Stacking in Rivertown by Barbara Bell Page B

time. Jeremy’s presence here cinched it for me. Good old synchronicity. Good old Mr. Bubbly. Arf, Arf.
    I wonder how long Ben cultivated him. I imagine Ben and Jeremy sitting together in the Grill Room at the Four Seasons, Ben eventually getting Jeremy to confess his deepest fantasies. Rather embarrassing for your deepest fantasy to come out looking like this.
    Ben. Ben. Ben. I hadn’t thought about him for five years, and the whole time he was busy preparing himself for just this moment.
    Gotcha!
    Jeremy’s petting me again, stroking me. If I had a tail, I’d wag.
    God, if I’d only known. I could have saved him a lot of trouble. And money.
    She’s a beautiful dog, Ben. Do you have a leash?
    Ben clips one on my collar and hands the end to Jeremy. This seems to really get Jeremy cranking. I can hear him walking around, taking me in. How, after five years, can he not recognize me? Oh well. So much for marriage. He tugs the leash a little.
    Sit.
    I try not to laugh.
    Sit, he says again in a stern voice.
    I sit.
    Lie down.
    God, what a fucking gas. I crouch. I’d pant if he could see my face.
    I wish he’d hand me a bit of food. Maybe if I didn’t have on the hood, he would. Maybe he comes to these little appointments at Ben’s with his napkin-wrapped scraps to give as rewards.
    Jeremy eventually gets down to business. He finishes fast. Jeremy always finishes fast. I expect him to ask me how it was.
    Oh yes, Jeremy, yes, yes.
    Good old Jeremy, paying a small fortune to screw his wife doggie-style. T-bonds make it possible. Of all the futures you might want to buy, this one seems to me a silly choice.
    I’m starting to chuckle, a little of the berserks coming over me.
    How’s Clarisse? asks Ben.
    Oh she’s fine. A little stressed. Nervous breakdown. Women have them all the time. The Prozac should help.
    Good, says Ben as he opens the door to show Jeremy out. I hear them chatting as they walk down the hall.

    Shuffling through a Dumpster one day, I found part of a broken cup. Painted in the glaze was the tip of a tree limb hanging over a small house. So I spent the whole afternoon sifting through the trash until I thought I had the whole cup.
    The next day at school, I lifted a tube of glue. I worked on that cup all evening.
    I discovered dragons wrapping their tails around the side. The tree was in full blossom and underneath it a woman was walking, holding an umbrella. I worked and worked on it. After I was done, all I had was a cracked-up mess with glue dried on in blotches.
    I had been going to give it to Miss Summers, but I knew she’d give me that look that made me feel stupid.
    That’s when I learned that if something’s broke, no matter how fine it is, you got to let it be. It’s best to get rid of the pieces so they don’t always remind you of things, stuffing your heart with mud and the smell of the laybacks. They have their own special stink. If you’re worried about that kind of thing, it’s best to edge around.

    When Ben comes back, I’m lying on my back on the doggie table, my head splitting from my battered nose. He lifts me in his arms like I’m a baby and carries me into what turns out to be his rooms.
    Ben removes my chains and unhoods me. I look around in amazement. I’ve never been in here before. He has a small kitchen, a bath, a living room, and a bedroom. It’s downright common.
    Ben hands me yet another bottle of Gatorade, which I consume, watching as he goes into the kitchen and boils pasta. After it’s done, he mixes it with a white sauce, puts salad in bowls, opens wine, and serves me dinner. I walk to the bedroom, taking in his view over Manhattan. Then I wrap a blanket around me.
    After I sit down to eat, Ben walks behind me and folds the blanket down from my shoulders, revealing my breasts. He sits opposite, keeping his eyes on me.
    We’re silent. Frankly, I don’t know what to say. If I’d been with Jeremy and a pair of his friends and their wives, we would have prattled