The Red Car Read Free

with her sadness? Any more than she already had. She handed me a twenty-dollar bill.
    â€œYou can buy me groceries,” she said. “I don’t need much. I am almost out of chamomile tea,” she said. “And coleslaw.”
    I looked at the money. It would be more uncomfortable, more unpleasant for me not to take it. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out with me for a burrito.”
    Alice had done it once before. She watched me eat and sipped an iced tea. She had ordered a side of black beans and ate six beans. We went to a bookstore together where she watched me buy a book. She seemed envious, that I could buy a book. It was a used bookstore and I offered to buy her one, too. The book I bought cost four dollars. Alice had refused.
    â€œI can’t leave,” Alice said now. “Phoebe might lock me out.”
    It was possible that she might lock me out, too, but I would take that risk.
    â€œYou want me to get you chamomile tea and broccoli coleslaw?” I asked.
    â€œWould you?” Alice said.
    She had a look on her face.
    â€œAnything else?”
    â€œSome soap?”
    â€œWhat kind do you want?”
    â€œOh anything,” Alice said. “Something organic. And fragrance free.”
    I nodded.
    â€œYou are so sweet,” Alice said.
    People constantly had that idea about me. Maybe Judy was the only person who knew that I wasn’t sweet. I looked at the pot on the stove, the few strands of spaghetti I had extracted from the boiling water on the plate on the kitchen counter. I would not take the time to clean up. I couldn’t get out of the apartment fast enough. Chances were good Alice would clean it up for me so as not to further anger Phoebe.
    â€œI’ll be back soon,” I said.
    â€œNo hurry,” Alice said. “I have been out of soap for days.”
    I HAD FOUR FAVORITE BURRITO PLACES, but I went into La Cumbre, the place I liked the least, because it was my boyfriend’s favorite. On each table, there was a picture of a sexy woman with big black hair and enormous breasts that nearly escaped from her dress. She was a whore. That, at least, was what Daniel had told me. Walking through the Mission, I remembered that tonight was his night off.
    Daniel was sitting at a table by himself, eating a burrito and drinking a Negra Modelo, reading Henry Miller.
    â€œLeah,” he called out to me.
    He had seen me right away. I did not even have to wonder if I would have to pretend not to see him. He was happy to see me. He was so happy I wondered why he had not just called me and said, “Leah, let’s go out for a burrito.” But that would be too simple. I could not stop thinking of him as my boyfriend, though he wasn’t actually my boyfriend, he was the poet/bartender/college dropout that I was sleeping with. He would be the first to remind me of this. The last time I had slept with him was already two weeks ago.
    â€œI didn’t come here because of you,” I said, sitting down at his table. This, of course, was the same as admitting that I came there looking for him. He knew it already. Or maybe he was not that smart and would believe it was a coincidence. Helooked good to me. He was wearing a black T-shirt, his blond hair slicked back.
    â€œI love this place,” Daniel said, ignoring my comment. “San Francisco is becoming so gentrified, but this place, this is the real thing. This is purity.”
    â€œPurity,” I repeated.
    I am not sure why, but suddenly I had a vision of Alice alone at the kitchen table. She was probably still sitting there, finishing her undressed coleslaw. I thought that her coleslaw could be considered pure.
    â€œTonight, I wanted a good burrito, a cold beer. I wanted a real conversation,” he said. “And here you are.”
    You could have called me, I thought, but I did not say this. Anyway, we never had real conversations. I mainly let Daniel talk. I could not get into