Eileen jumped when Dora pushed open the door. “I’ve gotta go,” she said into the phone. “You can tell me all about it tomorrow night.”
“Hot date?” Dora asked.
“We’ll see.” Eileen drew her knees in close to her chest and pulled her T-shirt down over her legs. A glittery decal on the front read A SMILE IS LIKE A BUTTERFLY... IT GOES WHEREVER IT PLEASES AND IT PLEASES WHEREVER IT GOES. Little yellow-and-blue butterflies fluttered around the stylized letters. “So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?”
Dora could picture the phones lying on the bottom of the bathtub. They reminded her of the personal effects left behind by the victims of a shipwreck. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said.
“Insomnia’s the pits.”
“I was hoping you might know a secret remedy.”
“I could warm you some milk in the microwave.”
“I was thinking of something a little stronger,” said Dora.
“What about the pills the doctor gave you?”
“The jerk only gave me enough for four days.”
“Did you try taking a hot bath?”
Dora didn’t want to go anywhere near a bath. It would be like returning to the scene of a crime. “Hel-lo!” Dora knocked on her own head. “Is anyone home?”
Eileen frowned.
“I’m not asking for heroin!” said Dora. “All I want is something that’ll knock me out for a few hours.”
“I don’t have anything.”
“Don’t act so fucking pure.” Dora leveled her index finger at Eileen. “I know all about your seedy little life.”
Eileen’s lower lip trembled. Tears wet her eyes. She looked small sitting on the bed, childlike. “Why are you doing this?” she pleaded.
“There must be someone you can call.”
“I’m on probation. If I get caught doing anything illegal, they’ll put me back in jail.”
“Be a bitch then,” said Dora. “But if you’re hiding anything from me, I swear I’ll find it.” With that she yanked out the dresser drawers one by one and dumped their contents on the floor: maraschino-cherry nail polish, a black-and-white photo of Frank and Dora at their wedding, a Fleet’s enema, tampons, men’s XL T-shirts, a half-eaten Snickers, black control-top panties, a children’s illustrated Bible, a rubber-banded stack of legal documents...
Dora was tearing through the pile on her hands and knees when she noticed Eileen reaching out to her. “Don’t you dare touch me!” hissed Dora. “Or I swear to God I’ll wrap that stupid T-shirt around your neck and hang you out the window so all the neighbors can see what a little tramp you are!”
Eileen recoiled as if snakebitten. “Please, Dora,” she sobbed. “You’re scaring me.”
When Eileen’s date arrived, Dora was propped up on the sofa, the episode in the guest room as distant now as the dull thud of his knock on the front door. Despite Frank’s earlier objections, he now agreed medication was the way to go. At least until their lives were back in order. He did not want a repeat of last night. The new pills were pink and football shaped. They suffused her with a warm sense of well-being that tickled the base of her skull. Carbonation for the mind. Millions and millions of tiny bubbles... She could hear them whispering her name. “Dora... Dora...”
The fog cleared and she could see Eileen hovering over her, her smiling face virtually indistinguishable from the wilted get-well balloon bouquet Frank had brought home — what was it? — two, maybe three days ago.
“I want you to meet someone,” said Eileen.
Dora could see Frank standing in front of the TV, his arms and legs and face much longer than she remembered.
“No,” said Eileen. “Over here.”
Before Dora’s brain could transmit the necessary impulses to her neck muscles, she was descended upon by another face. Teeth bared, it seemed as though the grinning well-wisher would not stop until his canines were firmly planted in her throat.
“Dora,” said Eileen. “This is Max.” A dark-haired man in khaki slacks and a powder-blue oxford shirt stood over her.
“I know Dora,” said Max. “We work together.” He smiled and gave a little wave.
Dora thought she would swallow her tongue.
“I’ll be darned,” said Frank. “How’d you and my sister meet?”
“Wrong number,” said Eileen. “Max called about the videophone and we just started talking.”
“Best mistake I ever made,” said Max.
For the first time in a week Dora’s mind was besieged by a horrible clarity: the man from AA who wanted to bash her brains in, the snuff films, the godlike voice in her car just yesterday. It was Karloff! Immobilized by fear, she desperately tried to locate her husband, his face drawn in a wicked fun-house grin all the way across the room. “It’s him, Frank!” she croaked. “He’s the one who’s been calling me!”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Dora...” Frank turned to Karloff. “My wife’s been under a terrible strain lately. You’ll have to forgive her.”
Karloff looked at Dora, then at Frank, and nodded gravely.
“But it is, Frank!” cried Dora. “I swear!”
“I don’t have to take this shit!” Eileen shouted.
“Eileen — please,” said Frank. He knelt in front of Dora. “Sweetheart... Look at yourself. Yesterday you thought it was me. We’ll get through this but you have to make an effort. Now apologize to Max.”
Dora turned her attention to Karloff. “Show them your tattoos!” she said. “I bet you didn’t know he was wearing a wig!”
Karloff looked embarrassed. “Chemo,” he said. “A few months ago I had this thing with my prostate. I’m still not comfortable with my new look.”
“We’re outta here!” said Eileen. She grabbed Karloff by the arm and stormed out of the house.
Dora dragged herself from the sofa and went after them. “You can’t let her leave with him!” she begged. “He’s crazy!” Frank strait-jacketed her with his arms and kicked the door closed.
Dora watched through the window as Karloff and Eileen pulled away from the curb in his red-and-white Pac Bell van. She could see the felled mailbox lying on the front lawn.
“It’s okay,” Frank whispered in her ear. “Everything is going to be just fine.”
When Frank called Dora down to dinner Friday night, she thought it would be just the two of them. Eileen had been spending most of her free time with Karloff. With each passing day the pink footballshaped pills plunged Dora more deeply into a wonderful walking trance. As she descended the stairs, she could see the eager faces awaiting her arrival.
Frank. Eileen. Karloff.
All week Frank had been going on about what a nice guy Max was and how good he was for Eileen. “Dora, honey,” he said. “The three of us chipped in and got you a get-well present. It was Max’s idea.”
Karloff smiled timidly and nodded. He was wearing a blond wig that made him look like a young Robert Redford.
Eileen threw her arms around Dora and said, “I’m sorry for being so insensitive. I know how rough the last couple of weeks have been on you.”
Dora wondered if she was dreaming, an extension of the same prolonged nightmare. The voice, Karloff’s wig, the green-and-yellow polka-dotted box in the center of the coffee table.