Diane was an artist, a painter, though lately she didn’t work much. While Charlie was on tour Diane roller bladed around the city. With him gone her energy seemed boundless. She'd sail past 
you, almost knocking you down and you'd think she was on her way home, but no, she'd come around the block and lap you before going into the Chelsea--like she had just exactly that much more energy to use up before she could rest.
Charlie was a musician in a cowboy bar band. He wore a toupee to cover up his bald spot while he was on stage, even though he usually wore a cowboy hat on top of that. But he didn’t wear either of them when he was around the Chelsea.
Charlie snuggled up to Diane on the couch while they were watching TV. He turned and tried to kiss her, pawing at her breast, but Diane scooted down the couch out of his clutches. She took a swig of her beer and continued to stare straight ahead at the TV. But Charlie sat bolt upright and said crossly, "You don't like to have sex with me anymore, do you? We haven't done it since I've been back. You think I'm fat, don't you?"
He was fat alright, downright obese.
"It's not that honey, it's just..."
"It's just what? Look, I'm trying to watch my weight, you think I'm not trying?"
"Well..."
“I am trying," he declared, "It's not easy. You think its so easy."
"I know its not easy honey, but you've got to show a little self control. Last night you ate that whole pepperoni pizza and that whole pint of Chunky Monkey..."
"I did not eat that whole pepperoni pizza!”
"But you ate the whole pint of Chunky Monkey!"
"I did not eat that whole pepperoni pizza!!!" Charlie roared.
"Well, OK," Diane admitted, "I had one slice."
"So!" Charlie exclaimed in triumph, "You admit you exaggerate."
"OK, maybe you are trying to control yourself."
But Charlie was on a roll: "And about that Chunky Monkey. Here you come waltzing in the door with a pint of Chunky Monkey, like there's nothing in the world wrong with that, la de da, and here I am trying to watch my weight."
"The Chunky Monkey was for me," Diane said.
"So what am I supposed to do? That's what I want to know. You say I'm not trying, and then in you waltz with the chunky monkey. La de da. And you know it's my favorite."
They're all your favorite, Diane thought.
"And while we're on the subject of self control,” Charlie went on, “how much did you drink while I was away?"
"Just a couple drinks a night," Diane said defensively. "No more than usual."
"Oh the usual! Well that's not much, now is it?" Charlie said sarcastically. Then he added, "Dan told me he saw you dump a load of liquor bottles the day before I got home. He said he could hear it all the way down the hall."
"I wish Dan would mind his own business."
"When you live in glass houses, don't throw the first stone."
"Oh, please."
"Dan also says you had people streaming in and out of this room night and day, including some MEN."
"Dan is an asshole."
That seemed a fair assessment to Charlie. Still, he sensed he had the upper hand, so he wasn't ready to let the matter drop just yet. "You've been sleeping around on me, haven't you?" he said.
"Now you're being absurd."
"Well, how about it?" Charlie insisted.
"I'm not even going to respond to that," Diane said.
Charlie thought about the groupie—actually a middle aged housewife--he had sex with while on tour, but he didn't feel it would help his case to bring up this point.
"I'm going to bed," Diane said. She finished off her beer then got up and moved to the bed, which was behind a screen they had set up at the far end of the room. Charlie watched TV for a couple of hours, snuck in a late snack, then he came to bed to.
Ten years from now, still at the Chelsea, they’d be having pretty much the same conversation. Ten years from now, her beer beside her on top of the toilet, Diane would be kneeling before the tub and giving Charlie a sponge bath to get at the places he couldn't reach. (Copyright 2006 Ed Hamilton)
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