LUCILLE.

Ding!

The bell rang once, sharply, in surprise. Then, a second time. She reached for the telephone absently, liking the way it fit into her hand, cooly. Not taking her eyes from her struggle with the wrapping on a magazine, she cradled the phone to her ear with her shoulder, with a quick shrug–

Hey Lucille!

The dial tone. She took it away from her ear, startled, and then smiled, slightly embarrassed. Willing to shrug it off– after all, it happend to almost everyone, it was probably just the TV– she placed the phone back in the receiver, and turned her attention back to the magazine, which she had yet to conquer.

She heard the clang and rattle of a trash-can–

Hey, Lucille, check it out!

Slyly, she crept toward the window and watched, quietly, as he replaced the lid on the trash-can. She predicted his next move– he would run his fingers through his hair, let his mouth twist into an ugly snarl, and kick the metal can–

Ding!

She reached for the phone, but froze when he turned pugnacious eyes toward her window. She willed herself invisible and hoped that she would shine so brightly that he had to see, and prayed prayed prayed– His eyes swept over her without seeing her, and she was disappointed. He turned towards the door of their apartment complex and jogged up the stairs, yanked open the door–

And she was pressed against her own front door, the wood rough against her cheek and ear– his footsteps fell heavily against the stairs as he climbed back up the stairs, back up to his apartment, back up to his waiting girlfriend (lucky girl, but then again–), up, up, and up–

You know what’s next Lucille, huh?

Yeah she did.

She walked carefully into her room, lightly, lightly, lightly– and laid down on her bed, and stared straight up at the ceiling, and she waited, knowing that it would only be a few moments–

And sure enough: a thump and a wild creak as the two bodies upstairs tumbled into the bed.

She wondered if it meant something, that his bed was above her bed and it didn’t take an active imagination to just– make a tiny switch. She didn’t want to– but– then again, maybe she did. It was easier– or– it wasn’t something she could control.

Ding!

It just happened.

Her name was Lucille, and she liked to listen when he fucked his girlfriend in the room above hers.

Ding!

Her body went lax, and she wondered briefly where her phone was– but it wasn’t– so important–

The floor groaned, and she wondered how the other woman was doing.

Hey Lucille–

Not now, not now. Two minutes– three– and then silence. Soon there would be the anger from that man toward that woman and she, Lucille– she had to work to keep their identities separate sometimes– would lay there on her bed and stare up at them and listen, distantly, to how wrong he sounded and how bad he sounded and how tired she sounded.

But this time--

This time, suddenly, variation: angry words– feminine-- and a shout, a pause, and another heavy thud, louder, as– as what?

As a body hit the floor?

A wicked suggestion– wicked, wicked, but was it true? This was not routine, this was not– usual–

She pictured it: a touch and a push, a shove and a stab– and she wondered where the visual had come from.

A long pause. She sang the ABC’s, experimentally. Her timing was perfect and Mary Ann was so predictable, liked things one way and one way only. Alphabet finished and clothing changed, she would be deciding what to do–

Steps, then– fast, across the floor above her, bang!– open the door– bang!– as it closed again. Steps, then– faster, as the other woman flew down the stairs.

Knock!

It didn’t register. Her thoughts drifted.

He had deserved it, she told herself, secure in the knowing. Every day began late– so fucking late, no courtesy at all–with sex, always sex. The woman left early, for work, and sometimes she forgot to take out the trash and lord did he get upset when that happened. In all fairness, they were suited for each other, so, so suited, because she– she–

Hey Lucille, remember? A, B, C, D, E, F–

She snickered, and–

Knock! Louder. Urgent.

She was startled, briefly, at the unfamiliarity of the sound. How– what was the appropriate reaction to this?

Softly, quietly, always always always without sound, she moved to the door. What was she supposed to say?

Hello, Mary Ann. I think I loved your boyfriend. Good thing he’s dead, though. Your mother never liked that he was an engineer.

She opened the door, and looked at Mary Ann, looked for a sign, looked for something physical that could confirm what she knew must have happened.

But if nothing else, Mary Ann was immaculately clean. Always had been. Predictable.

Remember? A, B, C, D, E, F, G– you’re supposed to sing the alphabet when you wash your hands clean.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, she remembered.

Mary Ann wanted to use the phone, wanted to call her mother.

Ding!

Come inside, she invited, it’s right there, gestured toward the corner, let her know she was welcome to it. Message delivered without embarrassment, she floated back to the couch, to fight with the still wrapped magazine.

There was a long pause, and rustling as Mary Ann searched for the phone–

Mary Ann cleared her throat, finally– let her know it wasn’t there, gently.

Ding!

She looked at the other woman askance, and then laughed, suddenly, remembering. She was sorry for the misunderstanding, she had gotten rid of the phone a while ago– it had broken. It’s easy to forget, you know? Easy to just– fall into routine.

Routine, yeah, bet you Mary Ann has had just about enough of that.

She tried not to let the amusement show on her face.

Understanding more than she was supposed to, Mary Ann nodded, and turned and left the apartment without another word. She closed the door behind Mary Ann, and returned to her room, thinking about how nice Mary Ann had looked walking away, and liking the way the sunlight felt on her skin, liking the way it looked on her bed.

Ding!

She reached for the phone, and wondered who was calling this time.