Averted Vision

Shelley knew the party would be a disaster.  For one thing, her ex-husband, Mitch Kasperman, was coming.  Mitch was a political activist–an advocate for the homeless–who had almost singlehandedly started the movement to build a new transient shelter here in town.  It got built a year ago, and this party was being thrown to celebrate twelve months of successful operation.  A bunch of workers from the shelter, Shelley included, had gathered at the foothills home of Anna and Jerry DeVine, who had generously volunteered their spacious new house for the get-together.  And that was the problem.  Mitch would take one look at the place, and any chance of a peaceful gathering would be out the window.

Anna and Jerry were professional people who believed in community service.  Anna was a lawyer who recently had begun volunteering her weekends to work at the shelter.  Jerry was a successful architect who worked with a political action group that collected food and clothing to send to Central America.  Jerry and Anna together had designed their foothills home, which Jerry’s firm built last year.  A few months ago, the house had been featured in the Home section of the Sunday paper.  It was a remarkable place, a handsome beige adobe tucked back into the lower reaches of the Catalina Mountains.  The house had rammed-earth wings, and was heated in winter, in part, by silvery solar panels on the roof.  There was a two-car garage, and a modest swimming pool with desert garden landscaping.  It wasn’t a lavish house by any means, but Anna and Jerry were very comfortable here, and they were the kind of people who liked to show things off.

Shelley knew Mitch too well to hope he would behave.  Mitch was intense in that analytic way that compelled him to comment about everything, and she was afraid Anna and Jerry’s lifestyle would become a target of his criticism.  He’d show up like he always did, in that scruffy down vest of his, flannel shirt, and faded blue jeans, his attitude evident on his face.  She could almost picture his black eyebrows knotted together over his disapproving eyes.  He wouldn’t say anything at first, but after a few drinks he’d start sniping, snide little comments about Anna and Jerry’s possessions, bitter observations that would make everyone uncomfortable.  Later, when he got drunk, he’d confront the DeVines outright, accuse them of hypocrisy, claim their social activism was nothing more than a means of salving guilty consciences.

Shelley sat on the living room couch nursing a beer, cringing every time the doorbell chimed.  She kept expecting Mitch to lumber in.  She had put up with his arrogant and acerbic personality for five long years before calling it quits.  They had separated peaceably enough three months ago, and had seen very little of each other since.

 The talk in the living room was about the shelter at first, but soon switched to Anna and Jerry’s home, the result of which was an impromptu tour.  A small group who hadn’t seen the whole house made the rounds, stopping periodically at selected sites.  The significant points were the architectural details: the way the long counter in the immaculate, Mexican-tiled kitchen butted up against the sunken living room, creating the illusion of a wall; how the loft over the den was used as an office/library space; the outside deck, next to the cooling tower, afforded an incredible view of the city–which looked like the Milky Way in the dark valley below.  Both Anna and Jerry were amateur astronomers, and they used the deck as a platform from which to view the nighttime sky.

All members of the tour were impressed by the home, but most delighted of all was Conrad Brinker, one of the shelter’s full-time employees.  Conrad was one of the original transients, who had worked his way up through the ranks–as a trustee does in a prison–until he landed the job of assistant manager.  Because he knew the men on the streets, he acted as a liaison between the shelter staff and the homeless, deciding who would be admitted at night, who would be turned away or referred to other shelters.  He worked hard, and he did a good job managing the flow of people.  All of the staff liked Conrad except Shelley.

Because she worked nights, she spent a lot of time with him.  Shelley didn’t trust Conrad.  Part of it had to do with his appearance, the cast in his left eye that gave him a sneaky look, the gaunt, hollow cheeks that made his head seem like a skull disguised beneath a thin veneer of skin.  But beyond his physical characteristics was an attitude she couldn’t tolerate, a transparent respect for others that came, Shelley believed, from years of living on the streets, a respect born of desire to get something for nothing.  What amazed her most about Conrad was how he managed to fool everybody with his phony sincerity.  On the tour he listened intently to everything Anna and Jerry said, nodding enthusiastically whenever they answered one of his many questions about the house.  Shelley got it into her head that he was casing the joint, memorizing the location of everything for that dark night when he and his friends would return to burgle it.

When the group at last reached the living room again, Shelley was surprised to see Mitch.  He stood next to the huge rubber tree with Diane Stark, a daytime shelter employee who hadn’t been here when the tour started.  Shelley was shocked by Mitch’s weight loss.  He must have dropped twenty or thirty pounds.  He had easily that much to lose, but he didn’t look healthy.  His complexion was paler than she’d ever seen it, and his eyes were curiously dull.  The divorce had hit him hard, but she hadn’t expected it to affect him this way.

More people arrived–friends of Anna and Jerry’s–and the party got to rocking, loud talk over loud music, singing and dancing.  Shelley stood alone by the fireplace, watching Mitch, marveling at what she saw.  She could tell by the way he talked to Diane that he wasn’t interested in her conversation.  Shelley knew everything about Mitch’s emotional state from the expressions on his face, and now he wore his disinterested smile.  His posture suggested defeat–slumped shoulders, down-turned face–and the beverage he held in his hand, a bottle of seltzer water, made her curious about why he wasn’t drinking alcohol.  So later, when he excused himself from Diane and went into the kitchen, Shelley waited a minute and followed behind.

She walked in just in time to catch him taking a pill, chasing it down with a long swallow from a new bottle of seltzer.  He was alone in the kitchen, and he turned at the sound of her heels on the tile floor.  The look on his face was one of mild resignation, as if this were a moment he had hoped to avoid.  “Hello, Shelley,” he said.

“Are you into diet pills now, or is this something I shouldn’t ask about?”

He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a round yellow pill vial.  “Strictly legal,” he said.  “Doctor’s orders.”

“What is it?”

“A beta blocker.”

“You’re having trouble with your heart?”

He managed a feeble smile.  “Rapid and irregular heartbeat under stressful conditions,” he said.  “‘Fight or Flight mentality’ the doctor calls it.”

“I’m sorry, Mitch,” she said.  “I didn’t know.”

He shrugged.

She wanted to offer other words of solace, but before she could think of what to say, Diane joined them.  Diane had an expression of genuine concern on her face.  Her chestnut hair had been gently permed, and she looked pretty.  “Mitch?” she said.  “Everything all right?”

The way she said it made Shelley realize that the two were together.

He said, “Everything’s fine.  Shelley and I were just discussing my heart.”

“Shelley,” Diane said, acknowledging Shelley’s presence.

“Diane.”

Shelley didn’t know her well, but everyone had good things to say about Diane.  Diane was quiet–shy, some people said–but efficient at her job; she solicited community donations of food and clothing for the shelter.  Shelley had only met her a few times, but Diane was obviously a good person.  Shelley felt threatened by that now.

They were saved from what might have been an awkward moment by Conrad Brinker’s boisterous entrance.  He carried a half-finished bottle of beer, and from the look of his face, he appeared drunk already.  “Hey, Mitch,” he said, “hiding out in the kitchen?  Well, what do you think of this hacienda?”

 Mitch said, “Very nice.”

Mitch’s response surprised Shelley, but perhaps he was being nice because of Diane.  Normally, he joked around a lot with Conrad, sometimes egging him into questionable behavior.  And Conrad always seemed to delight in making Mitch laugh, as if Mitch were his older brother rather than his boss.

Conrad turned his attention to Diane and Shelley now.  “Miss Diane,” he said.  “Miss Shelley.  How’re you ladies tonight?”

They both said “Fine” at the same time.

“You missed the grand tour of the house, Mitch,” Conrad said, “but no sweat–I’ll show you around.”

Mitch said, “It’s a nice thought, Conrad, but I don’t think the DeVines would appreciate you acting as tour guide.”

“Sure they would.  They’d show you around themselves if they weren’t so busy with their pals.”

In the living room, Anna and Jerry stood with a group of four or five other people, all laughing and drinking mixed drinks.  For some reason Shelley saw the DeVines differently now:  well-to-do people whose dedication to the homeless was superficial–behavior that had more to do with appearance than genuine concern.

 Before Mitch could veto the tour idea, Conrad said, “This, of course, is the stylish Mexican kitchen that features a fancy electric range and, beneath your feet, tiles that came all the way from Yucatan.  Notice the way the utility counter forms a wall between the kitchen and the sunken living room.  Now if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the living room.”

When Conrad stepped out of the kitchen, Mitch, Diane, and Shelley looked at each other, saying nothing.  Then Mitch shrugged, and the three followed Conrad into the living room.  He was already describing the things Anna had talked about earlier, parroting her mannerisms.  Shelley could tell from the expression on Diane’s face that she was mildly amused by Conrad’s antics, but Mitch seemed troubled by the scene.  That bothered Shelley.  All these years he had been the snide one, and now he seemed downright tame.  Credit his new behavior to the drugs he was taking or a heightened respect for his physical well-being, but Shelley didn’t trust the new Mitch.  Or perhaps she didn’t like thinking about the new Mitch with Diane.  What was the nature of their relationship, anyway?

When Conrad motioned for the group to follow him up the stairs into the loft, Shelley hesitated.  What would Jerry and Anna think, she wondered, of them wandering unescorted through the house.  But other people were milling about, and Conrad’s tour was strangely compelling.

In the loft, the first thing Conrad pointed out was the reflecting telescope, a huge white cylinder Jerry had called to everyone’s attention earlier in the evening.  Conrad stood before it with an amused look on his face.  To Mitch, he said, “Guess how much?”

Mitch was clearly uninterested in the game.  “Two, three thousand bucks,” he said.

Conrad said, “Five thousand smackers.  Jesus, can you believe it?  A guy could live a couple years on that kind of dough.”

 In a very soft voice, Diane said, “It’s a beautiful telescope.  Everything about this place is beautiful.  I’d love to live in a house like this.”

Conrad said, “You and me both, Miss Diane.  Living like this is the American Dream, isn’t it?”

Shelley, whose face suddenly flushed with anger, surprised herself by saying, “The American Dream?  Is that what you call it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Conrad said, taken aback by the tension in her voice.  “What would you call it?”

“I’d call it living the good life at somebody else’s expense.  Maybe if people like this could be satisfied with a little less, there’d be more for everybody.”

Diane, in a perfectly nonchalant voice, said, “Are you saying you wouldn’t live like this if you had the chance, Shelley?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Shelley said, finding herself defending a position that wasn’t true.  She’d live here in a minute given the opportunity, but she couldn’t admit that now.  Turning to her ex-husband, she said, “What about you, Mitch?–would you live here if you could?”

“Honestly?” Mitch said.  “I think I would.”

Shelley said, “Is this the Mitch I used to know–the one who’d never condone a lifestyle like this?”

Mitch, Diane and Conrad suddenly stiffened, and, at first, Shelley couldn’t understand their behavior.  It quickly became clear, though, when Jerry, who had walked up quietly behind her, said, “You folks enjoying yourselves?”  He wrapped an arm around Shelley’s shoulder, smiling into her face.

Shelley felt her ears burn with embarrassment, certain that he had heard.  “Everybody here has been admiring the house,” she said, the words like poison in her mouth.

Jerry seemed satisfied with her explanation.  He was his usual good-natured self.  “I’m sorry if I’ve neglected you folks,” he said, looking around the group.  “Good to see you, Mitch.”

Mitch said, “I missed the earlier tour, Jerry, so we were checking the place out.  I hope that’s okay.”

You could tell it was by Jerry’s reaction.  “Has anyone shown you the deck?” he said, gesturing to the door that led outside.

The five of them stood unjacketed in the winter chill, looking into the valley at the city lights.  It had snowed an inch this time last year, but there was no chance of a repeat performance.  Mitch was genuinely impressed by the deck.  “You have a beautiful place here, Jerry,” he said.

“We enjoy it.”

Diane said, “That’s quite a telescope, Jerry.  I assume you use it out here.”

“The nice thing about living in the desert is you can watch the sky almost every night of the year.”

Conrad, whose voice was amplified by the quiet, said, “There’s the Big Dipper–Ursa Major, isn’t it?”

 Jerry rubbed his hands together.  “How about an eye exam?” he said, smiling around at the four of them.  “Beside the middle star in the handle of the Big Dipper is a very faint star.  The ancient Greeks used it like an eye chart.  If you could see that star, your eyes were okay.  Can you see it?”

They all dutifully turned their faces skyward.  Shelley found the star easily because she had seen it before.

Mitch said, “Funny thing–I can only see it when I look at the other star.”

“That’s what astronomers call ‘averted vision,’” Jerry said.  “Light falls on more sensitive areas of the retina when you look away.”

Diane said, “I see it.”

“I don’t even know where you’re looking,” Conrad said.

Jerry stood with his arm around Conrad’s shoulder, as if the two were best buddies, pointing to the small star in the handle of the Big Dipper.  “Now do you see it?” Jerry said.

Conrad said, “Yeah–now I do.”  But his tone was unconvincing to Shelley.

The chilled night air felt invigorating to Shelley, but Diane had wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the cold, and when Jerry noticed, he said, “We’d better get back inside before somebody gets sick.”

When they reached the inside stairs leading down from the loft, Conrad was in the lead, practically walking backwards to ask Jerry questions about astronomy.  Shelley saw the whole thing happen as if it were a slow-motion sequence in a movie.  Conrad backed off the first step without realizing it, the stunned recognition of an imminent accident suddenly registering on his face.  Instead of calmly catching his balance, he overreacted, stretching his hand out to grab the rail, but toppling over so that his shoulder bounced against it.  At first it seemed as if he would come to rest just a few steps below, but from there he went into a complete roll, tumbling downward in the worst fall Shelley had ever witnessed first-hand.  Diane gasped and turned to her.  Shelley felt embarrassed at herself when she realized she was smiling, and she struggled to erase the expression from her face.  Although the noise of Conrad’s fall was considerable, none of the other party-goers noticed the accident because of the talk and the music.  But a strange aura of shock soon pervaded the house, and people shut up, many of them looking around to see what had happened.

Jerry was first to reach Conrad, holding him in place while Conrad struggled to rise.  “Don’t move,” Jerry said.  “You may have broken something.”

Conrad said, “I’m all right.  It doesn’t hurt anywhere.”

To Anna, who was second on the scene, Jerry said, “Call an ambulance, Honey.”

She went off to the phone while the rest of the group stood frozen on the stairs.

“I’m all right, I tell you,” Conrad said.  “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

Jerry said, “I insist.”  Looking up the steps at Mitch, he said, “Tell him, Mitch.”

When Mitch started down, the shock of the accident was broken, and people began to crowd around the bottom of the stairs.  Mitch said, “Sometimes you don’t know right away if you’re hurt.  You’d better let a doctor examine you.”

 Within only a few minutes they heard the wail of a siren.  When the ambulance reached the neighborhood the siren cut off with a strange noise, a sound that reminded Shelley of a goose honk.  Red lights flashed in the living room.  Two young men came through the front door with a stretcher.  The youngest one was pale and slender–just a boy, really.  He didn’t look big enough to help lift a man.  They placed the padded board beside Conrad, then gave him a cursory examination, the older medic shining the beam from a pencil flashlight into each eye.  With help from Jerry and Mitch, they shifted Conrad onto the stretcher and immobilized him with three straps, one across his forehead, chest, and shins.  Conrad struggled against their efforts, prompting the youngest medic to say, “This is just a precaution, sir, even though you seem all right.  We’re just going to take you in and have somebody look you over.”

“I’m okay,” Conrad said.  “Nothing’s broken.”

“We’ll let a doctor decide that,” the bigger medic said.

They lifted him and carried him outside to the ambulance.  A group from inside, Shelley included, followed behind, watching as the men put Conrad into the back of the van.  Before they shut the door, Jerry insisted on getting in and riding to the hospital with them.  Then the ambulance drove off without its siren, flashing red lights quietly splaying across the saguaro cacti that lined the secluded street.

 When everybody went back inside, people talked about the accident.  Some said they thought Conrad was pretty drunk.  Shelley gave her first-hand account of the fall–describing the particulars in detail–an account both Mitch and Diane corroborated.  Somebody marveled over how quickly the ambulance had arrived, and Anna said the police and firemen also provided good service to the foothills.  Afterwards, the party began to break up, people leaving in groups of twos and threes.  Shelley waited until after Mitch and Diane left to make her exit.  Anna stopped her at the door to suggest they get together next week for coffee, but Shelley said, “I don’t think so, Anna, I’m going to be pretty busy.”  Then Shelley got into her car and started off on the long drive back to her midtown apartment.

* * *

The only other person Shelley knew who had been hospitalized for a fall was her grandfather–her mother’s father.  This happened years ago, when she and Mitch were first dating, and the accident kept her from going to Europe.  Shelley’s mother had offered to take her to Italy, all expenses paid.  She wanted to go, but Mitch opposed the idea.  They were living together then, and he said it wasn’t right for Shelley to accept something like that from her mother.  They were a team now, he said, and if they couldn’t afford to go to Europe together, then neither one of them should go alone.  He was right, Shelley supposed, but she didn’t see them going overseas anytime soon, and she didn’t know if she’d ever get the chance again.  Mitch’s self-righteousness made the decision easier for Shelley to make.

She and her mother first flew to Virginia to visit Shelley’s grandfather, who had just been admitted to the hospital.  He had fallen down a flight of stairs at home and broken a hip.  While in the hospital he got pneumonia, and Shelley’s mother decided to stay and look after him instead of going overseas.  A few days later, Shelley flew back to Arizona alone with a sizeable amount of money in travelers’ checks in her possession.  She felt dejected, deprived of an exciting vacation.  Mitch said they’d take a romantic trip of their own, a few days at the Grand Canyon.  It was early December, and they had never been to the canyon in winter.  They made reservations at the El Tovar–the fancy old hotel that sits on the edge of the south rim.  They were only going to stay two nights, but the hotel was running an off-season special–every other night half price–so they took a room for four days.

 The trip easily made up for the lost European vacation.  It was the most romantic thing Mitch and Shelley had ever done together.  They owned a little rickety Honda then, and they drove it all around the canyon, where the weather changed each of the four days they were there.  On the first day, fog completely obscured the view.  At one of the lookout points, they stood at the guardrail talking to a young German couple who had driven the previous night from Las Vegas, and who were leaving later that day for Phoenix.  The Germans had squeezed in one day for the canyon, and now were sorely disappointed to be cheated out of the view.  Because of a strict itinerary, they were unable to stay longer.  They agreed then and there to return next year and spend a full week at the canyon.  Shelley thought they were a cute couple, but Mitch was upset about their apparent affluence.  “Spoiled rich people,” he said after they had left, “flying overseas whenever the fancy strikes them.”

Shelley said, “It might not be like that.  Maybe they’ve been saving up for a long time.”

“Like us, huh?”

The next day was bitterly cold, but clear and bright, and they went from one lookout point to another photographing the canyon.  At sunset, they sat at a small table in front of the window in the hotel bar, having a few drinks before supper.  The shadows that cloaked the canyon in purple made Shelley relax, but Mitch seemed uncomfortable.  When she asked about it, he said, “I don’t feel right here.”

“Why not?”

“We’re having a good time at somebody else’s expense.”

“We’ll pay my mother back as soon as we can.”

 “I don’t mean that,” he said.  “Look at all of us enjoying ourselves, oblivious to the suffering in the world.”

“We can’t think of suffering all the time,” Shelley had said.  “We have to enjoy ourselves once in a while.”

That night a squall blew in, and she stood at their room window, watching several inches of snow accumulate on the ledge outside the glass.  Early the next morning they went out before anyone else had a chance to lay footprints down in the pure white powder.  Even though the air was frigid, the sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky, and Shelley knew the snow wouldn’t last.  They got into the car and drove along the rim road, at one point skidding off the pavement and nearly into a grove of stunted pines.  The brakes had locked up from the cold.  While Mitch was spinning the tires, trying to get back onto the road, the car scared a small herd of deer–Shelley counted eight in all–that pranced single-file across the icy asphalt and disappeared into the trees on the opposite side of the street.  A snow plow came along then, its blade noisily scraping ice off the road, and the driver–a chubby little man with an aviator hat and a stub cigar poking out of his earthworm lips–stopped and helped get the car out of the ditch.  He suggested Mitch follow him from there, which they did, driving slowly behind the huge yellow truck, Mitch testing the brakes from time to time to make sure they had thawed.

Shelley and Mitch bought junk food that night and ate it in the hotel room, an arrangement that made Mitch more comfortable.  In the morning, the snow was gone, but the tail end of the storm still engulfed the canyon.  Clouds sailed through the gorge as if they were rafts running the river.  Periodically, the sun managed to break through the cover, lighting the red rock with narrow spotlight beams.  It was such an incredible sight, they had to drive again from viewpoint to viewpoint so Mitch could take pictures.  By then he had loosened up completely, and Shelley knew he was finally enjoying himself.

In the afternoon, they made love in the huge brass bed in the room, then fell asleep side by side until supper time.  Mitch insisted that they eat their last vacation meal in the fancy hotel restaurant, and he ordered an expensive bottle of wine to go with it.  He and Shelley both got a little tipsy, and Mitch lapsed into a discussion of one of his favorite fantasies, the dream home he wanted to own in the future.  Whenever he talked about it his eyes glazed over, and that night was no exception.  He wanted to find an old adobe out in the desert away from the city, a fixer-upper that he and Shelley could repair together.  He had every detail blueprinted in his mind: restored ceilings with wooden beams cut from the mountain forest north of town; new vigas protruding from external walls; floors covered with sturdy Mexican tiles; desert landscaping in both the front and back yards.  Mitch and Shelley were animal lovers, and he wanted a lot of them–dogs and cats, a tired old horse.

The following morning, early, Mitch and Shelley had packed the car, checked out of the hotel, left the Grand Canyon for Flagstaff, then made the long drive out of the mountains back to the desert.

* * *

Mitch had talked about that damn house so often, Shelley could still picture it in her mind.  A few blocks from her apartment, Shelley started thinking about the party again, running the scenes through her mind.  She couldn’t get over how Mitch had changed, how civil he had been to Jerry when Jerry had come upon the four of them wandering through the house.

When Shelley got out of the car at her midtown apartment, she heard her phone ringing, and she scrambled to the front door.  She had trouble inserting the key into the deadbolt, but the phone rang long enough for her to get into the living room and reach it.

Anna DeVine said, “Shelley?  Jerry called from the hospital a while ago to say that Conrad’s okay.  The doctor released him already.  Can you believe that?  Jerry said if Conrad had been sober, he probably would have broken every bone in his body.”

“I’m glad to hear he’s all right.”

“I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t worry.”

“Thanks, Anna,” Shelley said.

Anna hesitated a moment, then said, “Shelley, did I say or do something to offend you tonight?”

“No–why do you ask?”

“I had the impression when you left that you were a little miffed at me.”

“Not at you, Anna,” Shelley said.  “At somebody else.  I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

Anna said, “I’m just glad you’re not mad at me.  Why don’t you give me a call when you have some free time?”

“Sure thing.”

After Shelley hung up, she stood in her kitchen considering what to do.  For the first time since the divorce she felt absolutely alone.  Looking around her tiny apartment–at the living room chair and love seat, at the narrow bookcase atop which rested one of the photos Mitch had taken at the Grand Canyon–she felt as if she were living in a foreign country.  Her loneliness became oppressive, suffocating.  She suddenly had the need to talk to Mitch–the new Mitch she had met at the party tonight.  She had an excuse to call: news about Conrad Brinker.

Picking up the phone Shelley had never been so nervous.  She dialed Mitch’s home number, anyway.  After four rings, a woman answered.  “Hello?” her familiar voice said.  “Hello?”  It was Diane Stark.  Shelley hung up.

After sitting numbly on the love seat for nearly half an hour, Shelley felt the need to escape.  She decided to go down to the shelter to see how things were going.  This had turned out to be one of the coldest nights of the year, and Shelley figured the skeleton crew working the late shift could use her help.

When she walked through the shelter’s front door, she was surprised to see Conrad Brinker.  He stood at the coffee urn talking to two homeless men.  The place was packed, all one hundred beds, and there were men in sleeping bags on the floor in the aisles.  Phyllis Foreman had just switched off the TV in the corner of the shelter they called the “living room,” and when she turned around, she saw Shelley.  “What are you doing here?” Phyllis said when she came over.

“I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”

 “It wasn’t until Conrad came in a little while ago.  One of the mental patients from the VA hospital–Ben Evers–got it into his head that some of the others were after him, and he started threatening people with a rusty screwdriver.  He had Little Bob cornered by the first-aid station when Conrad got here.  Conrad walked right over to Ben and said something–I don’t know what–and Ben gave up the screwdriver right away.”

“Is Ben still here?” Shelley said, surveying the faces of the homeless men.

“No.  We called the cops, and they came to take him back to the hospital.  You just missed them.”

By now Conrad had seen Shelley and was holding up a Styrofoam cup to signal a question: Did she want coffee?  She nodded yes.  A moment later, he crossed the shelter floor and handed it to her.  “What are you doing here, Miss Shelley?” he said.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Me?” he said.  “I live for this place.”

“I hear you had some trouble with Ben Evers.”

“Some of the other guys did, but Ben never messes with me.  Hell, we were good buddies when I was living on the streets.”

“How’d he get out of the hospital?”

“Like they all do,” he said.  “Just walked out.”

Phyllis excused herself when one of the men came over to ask about getting an aspirin for a headache.  As soon as she left, Shelley felt uncomfortable with Conrad, so she made a bitter face after taking a sip of coffee.  “Whew–I can’t drink this stuff,” she said.  “It tastes like mud.”

 “What do you expect?” Conrad said.  “It was just ground this morning.”  He laughed at his own joke, pretending to nudge Shelley with his elbow.

She set the cup down on the empty table along the wall, feigning one last look around the shelter.  “Everything seems to be under control,” she said.  “Guess I’ll go.”

He followed her outside when she left, standing near her car while she unlocked the door.  This was something he did for all the women at the shelter, escorting them out to make sure they got off okay.  Before Shelley climbed in, she said, “Are you feeling all right, Conrad?”

“All things considered.  That was a hell of a tumble I took out there.  I made a real ass of myself.  People must have been talking about that fool, Conrad.”

He seemed genuinely upset, prompting Shelley to say, “They weren’t.  Everyone was concerned about you.”

“I got a little carried away drinking beers.  It serves me right–making fun of those nice people that way.  I was out of control.”

Shelley said, “What about me?–ranting and raving about Jerry and Anna’s lifestyle, as if I have a right to judge others.  I’d call that being out of control.”

He smiled, kicking at an imaginary pebble beneath his foot.  “That sounds funny coming from you, Miss Shelley,” he said.  “You always have things under control.”

“It’s an illusion, Conrad.  Just an illusion.”

“But you were right,” he said.  “While I was laying on that stretcher in the ambulance, I thought about what you said–how if some people could be satisfied with a little less, we’d all be better off.”

Shelley thanked him for walking her to the car.  She had the feeling that he wanted to say something else, but when she opened the door he turned and walked back to the shelter.  Before she got in, she looked up at the sky, so different here than the way it had appeared at the DeVines’ place.  Because of the pollution, not as many stars were visible in the inner city.  The Big Dipper was still evident, its ladle turned nearly upside down, spilling its imaginary contents out into space.  She searched for the little star alongside the main one in the handle, but couldn’t see it.  After a few minutes her ears began to burn from the cold.  She got into the car and drove home.