THE JOB WAS BORING, so mindless that an invalid could perform its tasks, which justif ied—barely—the low pay. I was to edit new companies being published for the first time in one of MDI’s directories. Even when there was just one employee—which more often than not meant a retired old man whittling figurines in his basement (more for pleasure than for profit)—I was to call and confirm the facts we had (i.e., the correct address, the correct spelling of the owner or company officer, the proper description of the product being made). I spent most of the day on the telephone, asking questions and writing the answers I was told onto printouts. I’d create a stack of them and then, at day’s end, I’d hand them all to Cathy so she could enter the new information into the database. Apparently I’d get to enter the information myself after the first month. From there, the advertising department took over and tried selling ad space in the directories.

Aside from telling Jeff that I had found a job, that first week passed silently between us; not a word was spoken otherwise. That is, until I walked into the apartment on Saturday morning and found him sitting at his computer.

“How are you?” I asked, the first words I had spoken to him since Tuesday. I had been coming and going quietly, trying to keep out of his way to buy myself as much time as possible.

“Good,” he said, his eyes remaining locked on the screen.

“I get my first paycheck on Friday, the first. At the very latest I’ll be out by then, but hopefully sooner. I’ve already been looking for a place.”