JON SURGAL
397
me, the sun is seldom
wont
to shine. Which will more or less determine
whether this little cowgirl
survives.
Is the bottom line. So I thought I'd stop
by and visit. Not that I expect great outpourings of empathy from the ass–
hole. Is anyway how I happen to be in the neighborhood."
"Listen," Mick said finally. "You're upset."
Heimlich's wife took a reflective drag on her cigarette. Then she put
her elbow on the table and she put her chin on the back of her hand and
she blew the smoke out her nose. She flicked the ash into her glass of
water. "No shit, Sherlock," she said. "What gave you your first clue."
"Look," Mick said. "If you want to talk about it." He made a vague
gesture. He was not entirely sure that he wanted to listen.
"I don't know. No. You know what it is? I'll tell you what it is . This
is what it is, all right? This is the
problem.
You ready? This is it:
Armageddon is coming
and I have nothing to wear."
"I know what you mean," Mick said.
"Don't please give me that shit, all right? You know what I
mean.
All
right, what do I
mean."
Mick shrugged. He did not want a scene. He brought up the
Hemorrhoids of Young Werther look.
"Basically," he said, "pain sucks."
Heimlich's wife looked at him a long time through the smoke from
her cigarette.
"Whatta you say," she said finally. "You get rid of whatsername. I get
a divorce
she said eagerly.
Let's get married."
Mick
smiled
at her. He shook his head.
"Who would have us?" he asked her.
Heimlich's wife laughed hard through her nose. She began to cough. She
was laughing and coughing at the same time and flicking the ash from her
cigarette into her glass of water. She could not stop coughing. Mick pushed
his own glass across the table to her. She bent over and sipped from it, wav–
ing one hand in the air to keep his attention. She sat back finally and caught
her breath. "Let me tell you," she said, "what the asshole said yesterday."
Mick could not bring himself to concentrate.
* * *
"One humongous chicken soup," the waiter said. "Eat, before it gets
cold."
" ... a little consideration," Heimlich's wife was saying. Mick thought
at first that she was reproaching him for not paying attention to her, or not
paying attention to the wai ter, or not being able to
fix
her life. "I mean all
of us are dying," she said. "Every minute of every day. You'd think it would
give us something in common, for God's sake. Eat your soup."
