Appointment

Always there has been a place. An hour, another. The aim being to not disappoint, or to disappoint by few degrees, keeping possible a fresh appointment.

Beth had been too long in the bath, pulling the warm water from her feet toward her thighs, listening to women on the television in her room. My room, my bed, my bath. For $230 they were, tonight, all hers. She liked the voices on the screen, flat but crisp, spoken in some writer’s rhythm. She wondered if she spoke this way, if everybody did. From the tepid water she lifted her left leg and said, “I meant it, Shane. I really can’t afford a trip to Massachusetts.”

“How much was your room?” He’d say.

“Mooonnneeeyyy,” she’d say, “Yes, the money.”