Whenever You Call by Anna King

soaking in my cavernous tub, I thought consciously about the clue of “rabbitfish.” The most obvious thing was the word “fish,” which was exactly my situation. I was fishing for him. Abruptly, I sat up in the tub, water splashing everywhere but still not managing to overflow onto the floor because the white porcelain sides were so high.
    My pride kicked in. Who the hell was this guy to send me on a fishing trip? I scrubbed all over and then, still annoyed, lay back and completely submerged myself under water. I often washed my hair in the bathtub instead of the shower just because the whole bath thing, especially when you got completely wet, had a baptismal quality, and though the idea of baptism was totally bogus for me, I could understand why ancient people got into it. As a metaphor, it worked.
    While I was underwater, my pride got sufficiently doused that I was able to remember how much fun fishing can be. Maybe this guy, Mr. Rabbitfish, knew how to play in a world where grown-ups never play. Oh, sure, we compete in sporting games, but we don’t play fun games like hide ’n seek or sardines.
    I lay back against the tub, my wet hair floating in the water. Staring down the length of the bath, I watched my knees pop up like turtles, then my feet at the far end with the toes touching and balancing me. Not for the first time, I thought about Jen having neither feet nor toes, not to mention lower legs. But now, I imagined her legs just like mine and they were entwined around the legs of Tom as they made love. Her toes curled and then straightened as she came. Of course, I didn’t believe in miracles like nonexistent legs suddenly sprouting and growing. Except, I couldn’t help hoping, and I suspected that somewhere deep in Jen’s psyche, she was hoping, too. I didn’t know what to make of such absurd thoughts.
    The phone rang and since I’d had the presence of mind to carry the cordless into the bathroom with me, I was able to pick up.
    Isaac said, “Hey.”
    I wanted to say, You again? But I controlled myself. Instead, I said, “Isaac, what a surprise.”
    “I’m calling to invite you to my going-away party.”
    It took me a minute. “You’re still becoming a monk?”
    “Yes,” he said in a patient tone.
    “That was very good. You sounded just like a monk.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Is the party at your place?” I would have to go.
    “In fact, no.”
    There was a pause and I figured out what was coming.
    Isaac said, “Your daughter, Alex, is having it and both Noah and Elliot are coming to town especially to attend.”
    “That’s awfully nice of my children.”
    I was furious. I came close to deliberately dropping the phone into the bath. Instead I kicked and water sloshed around.
    “Are you in the bathtub or something?” he said.
    “Yes,” I hissed.
    I knew enough about Buddhist principles of loving kindness that I should be ashamed of myself for being jealous just because my kids were making such a decent gesture to Isaac. But I couldn’t help wondering whether it would take me becoming a nun to get them to do something equally gracious for their dear old Mom.
    Isaac continued, “The party is this coming Saturday night and—”
    “You’re not getting a good-bye fuck from me,” I interrupted.
    “I didn’t even—” Isaac faltered and stopped talking.
    “You did, too,” I yelled.
    “Rose, I am serious about this calling in my life and I have no ulterior motives about getting you into bed, I promise.”
    I didn’t answer.
    “I hope you’ll come,” he said finally.
    I haven’t come in a long time, actually. “I’ll be there, of course. When do you leave town?”
    Soon, I hope.
    “Monday morning. I’ve sold my apartment and I’m putting everything into storage. Do you want to have anything on indefinite loan?”
    For a moment I was tempted by his knives, which were so expensive and sharp that they made cooking a whole different experience. Then I thought of his car, which