Free Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? by Ed Gorman

wife.
        I had just set foot on the floor when the phone rang. She went right on crying and the cats were glad to see me get up and go. More room for them to stretch out.
        I picked up the phone and this voice said hello and my first reaction - and I'm serious - was that it was a joke. I'll just give you the dialogue and stand back out of the way.
        "Hello."
        "McCain?"
        "Yes."
        "McCain, this is Stu Grant. I know this is a little awkward but - is Pamela there?"
        "Pamela?"
        "Yes. I - need to talk to her."
        "Is that for me?"
        "Just a second, Stu. Yeah, it's for you."
        "Did you say 'Stu'? My God, is that Stu on the phone?"
        "I know this is awkward for you, McCain. I really appreciate you putting her on the line."
        "Oh, God, please bring the phone over here. I can't believe he'd call here."
        "Just a second, Stu."
        That's how it started. She wrapped the sheet around her, very primlike, and sat on the edge of the bed, and I handed her the phone. Then she pointed to the nightstand and my cigarettes. I lighted a Lucky for her. Then she said, "Stu, just a minute." Then, "Thanks very much, McCain. I really appreciate this." Which meant, Get the hell out of here, McCain, so I can talk in private. It was one of those moments when I wish my folks hadn't raised me to be so polite. I mean, I should've told both of them where to go. But if you're raised to be polite, you can't quite get the words out, break the social contract that way. "Really appreciate this," she said again, to scoot me on my way.
        Talk about the world's most appreciating couple. He appreciated. She appreciated. It was a real orgy of appreciation all the way around.
        

SIX
        
        Well, if nothing else, I finally got to take my pee.
        I sort of cleaned up, too. This gave me an excuse to run the water so it wouldn't seem as if I was trying to eavesdrop. Something was up, that was for sure, him calling here this way.
        I had a shirt and some jeans hanging in the john closet. After I shaved and brushed my teeth and combed my hair, I put them on and slid my feet into my old penny loafers. I bought them in 1948 in the boys' department at Adams' Department Store downtown. And for doing so, I got a cellophane envelope containing six Batman comic books. You can't get bargains like that anymore. I was fourteen at the time and the shoes still fit eleven years later. That should tell you something about my size.
        When I turned the water off and the light out, I heard something terrifying. The sound of Pamela throwing her clothes on so she could leave me.
        I cleared my throat and strolled out into the moonlight-traced apartment.
        She was dressed. Standing in the middle of the floor, wobbling around on one foot so she could pull on her other shoe.
        "Oh, God, McCain. It's all so crazy."
        Yeah, I thought, I'll bet it is.
        "You know what he said?"
        She was going to tell me anyway.
        "He's picking me up at my house in half an hour. I'm supposed to pack two suitcases. We're moving to Chicago. Tonight! He said things'd just be too hard for us here. The way people would put us down and everything. He said we need a fresh start. He's going to marry me, McCain! He's going to marry me!"
        Then she was throwing her arms around me and hugging me and sort of leading us in a native dance of joy and celebration. And I hated her and I loved her and I wanted her again and I hated her and I loved her. But I couldn't blame her exactly, either. She'd waited for him just about as long as I'd waited for her. It was like dying standing there; my whole life with her came tumbling back. The walks home to the Knolls in autumn. Seeing her in her first two-piece at the public swimming pool. Holding hands as we ice skated in the winter. All the corny cards and sappy letters I'd sent her. And