It turned the downtown streets into airless ovens. The humidity was high, and the jacket I was forced to wear at work was a misery. Since the statements had been handled and in the week there had been no kickbacks, I had found a new kind of confidence. It wasn’t like the first week of July. It was an apathy that was shattered only by streaks of recklessness, as though I were trying to be caught. The apartments were hot, airless, without cross ventilation. As mine was a bit cooler than hers, Emily would come down after her shower, wearing nothing under a thin cotton dress. I had bought a fan. She made me move the bed over by the windows. She would take off the dress and stretch out with the fan on a table below her feet, directed at her body. The only times she spoke during that frightful heat were to demand something cool to drink or a fresh cold washcloth for her forehead. Her voice was listless. She reacted to heat the way a cat will. She refused to be touched and resented being spoken to.
