One Bedroom Apartment

by Zach Sampinos

I sit up in her bed, eyes fixed buzzy on the Korean BBQ sign across the street. We made love tonight, for the first time in over a month. Her snores grind through the thick air of the apartment. I hear her cats, Parry and Mel, crashing across the kitchen’s hardwood, trying to escape their impossible boredom. Louder than her cats, her ex, Todd, bops around in her living room.

I slip out of bed careful not to wake her. The carpet tickles my bare feet, and I see the living room lamp on. Todd, with both earbuds in, looks through the DVDs on the mantelpiece. His windbreaker, smokes and keys are in a pile on the floor. I felt like a spy in my own girlfriends house, I step up to his shoulders, tap him on the back, remind him some people have to work in the morning.

“HEY MAN, my bad,” he says taking one of his earbuds out. “Didn’t know you were here.” he says winking.

“Try and keep it down, Jocelyn’s sleeping one room over.”

“You guys screw tonight? You’re all uptight.”

“None of your business, go to bed.” I wave my hand at him and he swats at it like a passing thought.

“Why’d you do that?” I ask.

“Do what? Hey, you hungry?”

“Yeah, I’d like lobster. Go to bed.”

“Look Paul, you’re never going to know her like I do,” he says shifting onto his heels. “So just get over it OK?”

“You’re like a piece of the furniture,”

“She’s told me stuff, bro. Stuff he hasn’t even told her shrink.” arms akimbo.

“Then you probably know how she met Joe Pesci?”

“Doesn’t everyone know that story?” he says, “Give it up, Paul, it’s not like she’s going to move in with you anytime soon.”

“Is that some of the deep stuff she’s told you?”

“Maybe,” he rolls his neck around like a pugilist. “How long you two dated, Paul?” “A year this February,”

“Valentines sweethearts. What you got planned?” he stalks around the living room like a hunter, Parry and Mel have now joined him, his MP3 in his left hand, one ear bud dangling the length of his shirt like a spill. The three of them draw a sharp circle around me as I hesitate to answer. “You got anything planned?”

“Yeah, we’re going to Paris. Look, Todd, would you knock it off and go to bed?”

“Paris, can you afford that?”

“Can you.” I snap back.

“No,” he laughs, “That’s why I’m not taking her to Paris.” he stops and looks at me the way an athlete looks at his defeated opponent. “No, but seriously, what kind of anniversary plans do you have?”

“None of your fucking business. Go to bed.”

“I don’t get what she sees in you,” he says.

“Do you even contribute to the rent bill? I don’t get why she hasn’t kicked your ass out.”

“You really want to know?” there’s that wink again.

I hurl my weight into his legs, knocking him to the carpet. We roll around a minute, crash into the futon, he’s on top and I kick him in the chest, sending him into the tall IKEA lamp, cracking its base.

“You little shit,” he says in the darkness. “I bought her that for her birthday.”

Parry and Mel are now in the corner of the living room watching us like TV. There’s maybe three feet separating Todd and me, when Jocelyn enters completely naked.

“What the hell are you two doing?” she says walking to the kitchen to look at the microwave, “It’s three in the morning.”

I want to cover her up.

“Look Todd, Paul. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, today, and I’d really appreciate it if you two’d kiss and make up and let me get back to bed.”

Todd clears his throat, “Joss,”

“Don’t call me that,” she says, “Todd, go to bed. Paul, come to bed. I’ve got to be up in three hours. Goodnight.”

She turns and walks back into the bedroom. Todd springs to his feet, lends his hand to me like they do in the NBA to show sportsmanship. “Todd,’ I say looking up at him. “Why don’t you spend the night somewhere else?”

“Where?”

“That Nissan’s yours isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sleeping in my car. I’m not some second class citizen.” His hand dangles, suspended in the nights grip.

“Then drive to the nearest restaurant and sleep in their parking lot.”

“You’re something,” he says smiling that cheese grin.

“Leave or I’ll call the apartment manager. And they’ll call the cops.”

“Okay, Paul. You win. Once again, I’ll take the high road,” he says looking down at me, he grabs his windbreaker, smokes and keys. Pulls a copy of Da Ali G Show season one. Mine. Slams the door shaking the apartment.

I get up, unplug the IKEA lamp, look at the clock on the microwave, and walk back to the bedroom. I lay down on top of the comforter, her back to me. February looms and I wonder if we’ll make love before then.