"I can't stand you!" she screamed at him. "I can't stand to look at you! You make me sick!" She put on the coat, grabbed the empty suitcase and before Albert could struggle to his feet was out of the apartment.

"Mommy!" He threw himself at the door, frantically pulling at the doorknob. "I'll be good, oh, Mommy, Mommy, I'll be good, I'll eat! I'll eat! I'm sorry, oh MommyMommyMommy Mommy!" The door wouldn't open. On the other side of the door, Marie, drenched with sweat, held onto the knob with bloodless hands. Nausea rose from her belly, but she held it down. She was dizzy. The heat rose in waves from the fur coat. She fought off fainting as she listened to Albert pleading and begging. Then she heard a door opening down the hall and quickly let herself back in. Albert was still screaming, but something was wrong. He didn't look at her. He stared at the door, still clutching the rice box. She threw off her coat and clasped a hand over his mouth. His eyes were wide and wet. When she took her hand away he screamed again. The doorbell rang, startling her. She covered Albert's mouth again and dragged him to the bathroom, locking him in. The doorbell rang again. Marie ran to the door. Mrs. Katz, the old cunt across the hall, stood in the doorway holding Marie's tan suitcase.

"Voss iss screaming?" Mrs. Katz cringed. Marie grabbed the suitcase from her and slammed the door in her face. She ran back to the bathroom. Albert was still screaming.

Marie unlocked the door and hugged Albert to her. "Ssh, baby, baby, Mommy's here, Mommy's here." But Albert wouldn't stop. He retched, gasped for breath, but he wouldn't stop screaming.

Ten minutes later Marie, white-faced and trembling, locked him in the bathroom again and while his shrieks shattered the air she picked up the pink receiver. "Oh my God, operator, give me Jacobi Hospital. Oh my God, oh my God."

***

Stony, Butler and Chili Mac sprawled on oversized throw pillows in Chili Mac's new living room. Along one wall stood three washing-machine-sized cardboard boxes stuffed with the Mac's clothes, books, kitchen stuff and miscellany. The walls were fresh white, the floor, newly polished parquet. Chili Mac had immediately set up his stereo, the speakers in opposite corners on either side of an enormous window. Nice place. The three of them sat there, sweating, drinking Coke from cans. Chili Mac had a plastic Baggie half filled with grass on his lap. He was busy rolling and licking joints. The Mac's real name was Matthew Mackell. Some people said he was called Chili Mac because he was a freak for Mexican food, but most agreed he got his name because he was just so goddamn cool.

"Chili, put on some J.B." Butler wiped his neck.

"Put it on yourself, man, I got my hands tied up." He popped a whole joint in his mouth, extracted it slowly and placed it on the floor.