I'm in my driveway in under ten minutes. No paramedics, no police, just his white van with the paint ladder on the roof. Inside, Montel Williams is the on TV. The radio is on in the back room. In my living room, Derrick the painter is lying on the floor. As I approach him, the TV grows loud with a Carnival Cruise commercial.

"Fell off a ladder man," Derrick says. He lets out a little laugh and nods. It's his back he says. "I fell in the foyer. It was so stupid."

I wonder if he has insurance. I wonder if he'd sue me. I wonder if he's bonded. I've heard of a rapist that was able to sue his victim because he slipped on her bathroom floor and broke his collarbone.

I call work, tell Roger the story, said I'd be stuck here the rest of the day, (even though Derrick's wife was on her way to pick him up). The thoughts of getting sued dissolve, and I am grateful for Derrick's fall. I can drink more, nurse my Honey Bun burnt fingers, and go to sleep soon.

We watch the rest of Montel together, then the start of Maury. I offer him some Tylenol, which he takes with some baby sips of water. He asks if any of his toffee is still left. I set the open box on his chest. I hadn't touched any of it. I hold his head so he can take a piece. When his phone rings, I have to answer it for him.

His wife is running late, some emergency at work, so we watch more TV. Half an hour later she calls back, this time stuck in traffic, then something about a Judo class she's teaching. "I can take him home," I say. That's what she wants. I can tell. I just want her to stop talking. She gives me twenty words when I need five, she has me confused. I'm not sure if she is a joker or a complainer.

After I hang up with Derrick's wife, we agree that some drinks would help relax his muscles. Once we are settled, Oprah starts.

"Yeah, we'll just leave your van here," I say, and take a sip, "We can leave after while." Oprah is talking about an inner city outfit called, Tuff-Love.

We talk more about his wife and the nuances between Karate, Tae-kwon-do, and Judo. We talked about my job, just before my martial status surfaces. When I mention Alice's name, Derrick snaps his fingers.

"She called," he says. "Earlier, she called before I fell. It's on the machine. She wants to pick up her canning supplies."

"She's coming tonight?" I ask.

Derrick is now trying to work himself to sit on the couch, "Ohhh!," he gasps. He is wincing and I get up.

"No, no" he says, as I try to help him. "Maybe back on the floor."

After I get Derrick back to the carpet, I wedge in a sofa pillow for his neck and fill another round. I listen to the machine — Alice is coming soon, after she gets off of work. I can't take him home and run the risk of missing her.

Derrick's eyes are wide open, as if fixing in on something on the ceiling. He says he is feeling better, sipping the vodka through a long milk straw, the kind where you can kink the elbow.

"So how did you lose her?" Derrick asks. "Cheat on her?"

"It's more complicated than that," I say.

"Always is," he says, and clears his throat with a little laugh. He is on his third wife he says.

It is quiet. Derrick twists a bit, checking the condition of his back. I can hear the jets of a plane in the distance — to the south.

"How long you been here?" Derrick asks, panning back into his eyebrows for more of the ceiling.

"Six years," I say quietly. "We bought the house, just after we got married with money from my mother's estate... Didn't cheat on her by the way."

Derrick cranes to reach his straw again. He doesn't care either way if I had cheated on Alice.

"She thinks I am obsessed with pain," I blurt out.

Derrick sniffs, isn't sure what to make of it. I am trying to see if his eyes are closed, and if he's still listening. It's hard to tell from my angle.

"I -."

"You a hypochondriac?" Derrick asks.

"Hmm," I shake my head, which he can't see. "Yeah, yeah, maybe so."

"You don't seem like you believe that," he says. "You know, the people closest to you, are the most likely to label you. It's a fact."

"Yeah, maybe so, maybe." I shake my head again. Now I want him to stop talking.

"We'll let's figure this out here. What's wrong with you exactly? What's the problem?"

Derrick has removed his shoes and begins pushing a leg of the coffee table with his big toe, enough to make the table resonate a soft, yet dependable squeak. His ears have grown red.