Naked

Christopher Brookhouse

The end of December was not the easiest time of the year for Noreen to exercise more, but she was trying. She had been snowshoeing for an hour. The last light was thinning from the sky. She was tired. Wind stung her face, numbed her fingers. As she shoed along Pleasant Street, she realized if she could cut across Judge Prior’s property, she would be home in ten minutes instead of twenty.
    The judge had a reputation for being fussy, imperious. He had lived alone for several years in an 1830s colonial that faced the street. Noreen had been inside once. She remembered rooms small and dark, low ceilings, and lots of fireplaces. In the windows Noreen could see electric candles on but no other lights. The snow in front of the garage was plowed, but she saw no tire tracks. Like so many Jeffrey residents, the judge had probably gone south for the winter. Noreen decided to take the shortcut.
    The ground sloped away from the street. As Noreen angled in the direction of a row of spruces, the snow around her began to sparkle. She turned to see that a room had been added to the back of the house, one she’d never seen before and couldn’t see from the street. The walls were glass. Blazing light filled the room and spilled across the snow. She could make out a pool and trees. She came closer. Judge Prior stood on the other side of the glass observing her. He was absolutely naked.
    Noreen was too astonished to do anything but gape. For a second she thought the judge was fanning himself, then she realized he was gesturing for her to come in. Now he was pointing at her feet. She bent over and released the bindings of her snowshoes. A door slid open and Noreen stepped into the room.
    “I’m glad it’s you,” the judge said. The comment deepened Noreen’s amazement. “When you find your tongue, I’m Max. Remember?”
    “I’m sorry,” Noreen managed to say.
    “Don’t be sorry. You’d best take off some clothes. You won’t be comfortable if you don’t. Your coat at least.”
    Noreen unzipped her parka and laid it neatly on the floor, which she realized was the source of the room’s extraordinary warmth. The judge . . . Max . . . kept looking at her, so Noreen pulled her sweater over her head and dropped the sweater on top of her parka.
    Max placed his hand on Noreen’s shoulder and steered her toward a cart adorned with bottles. Crotons rose from clay pots near the pool. Trees in larger pots spread their branches on the other side of the room.
    “Special lights in the ceiling. Everything grows,” Max said.
    Noreen glanced up. When she looked down, Max was pouring Tanqueray into a silver martini shaker.
    “I’ve always considered you a handsome woman,” Max said.
    Noreen could do little more than smile and try not to stare at Max’s body.
    “One of these and you’ll relax.” Max removed a chilled glass from the small refrigerator on the floor near the wheels of the cart. He filled the glass and handed it to Noreen.
    Noreen let the first sip warm its way down her throat before she said anything. “Max,” she asked, “are you all right?”
    “I have nothing to hide. You tell me.”
    “That’s not what I mean.”
    “You mean, am I sane? If so, why am I naked? Am I auditioning for Lear? Do I intend you any harm?”
    “The first question anyway.”
    “I think I’m quite sane. The rest of the house is old and dreary. Evelyn liked historical homes, so we bought it. When she died I should have moved, but I didn’t. Instead I added this room. The architect was involved with the biosphere.”
    “It is warm,” Noreen remarked.
    “Take more off.”
    Noreen considered what Max could see—her white socks, purple ski pants, a sports pullover guaranteed to wick the sweat away from the skin—and what he couldn’t. “I’m not prepared to drink this martini, which is very good by the way, in my underwear. I’m even less prepared to be naked,” she said.
    Noreen wandered around the room and sipped her drink. She thought if she were alone she might take her clothes off. She was beginning to feel languid, the tir- edness almost gone from her legs. But she wasn’t alone. She circled back to Max.
    “I don’t spend all my waking hours like this. When it’s getting dark outside, I turn the heat up, have a swim, have a drink, have a little supper. You’ll notice after a while the light penetrates your skin. You’ll feel better. Feel younger. I actually believe I look younger. I certainly think younger. We’re about the same age, aren’t we?”
    Noreen nodded. She had done more than sip her martini. Ten years before, she could drink three and be coherent. Now she was lucky to manage two, slowly.
    “You’re almost ready for another,” Max said.
    Beyond the rim of light, the snow disappeared in the darkness: the way home. “I’m fine right now,” Noreen said.
    When Max turned his back, Noreen’s eyes wandered over his body, which appeared much firmer and stronger than she would have guessed. Especially his hips. Max turned around. She quickly focused on his face. A sheen of dampness covered her own. Max was right. The heat was penetrating.
    “What is the temperature?” she asked.
    “Eighty air. Ninety pool. The water is filtered through a separate UV process to purify it. That’s why there’s no chlorine smell. Just a whiff of jasmine tonight, and orange blossoms.”
    Noreen began walking again, toward the pots of tall trees this time. She knew Max was watching her. She remembered a time years before when she had modeled an evening dress in the garden club fashion show, walking along the runway with feline arrogance. She had been forty then and having an affair with Bradley Templeton. She was aware of Max following her, aware of his breathing, his scent.
    “Noreen, you know if you keep wearing all those clothes they’ll be damp and you’ll chill when you leave.”
    The notion of leaving was a good one. “I ought to go now,” Noreen answered. The glass felt weightless in her hand.
    “You don’t really want to, do you?”
    “Soon,” she said and held out her arm. The glass disappeared. Max had it now.
    Noreen followed Max to the cart. “You said you considered me handsome. I didn’t know you considered me at all,” she said.
    “Oh yes. Lately more and more. Around town I see you everywhere. You look fifty.”
    “So do you.”
    “Looks can be deceiving.”
    “But not in your case.”
    “You can’t see inside me.”
    “You’re right about that,” Noreen said.
    “I wish you could though. I wouldn’t disappoint you.”
    They walked toward the pool this time, toward a wicker settee and low table by the water. “I usually eat my supper sitting here,” Max said.
    “Do you cook?”
    “My housekeeper prepares something. I heat it up. She leaves at two. I manage by myself on the weekends.”
    The pool was a sunset pink that made the water appear pink as well. Noreen had never considered water intimate before. She did now. The color was oddly sensual. A quick swim, then she would finish her drink and go home.
    “Max, do you have a robe I could borrow? I can’t resist the pool.”
    “Will a towel do?”
    “A large one.”
While Max took a towel out of an armoire decorated brightly with painted iris and tulips, Noreen looked around for a place to undress.
“In the house. Choose any room you want.”
    A sensible suggestion, but leaving the room to take off her clothes seemed prudish. Yet Noreen wasn’t quite ready to pull them off in front of Max. “What are you laughing about?” he asked.
    “I’m wearing the tattiest underwear I own,” Noreen said.
    Max smiled. “I’ll stand across the room,” he said. “I won’t look.”
    Noreen took off her shirt, then her socks. Her trousers crinkled when she pulled them down. She bundled up her underwear and pushed them into her trouser pocket. The water was as soft as it looked. She stroked toward the other end of the pool, Max watching her.
    I must be drunk, she thought. She had never experienced water this way. It caressed her as she traveled over it. But she knew she wasn’t drunk, only peaceful and content. Max’s watching her didn’t make any difference. In fact she liked it. She had liked walking on the runway, flirting with all the men in the room.
    Noreen swam two laps. Max, who stood at the opposite side of the pool, had thoughtfully laid the towel by the ladder. Noreen climbed out and wrapped the towel around her. The towel almost covered her completely. She raked her hair with her fingers. She noticed that he had added more gin to her drink.
    “I have cigarettes. You’d like one, wouldn’t you?”
    “How did you know?”
    “I know some things about you.”
    “Then you know I shouldn’t.”
    “I’m not your doctor.”
    Max returned with a teak cigarette box.
    “Sure you don’t mind?”
    “I smoke a cigar from time to time.”
     They walked back to the settee and Noreen’s clothes piled by the edge of the pool.
    “You’re going to be hungry soon.”
    “Max, this is lovely, but I’m going to finish my martini and make my way home.”
    “Of course you’re not. What a foolish idea.”
    “Max . . .”
    “The housekeeper always prepares too much for one person. Lamb chops tonight. I can’t eat more than one. A salad. Potatoes. Scalloped, I think.”
    “Max . . .”
    “I’m going to the kitchen. You can put some clothes on or not, whatever makes you comfortable.”
    Max disappeared into the house. Noreen dried herself. Her shirt was long enough to cover to her faded Jockey underpants. She was finishing her martini when Max returned carrying a tray with two dinner plates and a salad bowl. He set the table by the water, then vanished into the house again for salad plates, wine glasses, and a bottle of pinot noir. She realized she had become accustomed to his nakedness and was comfortable looking at his body. They sat side by side, his thigh almost touching hers. She had a fuzzy sensation on her skin, what she felt when she turned on the television and the tiny hairs on her arm received a static charge from the screen.

The lamb was pink in the center, the way she preferred it. The pinot was smooth, full of its advertised flavors. Noreen’s contentment deepened. It was more than a pleasure about physical things, the meat, the wine, her skin, the scents of orange and jasmine, the color of the water, the shapes of the pots, the light on the leaves: it was spiritual as well. Wasn’t this peace what she was supposed to achieve in all those yoga classes she attended, and never did?
    “Max, you’re amazing,” Noreen said.
    “I would say the same about you.”
    “I feel very still and very complete right now.”
    Noreen imagined saying that to Bob Dorsey, a retired stock trader and deal maker she’d been seeing. He would smirk and tell her she was supposed to tell him that later on, after what he referred to as the main event.
    “I think everyone’s past is full of regrets. But when I’m in this room, I regret nothing. Out here the past doesn’t seem to mean much,” Max said.
    Noreen smiled and pressed her palm against Max’s thigh and didn’t consider whether she should have done it or should not.
    “Do you think about the future?” Noreen asked.
    “You mean tomorrow or the future future?”
    “The future future.”
    “I think about what we all think about, dying on our own terms, the way we want to go. I’d like my heart to stop suddenly while I’m in this room. To cease upon the midnight with no pain, as Keats put it. What about you?”
    “When I was coming up the street and it was almost dark, I remembered my mother tucking me into bed. I always hid under the covers. I was afraid of the cold.”
    “Why?”
    “It seemed so impersonal, so empty. You could get lost in it and no one would find you. People would forget about you.”
    “Sounds like the future future.”
    Noreen pointed to the two cigarette ends in the ashtray by the wine bottle. “The future future will be here sooner than I think if I don’t give up cigarettes.”
    “I think you ought to give up Bob Dorsey.”
    “You know a lot about me, don’t you?”
    “Not all I want to know. Men must have asked. Why haven’t you married someone?”
    “Men hide things. You find out what when it’s too late.”
    Max laughed. “As you can see, I have nothing to hide.”
    “I’m not so sure. We all do. The truth, I didn’t want to settle down with one man.”
    “Didn’t, or don’t?”
    “It’s been a while since I had to make a choice.”
    Max asked nothing more complicated than if Noreen would like coffee. “I can make espresso,” he offered.
Coffee before walking home might be a good idea. She could dress while Max was in the kitchen.
    “Or a brandy,” Max offered.
    “Lord, Max, I don’t need anything more to drink. I’ll never get home.” “What’s at home?”
    “My bed, for one thing.”
    “And probably a message on your machine from Bob.”
    “Probably.”
    Noreen was trying to decide the coffee question. It would be a shame to ask Max to go to a dreary kitchen and make coffee.
    “I wish you wouldn’t leave.”
    “Max . . .”
    “I’ve had a crush on you. Do people still use that word? Anyway, I’ve had a crush on you for a long time.”
    “Max, I have a phone. You could have called.”
    “This room wasn’t ready yet.”
    “Were you ever going to phone me? Or did you assume I was going to stop by?”
    “You’re here, aren’t you?”
    “Max, I took a shortcut. Don’t make a big thing out of it.”
    “If you insist on going home, I’ll insist on driving you.”
    “Max, I’ll be dressed and out of here before you can find your clothes and keys.”
    Max rose from the settee. He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, as if he was pressing down on her to keep her from leaving. He bent over and kissed the corner of her mouth.
    “What do you like about me, Max?”
    “You’re independent. You’re strong. You tell people the truth. And you have long legs.”
    “You sure you’re not just lonely and I have a reputation?”
    “You’re talking about the past.” He kissed her again, on the side of the mouth, a little longer this time. Noreen turned her head, kissing him back.
    “Out here I don’t live there anymore,” he said.
    “You can’t stay out here all the time.”
    “I wish you wouldn’t be so logical.”
    “You mean you wish I wouldn’t bring up the truth.”
“What’s logical isn’t always true.”
    “Max, the truth is this has been a lovely and completely unexpected evening, and now it’s time for me to go home.”
    “I’m not going to drive you.”
    “I don’t want you to.”
    Noreen raised herself off the settee. Max sat down and watched her put on her clothes.
    “Please excuse the cliché, but it’s not having regrets that matters, it’s having nothing to regret.”
    Noreen, about to slide open the door, peered into the night. She turned round.
    “Change your mind?”
    “Yes,” she said.
    She knelt by the settee and looked up at him. He bent to kiss her. She pressed her finger to his lips.
    “Max, phone me. I mean it,” she said. A minute later she was on her way home. Having nothing to regret had never been her problem.

She was sorry, though, when Max didn’t call. Lois Carey called, and so did Bob. Lois explained she had gone to her doctor for a check-up, and now, three days later, she was phoning from the hospital to report that the surgeon had taken all her breast, but the cancer hadn’t spread. She would be going home in a few days, and her daughter was coming from Louisville to be with her.
    Noreen remembered a New Year’s Eve twenty years earlier when Lois was furious with Cartey, her husband, and the two women had stood on the porch of someone’s house drinking and smoking. Through the window they could see Cartey dancing with Vera Deemer, who was wearing something red and tight and very low cut. Lois was trying not to cry. “At least you’re discreet,” Lois said. “Cartey never is,” she said. She held out her arms in a gesture of surrender or helplessness. They could hear the music from the phonograph. Noreen put down her own glass and Lois’s next to it. Noreen fitted herself against Lois, and the two of them danced, a bit awkwardly at first, Lois’s moist cheek pressed to Noreen’s. They danced beyond the end of the record, and past another also, their bodies close together, Lois’s arm around Noreen’s neck. “I can’t believe how nice this is,” Lois said. Then she stopped dancing and stood for a moment in Noreen’s arms and placed her hands on Noreen’s face as if she were going to whisper something, but instead kissed her. “I’m better now,” Lois said, “let’s go inside.”
    Bob’s message was cheerier. Noreen had told him she was going by herself to a party at the Knolls, a community of one-floor condos and apartments popular with people in their eighties and referred to as God’s waiting room. Noreen would probably be the youngest person there. She would end up helping guests find their coats and walking several widowers to the elevators or assisting them across the frozen courtyard. The widows usually managed to get home by themselves. Sometimes the men would try to kiss her. One or two always produced a sprig of mistletoe from their overcoat pockets and waved it over her head, as if performing a magic act. But she was the one with the act. She left a trace of lipstick on their cheeks, something to discover when they looked at themselves in the mirror, something to smile about and make them feel they weren’t so old after all.
    Bob explained that his brother and his sister-in-law had planned to spend the evening at Bob’s house, but they had canceled to stay home and fight off the flu. “Let’s drive to Boston,” Bob said, “and stay at the Ritz.”
    Decorations glittered in the lobby. Noreen loved hotels. She loved the Ritz. A man in a pressed uniform followed them into the elevator with their luggage. Bob tipped him generously. Bob wanted to shower before going down to the bar for cocktails. Noreen tried to nap, but questions kept her awake. Could she infer from Bob’s explanation that had his brother felt better, Bob wouldn’t have phoned? She was okay for the Ritz but not okay for family? And why was that? Then there was the big question, the one she always asked herself in the year’s last gloaming: Are people responsible for how they end up?
    Bob emerged from the steaming bathroom, a towel around his waist. Treadmills and racquetball kept him slender. He was five years younger than she. Was it the age difference that Bob didn’t want to explain to his brother and his sister-in-law? And would she really want to meet Bob’s sister-in-law? Bob had been divorced for ages. Noreen didn’t need an evening with a woman who could compare her with other women in Bob’s life, someone who might even take Noreen aside and give her a list of her offenses. Noreen had her own list.
    While Bob shaved, Noreen unzipped her overnight bag. Bob was particular about what pleased him. He preferred her to wear stockings, and underwear in shades of brown. La Perla was his favorite, Victoria’s Secret was not. Because stockings felt more comfortable than panty hose, Noreen often wore them for herself. The male fetish for them amused her, but it irritated her when men told her how to dress. This evening, though, Noreen was willing to oblige Bob. She let him watch her dress, though standing in front of the TV set flipping the channels, he pretended not to. She clipped the tops of her stockings to her garters and drew her palm along the backs of her legs the way she had learned from her mother to be sure her seams were straight. These stockings didn’t have seams, but the gesture was part of the performance. Once her mother had turned to Noreen and said, “I wonder what kind of man you’ll end up with?” Noreen had answered, “Why do I have to end up with one? Or any?” “Child, don’t be foolish,” her mother chided.
    In the bar Bob chose a table near the windows. Lit by Christmas lights, the trees in the Public Gardens appeared artificial, like props in an allegory. She was glad to be inside with Bob listening to the piano player and drinking a splendid cocktail. For a second Max came into her mind, then Bob leaned closer and caressed her hand. “You’ll hear about it next week, but I want to tell you now. I’m buying the Jeffrey Trust. That is, a group I put together is buying it.”
    Noreen wondered if Bob really wanted to run the town’s small bank or couldn’t resist deal making. You know who you are when you make a deal, he had told her. Or who you are not, she had thought, but said nothing, only smiled as if impressed by his insightfulness.
    “Congratulations,” she said, tinging the rim of her glass against his.
    “There’s a rumor you have a buyer for the Weir farm,” Bob said.
    “I’ve heard that myself.”
    “Not going to tell?”
    “I have a prospect, but the farm’s been on the market for two years and I’ve had prospects before.”
    “The Weir who owns the convenience store next to the bank, what relation is he to the family selling the farm?”
    “Buck’s a cousin,” Noreen said.
    “Does he profit when the farm sells?”
Noreen shook her head. “He lives in a room over the store. It’s about all he has. Why are you asking?”
    “We’d like his property.”
    “I’m sure he’s not interested in selling.”
    “We know he isn’t,” Bob said.
    “Is there a problem?”
    “Not for us, for him maybe. He’s going to have to stop selling gas or replace his tanks. That’s expensive.”
    “A lot of people buy gas there.”
    “I know. I also know he’ll come to us to ask for a loan to replace the tanks.”
    “Then what?”
    “We’ll lend him the money. That’s what a community bank does. We support the community. That’s not going to change just because some new guys are running it.”
    The piano player was playing “Stardust.” Bob hummed to himself. Noreen remembered lying in bed after making love with a man waiting to be shipped overseas. She was pregnant then and hadn’t told him. If he had come back, if he had married her, would they have stayed in love, stayed together? Or was that question answered by the question Noreen had asked her mother, why only one? Bob ordered another round of drinks. After a few sips the questions slipped out of mind.
    The champagne and dinner Bob ordered in the main dining room were extravagant. He winked at her and said, “Deal making excites all my appetites. I’m glad you’re here.”
    And Noreen was glad also, except from time to time she wondered what Max was doing, wondered if he was sitting by himself, feeling young and feeling no regrets. New Year’s Eves were always full of regrets as far as Noreen was concerned. She excused herself. “Don’t be long,” Bob said.
    Two ladies sat in front of the mirror. Both wore shimmering evening dresses. In their handbags, open on the marble counter, Noreen noticed the matching gold cigarette cases. Noreen wanted a cigarette. Bob hated the smell of smoke. Noreen walked behind the ladies into the next room. The attendant wished her a good evening. When Noreen had finished, the attendant handed her a towel and wished her a happy New Year. Noreen placed a folded bill on the tray near the soaps.
    The ladies were still sitting in front of the mirror. One was leaning forward, penciling her eyebrows. The other held a lit cigarette between the tips of her fingers. The one looking in the mirror smiled and turned around. “You want a smoke, don’t you?” she said. Her voice was amused, ironic, surprisingly rough, but not unkind.
    “Not allowed,” Noreen said.
    “Says who?” the one smoking asked.
    “My date,” Noreen said.
    The lady held out her hand. “One drag, he’ll never know.”
    Noreen hesitated, then lifted the cigarette from the fingers and brought it to her mouth and tasted the other woman’s lipstick and remembered kissing Lois. Noreen inhaled and gave the cigarette back. She felt a bit dizzy, as if the room had taken a spin, and the door wasn’t where she expected it to be. She breathed deeply, thanked the lady, and returned to the table.
    Bob wasn’t there. He had probably gone to the men’s room. Noreen looked at the empty chair and imagined Vi, her daughter, sitting in it. But Vi didn’t know she was Noreen’s daughter. Noreen had tried to tell her. Once in the tap room at the inn she had almost told her. But she didn’t. The room turned all blurry. She wiped her eyes before Vi noticed anything was wrong. She was wiping them again right now.
    “You okay?” Bob asked.
    “Fine,” Noreen said. “I’m fine.”
    After coffee, they went downstairs and danced and drank more champagne. At midnight Bob kissed her. Later, in their room, Bob undressed her and they made love. He fell asleep. She slipped out of bed meaning to find her nightgown. She walked to the window. Bob had left a small light on. Noreen could see her reflection. She bent forward until she couldn’t see herself anymore. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the glass. She had the sensation of passing through herself and being suspended in the air above the street. She hovered there filling her lungs with darkness. She opened her eyes. A man stood in the window on the other side of the street. He was gesturing with his hands, like Max, except she was naked this time. She stepped back from the window. The man shrugged and blew her a kiss.

“How was Boston?” Max asked.
    “You mean how was my New Year’s Eve in Boston with Bob? Good. What did you do?”
    “Thought about you.”
    “I have a phone.”
    “They’re not romantic.”
    “But my passing by unplanned is?”
    “You’re here again, aren’t you? Are you comfortable?”
    Noreen had come prepared this time. She was wearing silk trousers and a thin blouse. “I’m fine, Max. And this visit isn’t unplanned.”
    “Yes, that unplanned stuff only works once.”
    “Max, I realize you know everything, so you’re aware that Bob heads a group taking over the Jeffrey Trust.”
    “I am.”
    “Bob’s interested in Buck Weir’s property next door.”
    “Why?”
    “He didn’t say.”
    “He probably wants to use the building to expand the bank’s trust facilities.”
    “My concern is Buck. He has to replace his tanks or stop selling gas. The bank will lend him the money. He’ll need fifteen, maybe twenty thousand. The bank already holds a note on the property. Buck trusted the old group at the bank to take care of him and give him good advice. He’ll think the new people are like the others. He won’t be able to pay off all that debt. He’ll lose his property.”
    “Anything else on your mind?” Max asked.
    “I’d like a martini,” Noreen said.
    Noreen’s eyes studied Max’s body as he walked across the room. Why was she still attracted to men, why were they attracted to her? Did she cause that? Did she make that happen? Would she want it to be any different? A definite no to the last question.
    Max handed her a chilled glass. He had brought the cigarettes too. She took a sip. “Do you feel it?” Max asked.
    “It burns a little.”
    “Not the gin, the room. Noreen, you look so young. Do you feel young?”
    She took another sip and lit a cigarette. “Truth, Max, no. I don’t feel young. If anything I feel a bit awkward, a bit overwhelmed, and very lucky. My mother died when she was sixty, but I’ve made it this far. I’m still functioning, life is still full of surprises and pleasures, more than I deserve. I have definitely not lived a life of virtue.”
    “But you’re here because you want to help someone. You’re worried about Buck.”
    “If I had the money, I’d lend it to him myself, not charge him interest.”
    “I do have the money. I can help.”
    “Can or will?”
    “You mean, are we bargaining?”
    “Are we?”
    “Noreen, come live with me and be my love.”
    “Is that an answer?”
    “It’s what’s called a proposition or a proposal, depending on your point of view.”
    “Max, has anyone else discovered this room?”
    “Only you.”
    “You shouldn’t waste it.”
    “I hope I’m not. If I lend Buck money, Bob’s going to hear about it. He may not want to see you anymore.”
    “So helping Buck makes you think you’ll have me all to yourself ?”
    “Noreen, you have a way of viewing a good deed with suspicion.”
    “Amusement, not suspicion.”
    “Are men more amusing than women?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Are women more honest than men?”
    “In my experience.”
    “Are women better lovers?”
    “I have no experience in that regard.”
    “I saw you kissing Lois Carey once.”
    “That happened.”
    “Just once?”
    “Once with Lois.”
    “With anyone else?”
    “Max, this isn’t court and you’re too old to ask dumb questions.”
    “I’ve always enjoyed knowing the stuff lawyers couldn’t tell the jury.”
    “In my case there’s more rumor than truth.”
    “You’re not going to sleep with me tonight, are you?”
    “As foreplay, this conversation hasn’t done much for me, Max.”
    “This room doesn’t make you feel what I feel, does it?”
    “Max, I feel afraid here. If I stayed in this room too long, I think I’d become unglued. I’d lose my grip on things. If I could live my life at the Ritz, I wouldn’t do that either.”
    “Then what do we do?”
    “I put on my boots and coat and go home. One evening I’ll be back. I’ll surprise you.”
    “Come when it’s very cold outside. It will be very warm in here. It’s always warm in here. It’s always cold outside.”
    Noreen gave Max a quick kiss and then was out the door. The winter constellations glimmered in the sky. Her boots crunched over the snow. Cold enfolded her. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

Christopher Brookhouse has published five novels and two collections of poetry. He lives in New London, New Hampshire.

“Naked” appears in our Autumn 2002 issue.