"Jay's a fucking scumbag," she said. "He was seeing his old girlfriend the whole time, right behind my back. I'm such a stupid idiot."

I held her for a long time as she cried.

I read part of some boring, poorly written story about the divas of hip-hop in Rebecca's copy of Vibe, and then, with the Police still playing, I started thinking about the police. I looked at my watch it was 6:25. I'd once read somewhere that most crimes are solved within twenty-four hours after they're committed and I hoped that every hour that passed without the police showing up made it more likely that they'd never come.

The CD ended and the apartment was suddenly silent. Having an apartment in the back of the building with no street noise was great most of the time, but when you didn't want to listen to yourself think, the quiet was unbearable. I considered playing another CD, but somehow the idea of listening to more music depressed me. I turned on the TV to some dumb reality dating show just for the comfort of noise.

Not that I really cared, but I looked down the hallway every once in a while, noticing that Rebecca was still in the bathroom. I figured that she was taking one of her annoyingly long baths. She'd done a lot of damage on my credit cards, buying exotic bath soaps and massage oils and she often hogged the bathroom, taking baths that lasted an hour or longer.

Eventually I heard Rebecca leave the bathroom and go into the bedroom, the odors of whatever shampoos or soaps she'd used seeping into the living room. It was past eight o'clock now, and there was still no sign of the police. As I expected, there was nothing about Ricky's body being found on the TV news. Even if the police were investigating, the death of a scumbag drug addict wasn't exactly newsworthy.

I heard a noise to my right and looked over and saw that Rebecca was sauntering into the living room in a black satin nightie.

"I'm sorry," she said, in a soft, vulnerable voice. "You know I'd never really hurt you, right? I just get upset because I love you so much and I don't want to lose you.

You can understand that, can't you, baby?"

"Move out in two days," I said calmly. "Please understand that it's the best thing for both of us."

"I'll be waiting for you in the bedroom," she said, as if she hadn't heard me. She popped an Ecstasy tablet into her mouth and swallowed.

Then she headed back down the hallway, swinging her hips from side to side in a slow, exaggerated way.

I shut off the TV and lay on the couch, squeezing my thighs together against my hard-on. Then I remembered having lunch with Angie how normal and right it had felt to be with her. I imagined that we'd gone out for a drink after work and then she'd invited me back to her place.

We'd sat on her couch and started making out. Things had progressed and we'd moved to the bedroom, where we'd undressed each other and started making love.

Unconsciously, I had started to masturbate. I continued, pulling down my underwear for easier access, imagining that I was lying on my back and Angie was next to me, taking off her panties. Then she climbed on top of me and I slid into her. She started bouncing up and down as my hands squeezed her heavy breasts. My hand action quickened as I saw Angie's face, and then Angie turned into Rebecca. I was getting closer and I wanted to get rid of Rebecca and see Angie again, but then Rebecca became Charlotte. I tried to think about Angie again, but Charlotte was sticking. I could see Charlotte clearly, her tiny breasts in my face. It was too late to stop, and I concentrated on Angie, seeing her again for an instant, and then there was a rapid flux. I was thinking about Angie, Charlotte, Angie, Charlotte, Rebecca, Charlotte shit Angie, Charlotte, Angie, Angie, Angie, Angie, then right as I started to ejaculate Charlotte.

Miserably, I rubbed the semen onto my leg until it had mostly absorbed.

A few minutes later, I was asleep.

THE RINGING PHONE jolted me awake. I sat up, disoriented. The lights in the kitchen and in the hallway were still on. The phone rang again as I glanced at my watch: 1:03.

I picked up the phone during the third ring, thinking, Shit, it's the fucking police. Why did I pick up?

"Hello," I said wearily.

"David, you gotta come meet me. Right now!"

Charlotte's annoying, squeaky voice made me wonder if I was having a nightmare. I didn't say anything, still trying to process what was going on.

"Hello, you there?" Charlotte said.

"I'm here." Then I thought about Rebecca. "Hold on."

I left the phone on the couch, hearing Charlotte protesting, "Hey, where're you going? Get back here!" and then her voice fading to nothing as I headed down the hallway. I opened the door to the bedroom carefully. The room was dark but I could see the shape of Rebecca's body asleep in bed. I closed the door and returned to the living room, where I could hear Charlotte's screaming voice still coming through the receiver.

She was saying, "You there?… Hello? Hello?"

"Are you crazy?" I said. "Why are you calling me?"

"We gotta talk," she said. There was background noise a car honking, Spanish-accented voices.

"Talk about what?" I said.

"Meet me at the Holiday Cocktail Lounge on St. Marks»

"Tell me»

"Just meet me at the cocktail lounge St. Marks and First»

"Are you out of your mind?" I said. "It's one in the morning."

She breathed deeply, then said, "Be there."

"Charlotte," I said, but she'd already hung up. I called her back, using the star-69 method, and a guy answered.

"Is Charlotte there?" I asked.

"What?" the guy said.

"Charlotte," I said. "She has brown hair. She's very thin."

"You got a fuckin' phone booth, man."

"I know it's a phone booth. Can you just look around and»

The guy hung up.

"Fuck," I said, and slammed the phone down.

I wanted to pull the phone out of the wall and go back to sleep, but I knew that would be a mistake. Charlotte could be trying to scam me again, or something could have gone wrong with the police. Either way, I had to find out what was going on.

I'd fallen asleep in my clothes, so I didn't have to get dressed. I put on my shoes and jacket and headed out.

On Columbus I hailed a cab downtown. The thought of seeing Charlotte's face again was making me sick. I wondered if she'd told the police about me and they'd talked her into wearing a wire. I could be walking right into a trap.

The cab sped past Lincoln Center, looped around Columbus Circle, and continued downtown.

I got out at Second and St. Marks and walked down the block to the Holiday Cocktail Lounge, a dive bar with a metal facade and a black, graffiti-covered awning. Inside, a mix of derelicts and college students trying to look like derelicts were seated at or standing around the horseshoe-shaped bar. The juke box was cranking "Tangled Up in Blue." I didn't see Charlotte anywhere in the front of the bar; then I went farther inside and saw her seated at one of the booths in the back. I looked around at the only other people nearby four guys drinking a pitcher of beer at another booth but they didn't seem to be paying attention.

I sat across from Charlotte on the red, cracked vinyl cushion. She was visibly agitated wiping her nose obsessively with the back of her hand, rocking from side to side. She was wearing her old, ripped denim jacket.

"I didn't think you were gonna show," she said.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Buy me a drink."

"What the hell happened?"

"Come on, I need something to calm down with. Just one fuckin' drink."

The guys at the other booth started laughing. I looked over at them, then turned back to Charlotte and said, "Are you gonna tell me what's going on now, or am I gonna go home and get back into bed?"