Free Dead Boyfriends by David Housewright Page A

exposing an individual’s history.
    By ten fifteen I had learned nearly everything that was public record about Merodie Davies and Priscilla St. Ana, and a few phone calls gave me more. I arranged the information in a file folder and then made appointments to visit a few people. I was about to call G. K. to give her an update when the phone rang.
    A recorded voice told me:
Qwest has a collect call from Merodie Davies, an inmate at the Anoka County Correctional Facility. To refuse this call, hang up. If you accept this call, do not use three-way or call-waiting features or you will be disconnected. To accept this call, press 1 now. Thank you.
    I pressed 1.
    â€œHello? Merodie?”
    â€œHi, McKenzie. Yeah, it’s me. I’m still in jail.”
    â€œAre you okay?”
    â€œI guess. I just got done with treatment. They make you go through treatment in here and—G. K. said I could talk to you. Can I talk to you?”
    â€œSure, but, Merodie, you need to be careful what you say. They tape these phone conversations, and anything you say can be used against you.”
    â€œI don’t care.”
    â€œMaybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
    â€œMcKenzie—your first name is Rushmore, isn’t it? What kind of name is Rushmore?”
    â€œMy parents once took a vacation in the Badlands of South Dakota. They told me I was conceived in a motor lodge near Mount Rushmore, so they named me after the monument. But it could have been worse. It could have been Deadwood.”
    I’ve told that story many times, and each time I got a laugh. Merodie didn’t laugh. She said, “I’m so sorry.”
    â€œNo, no, no—”
    â€œIt musta been hard on you.”
    â€œIt’s not that bad—”
    â€œI understand what you’ve been through because, well, because of my name.”
    â€œMerodie?”
    â€œYeah. I’m probably the only woman in the world who has it. At least I hope so.”
    â€œWhy’s that?”
    â€œMerodie is the name of a man’s underwear manufacturer. I don’t even know if it exists anymore.”
    â€œYou’re kidding.”
    â€œUh-uh. My mom, she saw the name on a box in a store somewhere in South Dakota—same place your name comes from, isn’t that a coincidence? Anyway, it was years and years ago when she saw the name. She always thought it was a good name for a girl, and when I was born . . .”
    â€œI don’t believe it.”
    â€œIt’s true. My mother named me after men’s underwear. You know what? Like the guys say, I’ve been taking it in the shorts ever since.”
    She laughed when she said it, but there was no humor in her voice, and for a moment I thought the laughter would change to tears.
    â€œI’m sorry, Merodie.”
    â€œIt’s okay. My mother’s done worse to me than give me a crummy name. A lot of people have done worse. You kinda get used to it.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.
    â€œHey, are you all right?” she asked me. “You sound funny.”
    â€œI’m good.”
    â€œYou sound like you have a cold.”
    â€œMaybe a little one.” Somehow, telling her about my hangover didn’t seem like a good idea.
    â€œIt’s this weather,” she said. “It’s been so hot everyone’s got their air-conditioning running full out and you go from the real cool air to real hot air and then back to the cool air and you get a cold.”
    â€œI’m okay.”
    â€œYou should put some Vicks on it.”
    â€œVicks?”
    â€œVapoRub. Put it on your chest and a little dab under your nose, it’ll clear you right up.”
    â€œYou’re in jail, yet you’re worried that I might have a cold. That’s kind of amazing, Merodie.”
    â€œI don’t know why. Just cuz you have problems doesn’t mean you can’t worry about your friends,