north side. That wasn’t his real name, Billy Weep. Nudger had been told what it was one time long ago, but he’d forgotten it. He figured it didn’t matter. Not to him, probably not to Billy.
Nudger trudged up narrow dim stairs that reeked of stale urine, then knocked on the first door on his right.
He stood for a few minutes, then knocked again. Harder. There was a faint noise from inside that Nudger chose to interpret as an invitation to enter. He tried the knob, found the door unlocked, and pushed it open.
The one-room apartment
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