Read Whenever You Call for Free Online

of I-don’t-care-itis. This had never happened to me before. I was a typical baby-boomer, not to mention a woman who’d had to rely on herself financially simply because she’d somehow managed to screw up three marriages. I felt vaguely as if I’d gone to take a nap two days ago, and had yet to wake up again. I sipped my coffee and enjoyed the warm early morning air. I began to believe that devil winter was gone.
    Which got me nowhere fast, beyond appreciating the moment. I stared down at my bare toes and tried to imagine some childish game as a way to decide what I could do for a second act job. I’ d figured out that I should make at least some money, so a purely volunteer position wouldn’t cut it. I had health insurance that was privately arranged because of my freelance writing career, but it was expensive. I decided that it would be nice to have health insurance provided.
    I wiggled my toes.
    Okay, I thought, every toe will be a possible job. I went through the first ones quickly, wiggling each toe as it was named. Teach, public relations, real estate, administrative, secretarial. That was one foot. Waitress, maid, government, library aide, bartender. That was the second foot. Boom, there it was, smack dab in the wee baby toe.
    Bartender.
    I hopped up, tossed the rest of the coffee into the bushes by the side of the steps, and ran inside. At my computer, I looked up bar tending courses and clicked on the information for the closest location in Harvard Square. In minutes, I’d signed on for the next series of classes, beginning Monday.
    I thought about sending a mass e-mail to my entire Address file, announcing my new career, but decided that I was being slightly precipitous. The course was only one week long, and I could tell people slowly, when they asked what I was up to. I’d say, “Oh, I’m enrolled in a bar tending course in Harvard Square. I’ve always wanted to be a bartender, ever since I was a little kid.” Also, it might be good to wait until I actually landed a job.
    Nevertheless, I felt rather electric . I was thrilled by the idea of being a bartender and I wanted to tell someone. Oddly, the someone I most wanted to tell was Rabbitfish. I’d successfully avoided answering his last e-mail, in which he said he was not knowable. In one of those spasms of joy (or fear?), I sent off an e-mail.
    I’ve quit being a writer. I am going to become a bartender and make big tips. I am very excited.
    After I sent the e-mail, I remembered the phone ringing earlier, so I checked my voice mail. There was a message from Jenny, sounding strangely discombobulated. “Rose, please call me. I think I’m getting sick or something, and I don’t know whether I should cancel the date tonight with Tom Callahan.”
    I dialed her number immediately, but not before I’d figured out for myself that she was probably so stressed by the prospect of a date that she was making herself ill.
    “It’s me.”
    “I’m very nauseated,” Jenny said.
    “Did you drink some flat coke?”
    “Is that what I should do?”
    “Yeah, pour a little in a glass and sip it slowly, then call me back.”
    “Okay.”
    We hung up. I checked my e-mail. Nothing, naturally.
    Since I hadn’t eaten yet and it was relatively early, I decided to go for a run. As I was changing from nightgown to jogging clothes in my bedroom, the phone rang again.
    Jenny’s voice was weak and pathetic. “I feel a little better.”
    “Would you like me to come over?”
    “Maybe that would be good.”
    She lived in a sleek high-rise condo with a spectacular view of the harbor.
    “I’m just getting dressed, so it’ll be at least an hour from now. Do you want me to bring you anything?”
    “Mmm—maybe I’ll be ready for some breakfast—”
    “Bagels?”
    “Yeah.” Jenny sighed. “I really need to go into the office.”
    I bit back my initial response, finally ending with a tepid, “I don’t think that’s in the cards today. I’ll see you soon.”
    I