The Smoker by David Schickler

in Kissing in Manhattan

Douglas Kerchek taught twelfth grade advanced placement English at St Agnes's High School, on West
Ninety-seventh and Broadway, and Nicole Bonner was the standout girl in his class. She was the tallest, at
five foot ten, the oldest, at nineteen, and the smartest, with a flawless A. She wasn't the prettiest, Douglas
thought - not beside the spunky nose of Rhonda Phelps or Meredith Beckermann's heart-shaped derriere - but
Nicole was dangerously alluring. She had a chopped, black Cleopatra haircut, and wise blue eyes, and her
recent essay on Othello had ended with this note:

Dear Mr Kerchek:

Last night in bed I read Fear + Loathing in LV. It is puerile, self-involved gamesmanship. I suppose I don't love
drugs enough, although my parents make me drink brandy with them every night. They consider it a gesture
of affection.

I saw you yesterday, outside the locker room, changing your shoes to go running, and your ankle looked quite
blue. What did you bang it on?

Respectfully,

Nicole Bonner

This note caused Douglas some concern. He himself disliked Hunter S. Thompson, but Nicole had also
written 'in bed' and mentioned his bruise. It was Nicole's habit to do this, to call out random, intimate specifics
from the world around her and bring them to Douglas's attention. She'd done it that day in class.

'Iago is filled with lust, Mr Kerchek,' said Jill Eckhard.

'He's a Machiavellian bastard,' said Rhonda Phelps.

'You know what's an excellent word to say out loud repeatedly?' Nicole Bonner chewed her hair. 'Rinse. Think
about it, Mr Kerchek. Rinse. Rinse.'

That evening, as always, Douglas walked home to his shabby studio apartment. Douglas was thirty-one. He
lived alone, five blocks north of St Agnes's, in an apartment building filled with Mexican men who drank Pabst
and had boisterous poker games every night in the lobby outside Douglas's first-floor apartment. Their
nickname for Douglas was 'Uno', because whenever he sat with them, he had one quiet beer, then bowed out.

'Uno,' cackled the Mexicans. 'Come take our money, Uno.'

A twelve-year-old boy named Chiapas rattled a beer can. 'Come get your medicine, Uno.'

Douglas grinned wanly, waved them off, keyed his door open.

Rinse, he thought, frowning. Rinse. Rinse.

After a quick sandwich Douglas corrected essays. He was a tough grader, and he had short black sideburns
with streaks of gray in them. He also had a boxer's build, a Harvard Ph.D. in English literature and no wife or
girlfriend. All of these qualities made Douglas a font of intrigue for the all-female population of St Agnes's -
both the lay faculty and the students - but in truth Douglas led a sedentary life. He loved books, he was a
passionate, solitary film-goer, and he got his hair cut every four weeks by Chiapas, whose father ran a
barbershop down the block. All told, Douglas was a quiet, and, he thought, happy man. He was also the only
male teacher at St Agnes's. Cheryl, Audrey, and Katya, the three single women on the faculty, would have
taken up the crusade of dating him, but he wasn't drawn to his co-workers. Cheryl wore electric shades of
suede that confused him, Audrey had two cops for ex-husbands, and Katya, despite her long legs and

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Lithuanian accent, was cruel to the girls. So Douglas spent his nights alone, seeing films, correcting essays,
and occasionally chatting with Chiapas and company. On this particular night Douglas was barely into his
stack of essays when the phone rang.

'Hello?' sighed Douglas. He expected it to be his mother, who called weekly from Pennsylvania to see if her
son had become miraculously engaged.

'Good evening, Mr Kerchek.'

Douglas frowned. 'Nicole?'

'Yes, sir.'

'How did you get this number?'

'Off the Rolodex in the principal's office. How's your ankle?'

Douglas sneezed, twice. He did this instinctively when he didn't know what to say.

'God bless you,' said Nicole.

'Thank you,' said Douglas. He glanced around, as if expecting his apartment suddenly to fill with students.

'How's your ankle?'

'It's . . . it's all right. I banged it on my radiator.'

'Really?'

The truth was, Douglas had slipped in his shower like an elderly person.

'Yes, really. Nicole-'

'Do you know what's happening to my ankle, as we converse?'

'No.'

'John Stapleton is licking it. He likes to nibble my toes, too.'

Douglas blinked several times.

'John Stapleton is a domestic shorthair. Sometimes he licks, other times he nibbles.'

'I see,' said Douglas. There was a substantial pause.

'John Stapleton is a cat,' said Nicole.

'Of course,' agreed Douglas.

'Do you enjoy gnocchi?'

Douglas set his essays on the couch beside him. 'Pardon?'

'Gnocchi. Italian potato dumplings. We had them for dinner tonight. Father makes them by hand every
Thursday. It's the only thing Father cooks, but he's good at it.'

Douglas crossed his ankle over his knee.

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'So, do you enjoy them?' said Nicole.

'Gnocchi?'

'Yes.'

'Yes.'

'Yes, meaning you enjoy them, or yes, meaning you understood what I was asking?'

'Yes. I mean yes, I like them.'

Nicole Bonner laughed.

'When should I start hearing from colleges?' she asked. 'It's nearly April.'

Douglas was relieved at the topic. 'Any week now. But you'll get in everywhere. It's all about what you want.'

'I want Princeton.'

Douglas imagined Nicole sitting on a dorm bed, reading, sipping soup. He imagined baggy sweater sleeves
covering her wrists.

'Fitzgerald went there,' said Nicole.

'Yes,' said Douglas.

'He was a career alcoholic.'

'Yes.'

'Did you know that John Stapleton is toilet trained?'

Douglas laughed out loud, once. This usually only happened at the movies, if he was alone and the film was
absurd.

'Toilet trained. Meaning what?'

'Meaning that he uses the toilet, like a human being. He crouches on the rim of the bowl and does his
business and presses his paw on the flusher afterward. He's very tidy.'

'Nicole,' said Douglas.

'It's the truth, sir. It took Father eons to train him, but he did it. We don't even have a litter box. Father was a
marine.'

Douglas checked his watch. 'John Stapleton's an unusual name for a cat.' 'He's an unusual cat,' said Nicole.

'I think maybe I should hang up now, Nicole. Why don't we talk in school tomorrow?'

'All right. I don't want to inconvenience you in your evening time.'

'It's all right.'

'Well,' said Douglas, 'what I mean is, it's no problem. But, um, we'll talk in school tomorrow.'

'Inevitably,' said Nicole, and she hung up.