By the time the salmon skin seared perfectly, Marcella Dunbrow was screaming at her boyfriend again. This week, it was the third time that the two went at each other like junkyard dogs over a scrap of meat. My first thought was, Why aren’t these two in school? Then I remembered that Mr. and Mrs. Dunbrow were both away on Thursdays. Harry Dunbrow, a pediatrician at Queens Hospital, left at four AM sharp. I know this because it’s around the time I’m pouring my first cup of coffee. Michayla Dunbrow volunteered at the public library in Flushing Meadows. I saw her every couple of weeks when I wanted a novel to flip through. Because mom and dad were away, it was common for Marcella to skip class and screw her boyfriend in their sixth-floor apartment.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course, they’re screwing,” Mabel said. Mabel was president of the co-op board. She’s lived in the building for twenty years. Hers was the first apartment inside the lobby, and she knew every piece of gossip in the place. She almost married once. Lived with Rufus for four years. But she kicked his ass out when he refused to help pay the electric bill three months straight one summer. Rufus spent hours in front of the television with the air conditioning on high, sending the bill through the roof. Rufus didn’t work. When Mabel came home to see Charlie’s poop all over the apartment and Rufus passed out on the couch with the last of her cookie dough ice cream melted in a bowl on the floor, it was curtains.

“I found used condoms in the back,” Mabel continued. “On the sidewalk with Charlie. I saw ’em in the basement getting dressed. I almost caught them right then.”

“Did you say anything to the Dunbrows?”

“Heck no, I didn’t say it ain’t my business, and you know what else,” Mabel looked through the glass doors in the lobby to make sure no one was coming in, “I know the family. They wouldn’t believe me anyhow. Thinkin’ Marcella, a little angel. Bullllll-shit. I know she’s been smoking pot, too. Found a joint outside her boyfriend’s car one afternoon.”

What made today’s fight unique was how loud it sounded. The walls were thin in our 150-year-old building, but they weren’t that thin. Each time Marcella and her boyfriend started one of these screaming matches, I could hear them through the ceiling. Something was different this time. This time it sounded as if they were just outside the door. I turned the stove off, plated my salmon, added a scoop of mashed potatoes that weren’t really mashed, more like scrambled into mushy chunks with some milk, and then sat down to eat.

“NO!” Marcella shrieked. “You’re not going. I’m not moving!”

“You’re crazy!” Carter said. Carter Wells was a high school senior. He lived up the block with his mother and baby sister and ushered at the movie theater on weekends. A stripe of pimples ran along each of his olive cheeks. He wore a leather bomber jacket with the words: Too Smooth, in big red letters on the back. The elevator bell rang, and the door opened. “Let go, Marcy. I’m done dealing with your crazy ass.”

“NO!” Marcella shrieked again. The sophomore had a light complexion and a long, braided ponytail. Marcella’s hips curved from her waist like an hourglass. Marcella and Carter were halfway in the lift now, stopping the door from closing. Marcella’s incensed screams became whining cries. “Come on! Why! You’re not leaving!”

A moment later, I heard the smack of skin on skin. Holy shit, it’s really going down! I thought. I looked through my door’s peephole. There they were, standing on the threshold of the elevator. Marcella was on the ground with her legs folded to one side, holding Carter’s arm. Carter tried to get in the elevator. He frantically hit the lobby button with his free hand.

“Let go!” he said.

“No!”

I opened my apartment door. The two lovers looked at me as if I was an alien. Then I realized I had a chunk of salmon on my lip and a tank top that said, Oui Oui Mon Ami! in large cursive lettering across my tits.

“What’s going on?” I said.

“She’s crazy,” Carter said. “Look at her. She’s crazy!”

“You talk to another girl about me?” Marcella said. Then to me: “Call the cops or something, whatever, man, I don’t know! He’s fucking with me!”

“Why not let him go?” I dared. “He’s said he’s trying to leave.”

“NO!” Marcella whined again. “This motherfucker has been cheating on me!” She began to cry, slumped down, and looked at me, loosening her grip on Carter’s wrist. He yanked hard and pulled away, then pushed her out of the elevator’s threshold. “What the fuck!” she said. “No!”

She dove inside after him, and the door closed. The yelling continued, and they started thrashing inside the lift. I called Mabel.

“They’re in the elevator,” I said. “I hear the emergency stop. I’m texting Jerome.”

Jerome was the porter. I told him what was going on. The two were fighting in the elevator so severely they hit each other. And they didn’t listen to me. I’m sure they’d listen to him, though. Jerome was six feet six inches, maybe two hundred and thirty pounds. They’d stop as soon as they saw him. I told him to wait at the bottom of the elevator. Jerome didn’t respond, which was expected. He was never up before noon.

“Oh no,” Mabel said. “If they break that shit, I swear… you know how much that costs, Vikki? Last time it was two-thousand dollars. What floor are they on?”

“I don’t know. They got on at five and went down. Then I heard the emergency stop. Should we call the cops?”

“The cops ain’t gonna do shit. I’ll talk to them. Oh wait, that’s Jerome outside my door. I’ll call you back.”

Mabel was right about the police. Each morning I saw the same cruiser at a park down the street. One of those SUV-types; NYPD in blue lettering written down the side. People dealt drugs in that park, smoked, let their dogs shit without picking it up, and homeless people slept there in the summer. Whenever something was going down, the cruiser conveniently drove away, only to return when something going down wasn’t going down anymore. The cruiser was there when I looked out the window. I thought about calling just to see if it would move. Then my phone rang. It was Mabel, and my salmon was ice cold now.

“They broke it,” Mabel said. “It ain’t movin’, I hear the alarm, and it ain’t going nowhere. I’m pressing the button, but I’m stoppin’ now, though. The Dunbrows hearin’ about this. Let them pay for the damn thing. I’m taking pictures. I hear ’em in there. She’s screamin’ he’s yellin’, and neither of ’em listenin’. Come down here, Vikki. I need your help when they come out.”

I wasn’t too happy about the elevator, either. I owned this coop, and any maintenance costs came from the building’s budget. In the summer, we had to buy a new mower. We had work done to the roof when it started leaking. And now we may need to fix the elevator again. I threw on some jeans and my tan jacket. Mabel and Jerome waited in the lobby outside the lift doors. I heard screaming coming from the elevator shaft, but it was faint. After a few minutes, the elevator started to move again. When the doors opened, Marcella and Carter were in each other’s arms.

“What are y’all looking at?” Marcella said.

“Are you serious?” Mabel said.

“Man, I’m outta here this some bullshit,” Jerome said. He waved his arms at the two lovers and walked back into his apartment. “Call me if the shit broke.”

“Stay your ass here, Jerome. We making sure this thing ain’t broke first.”

I stood with my hands on my hips. These two were just at each other’s throats ten minutes ago. Now they hung on each other like nothing had happened. Carter was looking at her, kissing her above the ear. Marcella had her hand in his back pocket.

“Nothing’s broke,” Marcella said. She turned and touched her forehead to his. They kissed and kissed again, then smiled and walked out together. “Y’all need to chill out.”

They walked through the first set of glass doors.

“Shouldn’t you be in school!” Mabel yelled. But they were through the second set of doors and on the sidewalk by then.

We tested the elevator. It worked, and I rode it to the fifth floor. My show ended, and the salmon didn’t taste the same in the microwave. I was washing the dishes when I heard something shatter on the street.

There they were across the street. Marcella had the top half of a broken bottle in her hand. She swiped it at Carter, cutting his shirt. “You’re fucking nuts!” he yelled, then ran down the street. Marcella chased him. People leaned out of their windows to watch the fighting couple. I shut the window and took a nap.