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freeway.
    “So what’s the deal, Sheila? That girl you set me up with is pregnant.”
    Silence.
    “Sheila?” I asked.
    “It’s your younger sister – the one who’s supposed to look up to you.”
    I turned my mute button on.
    “Sheila set you up with a
girl
?”
    Mute.
    “Is there something you’re not telling me, Tracy? Do I need to prepare Mom and Dad? No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend. It’s all starting to add up.”
    “What do you want, Jenny? I’m really busy.”
    “Don’t change the subject.”
    Many seconds passed in absolute silence.
    “God, you’re stubborn. I was just wondering if you were gonna come home for the anniversary?”
    “You know they don’t want a big fuss.”
    “Of course they want a big fuss, especially after thirty-five years.”
    “They really probably don’t.”
    “They do so.”
    “I can’t afford it.”
    “Luke and I can offer you a low interest loan.”
    I wanted to gouge her eyes out with a corroded spoon.
    “I’ll think about it,” I said.
    “Call me later then.”
    I hung up without saying goodbye.
    Damn it to hell.
    I tried to conjure Patrick and the box and the ambience, but it was too late; the mood had been completely tasered. I comforted myself with the thought that tonight I could be alone with frozen vegetables and my own friggin’ fantasies, the last enjoyable thing in my dung life that I was truly in control of.
    And then, as if a gift from a pitying universe, traffic started moving. Slow at first, but soon I was moving along at a bearable clip.
    The phone started vibrating again and I did not hesitate to scream into it, “I said I’d think about it, Jenny!”
    “It’s Jason.”
    “Oh.”
    Mr. Perfect
.
    “I was just wondering if you got the job at William Morris because I’m at the showroom and I have some slacks here for you. They’re a size twelve but we could easily take them in. And there’s a dark blue Escada blazer here with your name on it. You’ll be an absolute smash on your first day.”
    “I didn’t get the job.”
    “What?”
    “A wham-bam – no thank you, Ma-am.”
    “Oh – I’m sorry. They don’t know what they’re missing.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “Why don’t you let my boyfriend and I make you a meal. Something with lots of vegetables – good wine.”
    “I think I need to just fantasize my way through a box of Ding-Dongs.”
    “Really?”
    “Yup – preferably in a pair of stretch underpants.”
    “You’re really sure?”
    “Yes.”
    “Take care then – sweet Tracy.”
    “You too.”
    You too… perfect gay Jason
.
    I was sick with a new kind of grotesque despair. But then I started thinking that such a gay man may well be perfect, but he surely wasn’t perfect for me. And did I really want a boyfriend anyway? Was I really letting stress and a few nasty hives dictate my future?
    I was so deeply engaged in matters of such profound importance that I didn’t notice the car stopped dead in front of me.

chapter 7

    T HE EMERGENCY ROOM reminded me of a teleplay I’d once written.
    Dr. Stetson McQuaid
was the only script I’d ever burned, but this place had the exact look of what I’d been trying for on paper. The place was packed with all manner of injury, mine being by far the least gory.
    The ambulance had insisted on taking me in because of the severity of my expression. The officer on the scene said he’d never seen anyone look so utterly dopey – not at least without some form of brain injury. They were afraid I might be suffering from intense whiplash or a blow to the head. I withheld the impulse to reveal that my expression had more to do with the gathering stench of my life than any trauma I might have sustained.
    The driver of the crappy car I hit would apparently be arriving any moment. I was already preparing my defenses, although I wasn’t too worried, as I’d heard emergency workers talking about the need to take such junk heaps off the freeways.
    As I was figuring ways to