I Thought You Should Know.
Gregg showed up at my door the following weekend. It had been several weeks since the money-under-the-chair incident, and I assumed he was checking to see if I had forgiven him.
I had not.
“What do you want?”
“I just wanted to talk to you.” Gregg looked like a lost puppy with glasses.
“Well you can’t come in,” I said. “What do you want to talk about?” I stood inside behind the screen door and waited.
Gregg paused, standing on the porch. Finally he said, “It’s about Kurt.”
He’s dead, I thought. The man I love is dead and I am alone again.
Then I remembered that Kurt was none of Gregg’s business. How did he even know I’d been spending time with Kurt? And what could Gregg possibly know that I didn’t already know?
“What the fuck do you know about Kurt?” I spat, suddenly seething.
I could see that this was not how Gregg had expected it to go. He’d expected to be welcomed in, forgiven, hugged and coddled, before being forced to say anything about his reason for being there. In fact, it felt like Gregg was just waiting to be invited inside.
That was not going to happen. Whatever Gregg had to tell me, he could do it from the porch.
“Well it’s something Kurt said,” Gregg started cautiously.
I blew cigarette smoke directly through the screen into Gregg’s face. “Okay, what?” I said. “What do you have to tell me about Kurt?”
Gregg shifted nervously on his feet. He looked behind him, then looked at me again. Finally he said, “Well, I was talking to Kurt and a bunch of guys a few days ago. And your name came up.”
I waited.
Gregg waited.
“Okay, so I’ve been seeing Kurt,” I said. “How is that your fucking business?”
“It’s not,” Gregg stammered. “But I thought you should know what Kurt said about you.”
“Okay,” I said. “What.”
“Kurt called you a coke whore.”
“What?!?” I nearly screamed. “He did not!”
“He did,” Gregg insisted. “I just wanted you to know what he’s saying behind your back. Kurt isn’t …” He trailed off.
“You’re lying,” I said. “Get the fuck off my porch.”
“I’m not …” Gregg began. Then I slammed the door in his face. The door never shut tightly without an extra push, though, so it took a second for me to close it completely.
I turned away and slid to the floor, like people do in dramatic movies. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in them. Then I slammed my head against my knees until it hurt.
Kitty rushed over to see what I was doing on the floor. I ignored her.
Suddenly everything made sense: why Kurt never looked at me, why he rarely touched me, why he never kissed me, why he raced to the tub after we had sex.
Kurt thought I was a literal whore, that our sex had been payment for cocaine.
I thought I loved Kurt. I would have done anything he wanted! Wasn’t that love?
But the only thing we’d ever done together, really, was smoke cocaine.
Obviously I didn’t know Kurt at all.
Was I a coke whore?
I got off the floor.
Then I went out and got blind drunk without looking at a soul.
I never spoke to Kurt again.