by Phoebe Kate Foster

Rosemary thinks her husband's got a wild hair up his ass. After seeing a ridiculous TV commercial for Roland's Sleep-Rite, Jasper is determined to throw out the expensive bed they bought only two years ago--and still haven't finished paying for--and get a new one.

In the ad, a nocturnally tossing-and-turning husband arrives late for work and nearly loses his job when he nods off in a meeting. That evening when he comes home, he and his wife argue over nothing and he camps out on the couch overnight. His wife inters their wedding album in the trash, slams the bedroom door and lies awake until dawn. "Admit it. You've got a problem," the omniscient voiceover accuses viewers. "Let Roland fix it." After purchasing a Rise 'n' Shine Pillow-Topper from Sleep-Rite, the young couple falls madly in love again and the husband gets a promotion and corner office. "We have two thousand mattresses so you can sleep tight tonight and live right every day," the narrator concludes in an oracular tone. "Find out what one of them can do for you."

For Jasper, it might as well be the voice of God delivering a divine directive or a market guru giving an insider-trading tip. He wakes up Rosemary in the middle of the night and announces, "We're going to Sleep-Rite tomorrow. I'll rearrange my schedule so I can take a longer lunch. Meet me there at twelve-thirty."

When they walk into Roland's, Rosemary groans. The store is as vast as the Astrodome with mattresses as far as the eye can see, like hundreds of empty life rafts floating motionlessly on a flat gray sea of concrete. While she watches, an undaunted Jasper systematically prostrates himself on mattress after mattress and enthuses about each one. Presently, a sad sack of a salesman in a rumpled suit with a nametag saying "Mr. L. Erikson" shuffles over to them. "How about a Dream Maker?" he suggests. "They're popular."

Jasper hurls himself on it and insists, "Check it out, Ro." Instead she studies Mr. Erikson, who looks as if he hasn't enjoyed a good night's sleep--or anything else, for that matter--in years. "Did you buy your bed here?" she inquires.

"Unh-unh. I rent a furnished room ever since my wife Stella threw me over for another guy--Vince Fogarino, our insurance agent, of all people. You know the Coast-to-Coast Insurance Company's slogan, 'Whatever your needs are, we're there for you'? That scumbag gave those words a new meaning." The salesman sighs. "While I worked fourteen hours a day to give us a nice life, she was cheating on me and I never suspected a damn thing."

Rosemary turns away and knees the Dream Maker. Jasper gazes up at her and pleads, "Please give it a try." She says nothing and walks away.

"Over here is the Cushionaire," Mr. Erikson tells them. "Like sleeping on a cloud." Jasper sprawls on it and pats the empty space next to him. Rosemary sits down and bounces, then announces, "Too soft."

Mr. Erikson leads them to another model. "The Spine Saver offers superior lumbar support."

"Awesome," Jasper raves. "C'mere, Ro." She momentarily joins him and hops back up. "Too hard."

"Who are you--Goldilocks?" Jasper jokes, but he isn't smiling.

"Then what you need is the Accu-Set Slumber Number that has individual controls so each sleeper can adjust his or her personal comfort level," the salesman informs them. Rosemary reclines on it and fiddles interminably with the dial, frowning. "There's no difference between Level One and Level Thirty."

For over two hours, they test mattresses with names like Plush-Pedic and Sure-Snooze and Rest Assured, and even the deluxe Epiphany model which advertises that sleeping on it is akin to having a mystical experience. Rosemary nixes all of them and Mr. Erikson's face sags as he sees his commission slipping away. Desperate, Jasper demands, "What else you can show us?"

"Well, you haven't tried the Lasting Impression bed with Total Recall memory foam--"

"No!" Jasper snaps, as if the salesman has recommended a fakir's palette of nails. "We have one and I sleep terribly. It's supposed to remember your shape, but for some reason it doesn't remember mine. I lie down and it doesn't feel right."

"Who are you--Papa Bear?" Rosemary asks, and laughs a little too loudly.

The salesman squints at them and slowly shakes his head.

Jasper checks his watch. "Damn! I'm supposed to be in a meeting right now." He aims a kiss at Rosemary's cheek and misses, saying, "I've got to work late again, but I should be home by nine. Ten tops," and sprints off in search of the exit.

"Poor schmuck," Mr. Erikson mutters.

Rosemary scowls at him. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," he replies, looking her in the eye.

"Fuck you," she says, and turns to go. The salesman watches her drift off like flotsam and jetsam in the endless ocean of beds. She can feel him staring at her and rolls her hips and flips her long blonde hair. Might as well give that loser a good show, she thinks.

In the car, Rosemary makes a call on her cell phone. When she gets home, she unlocks the back door and heads upstairs to the bedroom, shedding a trail of clothes as she goes. Peeling back the quilt, she stretches out on her perfect Lasting Impression bed and waits. Her hand traces the mattress's telltale dents and familiar imprints, as distinctive as the etching of a fossil in a piece of sea floor, and she smiles with satisfaction.

Like Devonian stone, memory foam never forgets.

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(for Davio)