Call Me If You Need Me

“You know how I sometimes do things that are kind of, like, stupid?”
+++++Rob knew all too well what Julie was referring to. “Yeah.”
+++++“Well, I think I might have done something like that again.”
+++++It was eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning in October. Rob had just gotten up, and while it was supposedly a nice day outside, his studio apartment felt dark and cramped. He sat on the couch, his right hand holding a spoon while his left pressed his cell phone to his ear. On the coffee table was a bowl in which Cheerios floated in skim milk. Frozen on the television was an image of two men arguing. One wore a business suit and pointed accusingly at a man who stood with his hands on his hips, a pistol suspended in his shoulder holster. It was from an episode of a cable series that Rob had recorded on his DVR. He had been watching it before being interrupted by Julie’s phone call.
+++++“So what happened?” he asked.
+++++She took a breath. “Okay. So I was at Connelly’s, and I got really, really drunk.” She laughed as if her statement were intrinsically funny.
+++++“All right. So you got drunk. I imagine there were quite a few drunk people there. And?” Connelly’s was a bar in the upstate city where Rob and Julie had grown up and where Julie still lived. They had met there five years earlier, when she was twenty-seven and he was thirty-one. Home for Thanksgiving, Rob had been out with his high school friends. Going up to the bar to get another drink, he had been pleasantly surprised when a slim brunette who was similarly waiting to be served had turned to him and struck up a conversation.
+++++“So I met this guy. And we started talking. He was funny. And kind of freaky––but in a hot sort of way.” She giggled. “Know what I mean?”
+++++Rob formed a mental image of him as tallish and good-looking, most likely with long hair and perhaps a beard or goatee. What else, he wondered, would lead her to describe him as freaky?
+++++“I’m not really following you here, Julie. So you met some guy you like. What’s the problem?”
+++++“All right. Well, I kind of went home with him.”
+++++The twinge of jealousy he felt annoyed him. “What you do personally is really none of my business. Is there some reason you’re telling me this?”
+++++“Because you’re smart. And you know things. And you’re always such a good friend.”
+++++He carried the bowl to the kitchen and emptied it into the sink. Even women of limited intelligence, he thought, should have known that calling a guy a good friend was in fact an insult that carried implications of weakness and asexuality. “You know, we’ve seen each other in person a grand total of six times. That’s not a lot.”
+++++“I know. I know. But I just feel like I know you so well. And that I can talk to you.”
+++++“So you hooked up with some guy. I don’t understand why this is so significant.”
+++++“I didn’t just hook up with him.” Her voice became breathy, overwrought with emotion. “He and I… we had sex.”
+++++Rob recalled the fruitless overtures he had made to Julie when they first met. He had telephoned and e-mailed her and even helped her revise her resume and write cover letters as she searched for a new job. “So what? Who cares?”
+++++“‘So what?’ I didn’t even know him,” she said. “He could have been a complete psycho. He could have tied me up and murdered me. After he raped me, of course.”
+++++His tone was measured and cautious. “But none of that happened, did it?”
+++++“No,” she said, sounding almost disappointed.
+++++“Did he hurt you in any way?”
+++++“No.”
+++++“So nothing out of the ordinary happened, right?”
+++++“No, but it might have.”
+++++Returning to the couch, he considered her remarks in the context of their last few phone calls. A worrisome pattern was emerging. She seemed paranoid, ascribing hostile intentions to others without real evidence.
+++++“If we obsessed over all the negative things that might happen, we would all go crazy, wouldn’t we?” He waited a moment, but she failed to respond. “Are you there?”
+++++“Yes. I’m here,” she said.
+++++“So what’s this guy’s name, anyway?”
+++++“Troy.”
+++++“Okay. So how did you two leave things?”
+++++“I’m moving in with him.”
+++++“What?”
+++++“I asked if I could stay with him for a little while, and he said, ‘Sure.’ So this morning, when my parents were at church, I went home, packed a suitcase, and came back here.”
+++++Her being out of work for more than a year had necessitated that she give up her apartment and move back in with her parents. “Why would you do that? I thought you and your parents were getting along okay?”
+++++“I don’t trust them. And they’re going to throw me out anyway, so I might as well throw myself out first.”
+++++It was the first indication he had heard that her living with her parents was a problem. “Did they say they were going to throw you out?”
+++++“No,” she said.
+++++“Then what makes you sure that’s the case?”
+++++“I just know it is, all right?”
+++++Her tone concerned him. He sensed that her psychological problems were even more serious than he had so far imagined. “Where are you now?”
+++++“In my car. Outside Troy’s apartment.”
+++++“Is Troy home?”
+++++“Yes,” she said, exasperated. Her attitude underwent an abrupt shift, becoming disconcertingly bright and happy. “So how’s everything in New York?”
+++++Rob was sick of New York and discouraged with his life in general. He was dissatisfied with his job, his apartment, and his shrinking circle of friends yet felt powerless to improve his situation. The steel bars that were installed over his windows reinforced his impression that he was living in a jail cell.
+++++“New York is amazing,” he said. “There’s a reason so many people consider it the greatest city in the world.”
+++++She sighed enviously. “You’re so lucky to live there. I should come visit you again sometime.”
+++++Two years had passed since she and two of her girlfriends had come to the city for a weekend. After meeting them for brunch at a bistro in the West Village, Rob said goodbye to Julie outside the restaurant, realizing with disappointment that the previous hour would constitute the only interaction he would have with her that weekend. Riding home on the subway, he recalled his fantasy of getting her back to his apartment and, even more ridiculously, seducing her.
+++++“So you never really told me why you felt like you had to move out of your parents’ house.”
+++++Her anger rose. “I needed to move out because they are fucking crazy, that’s why.”
+++++“Crazy how? “
+++++She spoke softly. “The way they look at me. It’s not right.”
+++++He waited a moment, then said, “I think you should talk to someone, Julie. A mental health professional, I mean. I think you need to be evaluated.”
+++++She made a dismissive sort of laugh. “Well, isn’t that interesting. That’s exactly what they said. Have they spoken to you?”
+++++Such conspiratorial thinking, he imagined, was almost certainly a sign of mental illness. “Spoken to me? I’ve never even met your parents.” He waited for her to reply. When she failed to respond, he asked, “Are you going to be all right?”
+++++A different emotion crept into her voice––she sounded afraid. “Yeah. Of course. Of course I’ll be all right.”
+++++“Okay, then,” he said, his own anxiety evident. “I better get going. Call me if you need me, I guess.”
+++++
+++++
No call came in November. He visited his family for Thanksgiving but made no effort to contact Julie.
+++++Nor did they talk in December. Rob and his parents spent Christmas in Virginia, staying in the big suburban house where Rob’s brother lived with his wife and their two young daughters.
+++++On a Wednesday night in January, Rob lay in bed, reeling from what had been his worst day at work in a long time. His boss, Gary, whose own computer skills were ten years out of date, had called him into his office, shut the door, and laid into him regarding the programming flaws in their latest project. For weeks Rob had been warning Gary about the problems, pleading with him to bring on an outside contractor with the right skill set.
+++++Gary had brushed aside his concerns. “Look,” he had said, “just get it done with the resources you’ve been given, all right? I got more important things to deal with. “
+++++A forbidden subject was how significantly their resources had been depleted. Three of their best coders had been replaced with H1B holders from India. The new hires worked hard and had pleasant attitudes but were struggling with their assigned tasks and, what was worse, were slow to communicate with Rob when they had difficulties. He had worked late every night, struggling to correct the program’s numerous errors and get it into an acceptable condition. But his attempt fell short. Their client was furious.
+++++Rob’s cell phone rang. He figured it was a wrong number, as none of his friends were the type who called in the middle of the night.
+++++He grabbed the phone off his dresser, its screen displaying the name of the caller.
+++++Putting the phone to his ear, he sat up on the edge of the bed. “Hi, Julie.”
+++++“Yeah. Hi,” she said.
+++++“What’s going on?”
+++++“Not much. I’m just in my car. In a parking lot.”
+++++He checked the clock in the bottom of his phone’s display, his eyes still adjusting to its brightness. “It’s 1:07 in the morning.”
+++++“Really?” she asked, her tone sarcastic. “I had no idea.”
+++++“Where are you?”
+++++“Outside my friend’s apartment.”
+++++“Troy’s?”
+++++“God, no. I am never, never speaking to that asshole ever again.”
+++++“Whose apartment then?” he asked.
+++++“Diana’s.”
+++++Rob remembered her. She was one of Julie’s friends who had accompanied her on her visit to New York. “The one with red hair?” he asked.
+++++“Yes.”
+++++His parents had told him that a snowstorm had dumped more than fifty inches on their hometown and that flakes were still coming down. Worse than the snow, though, was the icy wind. He could hear it whistling, could feel it penetrating her car’s flimsy metal body. “Are you staying with Diana?”
+++++“I was. She told me I had to leave.”
+++++“And why did she do that?” he asked.
+++++“I don’t know. Maybe because she’s a bitch.”
+++++He remembered Diana being by far the nicest and most down-to-earth of her friends. “I get the feeling you’re not being honest with me,” he said. “Was there a reason she asked you to leave?”
+++++Julie hesitated. “She said I needed to see a psychiatrist.”
+++++“That sounds to me like it was probably good advice.” He contemplated how his hometown on winter nights was not merely cold but desolate, the roads empty except for the occasional passing vehicle. “Do you have a place to stay? Or are you planning to sleep in your car?”
+++++She hesitated even longer than before, and Rob wondered if they had been disconnected. “Julie? Are you still there?”
+++++“There’s someone here,” she whispered. “He’s watching me.”
+++++“What do you mean? Where? Who?”
+++++Her words came slowly, their rhythm uneven. “A man in an old truck.”
+++++“He’s parked there?”
+++++“He just pulled in. His headlights are still on. Wait, now they’re off. He’s getting out of the car.”
+++++“Okay. So is he walking toward the apartment complex?”
+++++“No. He’s not.”
+++++“So what’s he doing, then?”
+++++“He’s looking at me. The snow is blowing. I can’t see his face.”
+++++Rob was confident that Julie believed what she said. His experience with her suggested that she possessed neither the imagination nor the duplicity to fabricate such a story, which meant that the stranger she described was either real or a hallucination. Neither possibility was encouraging. “So it’s zero degrees outside, in blizzard conditions, and this guy is just standing around, staring at you?”
+++++“Uh-huh. He’s really big. And he’s wearing a gray hat,” she said. “It’s got a blue pompom on it. And he’s got… cables.”
+++++“Cables? As in wires?”
+++++“Yeah. A bunch of them. And a toolbox.”
+++++“So is he walking toward the apartments now?”
+++++“No,” she whispered. “He’s walking toward me.”
+++++Beneath the thick fabric of his hypoallergenic bedspread, Rob’s legs were moist with perspiration. “Jesus Christ. Get out of there. Drive away.”
+++++“Okay. Okay.”
+++++The car’s engine rumbled to life. “Julie, are you there?”
+++++“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. I’m driving away. The battery on my phone is almost dead. Bye.”
+++++
+++++
Rob was let go from his job in March.
+++++Gary promised to write him a positive recommendation. “I know it’s unfortunate,” he said, “but we really need to do some reorganizing around here.”
+++++“Yeah. Okay. I understand.” Rob nodded, still in shock. He had not expected to be fired.
+++++Reorganizing, he thought. There’s the solution you’ve been looking for. You’ll be the most organized team of bad managers and incompetent programmers ever assembled.
+++++On Saturday afternoon he lay in bed wearing underwear and a t-shirt and feeling despondent. It was as if he had fallen into a hole that he had no way of climbing out of. What little light remained was fading.
+++++The ring of his cell phone startled him.
+++++He had a feeling it would be Julie. They had not spoken since that frigid night nearly two months earlier.
+++++Rob considered letting the call go to voicemail. His overpowering loneliness, however, led him to change his mind.
+++++“Hello, Julie.”
+++++“Hey, Rob. How are you?” She sounded better than she had in a long time, her voice bright and lively. Her location was different as well. She was outdoors in an urban setting. The wind was blowing, dulling the sound of the cars.
+++++“I’m all right. So from all the background noise I hear, I take it you’re downtown?”
+++++Julie giggled. “Actually, I think I’m uptown.”
+++++Their home city didn’t have an uptown. In a calm but severe voice, he asked, “Julie, where exactly are you right now?”
+++++“Where am I? Let me give you a hint.”
+++++His apartment reverberated with the grating noise of his buzzer being pressed.
+++++He threw aside the comforter and stood up. “Did you just ring the buzzer to my apartment?”
+++++She laughed. “Maybe. So are you going to let me in or what?”
+++++His head throbbed. “No,” he said. “I won’t.”
+++++“Well, why not?” she asked, her tone that of an irritated child.
+++++“Because you should have told me you were coming. It’s not normal to surprise someone like this. And besides, I’m not dressed, and my apartment is a mess.”
+++++“Then put some clothes on. And what do I care if your apartment is messy? And why do you care? It’s not like you need to impress me. We’re friends.”
+++++All the romantic frustration she had inflicted on him over the years seemed to strike him in a single concentrated wave. “So we’re friends, huh? And what does that even mean, anyway?”
+++++She made an angry, breathy exhalation. “Will you just let me in already?” She pushed the buzzer and held it down, the noise loud as a jackhammer.
+++++“Go away,” he told her.
+++++“What?”
+++++“I said, ‘Go away.’”
+++++Her mood changed dramatically, her mania replaced by an overpowering sadness. “Please,” she said. “I’m so scared. You have no idea how scared I am.”
+++++Controlling his emotions proved futile. He could not help feeling sorry for her, a reaction that made him angry with himself. “I’m assuming you have a place to stay in New York? You weren’t expecting to stay here, were you?”
+++++“Will you please let me in?” she asked. “Oh, God. I feel so alone.”
+++++Rob could relate. Even the company of his most vexing acquaintance seemed, at that moment, preferable to solitude.
+++++His finger hovered over the button that, when pushed, would unlock the building’s front door four stories below.
+++++Now this, he thought, is almost certainly a bad idea.
+++++He went ahead and pressed it anyway.
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Marc Taurisano began writing fiction as an undergraduate at Duke University, where he was a student of Elizabeth Cox and Reynolds Price. His short stories have appeared in Fugue, Troubadour 21, The Smoking Poet, Umbrella Factory, The Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, and Wilderness House Literary Review. He lives in New York City.