"Ian? Ian?" I knock on his door. It's late, about ten o'clock. I'm wearing my best black dress and my hair is up in curls. "Ian, I've got to go. I've got a date."

There is a muted growl and a groan. The knob twists and clicks, telling me that he has locked the door.

"Ian. I won't be gone for long. I'm just going out for dinner and a movie with Everette."

The door shakes as something, a book or perhaps a shoe, hits it.

"Well, excuse me! No need to have a fit!"

Another object, bigger and heavier than the last, pounds against the door.

"Screw you, too!" I turn to leave. "Jerk."

"Vivian?" A clang and a thump and the door is open. Ian limps, wheezing, his tooth-colored dress shirt splayed open like the chest of a dissected frog, into the hall. "How long?" Sweat drips down his red-splotched forehead. He dabs at it with his sleeve. "Hour? More?"

"I'll be back at midnight." I frown at the lines of perspiration on his chest. They remind me of slug trails. "Are you okay?"

He rubs his raw, ruby nose and shakes his head.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Fine. I'll call it off."

His entire face shines as he smiles, from his pale, chapped lips to his sore, pink, gray-circled eyes. I want to slap him, this isn't the first time he's pulled this crap, but can't bring myself to raise my hand. Instead, I huff, and crook my finger for him to come hither. He plants a hand on my shoulder, his thumb pressing down onto one of my stars, and follows me into the living room.