He noticed the photo of the boyfriend on the table. A big guy standing there holding his wet stump. Frightening. I really should just leave, he thought. Melissa-he meant Christina-was nothing but trouble. She lay there so innocently, dead asleep, hair a mess, a knuckle against her lips. He found her bag and not-so-guiltily looked inside. A brush, some change. A cell phone. He examined the brand and smiled to himself-it probably had Teknetrix components inside. Cosmetics. Pencil. Not much. Same stuff as Ellie, probably. Women were funny about their purses-regarded them as their privates. The menu of a restaurant called the Jim-Jack. A tiny flask of perfume. His own business card, with all his work printed on it, including his cell phone. Her wallet. What was inside? No credit cards, no driver's license, just a tattered Social Security card. Nothing with her picture on it. How could that be? She'd talked a lot about driving but had no license. Do they take away your license if you go to prison? He doubted it. Nothing in the bag absolutely verified the identity of the woman on the bed.
Oh shit, he thought. Maybe the Christina name is made up, too. He retrieved her cell phone, clicked it on, and scrolled through its screen of phone numbers, a hundred or more, finding it a very strange group: pharmaceutical companies, German photo agencies, an East Side furniture dealer, a hotel in London he'd never heard of, two women's names to which 'enema ok' was appended-and, all with addresses in lower Manhattan, a plumber, an electrician, a house painter, a plasterer, and a heating oil company. No one named Rick or Tony or Christina or Melissa or any of the other names she'd mentioned. I don't fucking get it, Charlie thought, putting the phone back in her bag, I'm completely lost here.
Coming up to 6:30. He remembered the Sir Henry Lai phone in the bathroom and went in and closed the door. And turned on the heater. The hum would mask his voice. Sarasota, Florida, she'd said, Anita Welles. He called information down there. There is only an A. Welles listed, said the operator. He wrote the number down. She could've made this name up, he thought. I wonder if this number really is her mother's; maybe Christina is actually Anita. The name's not so far off. Maybe A. Welles is Christina's husband, a fact that I would not mind knowing. Allan Welles. Albert Welles. And what might any of this have to do with German photo agencies? Everything she told me could have been false, Charlie decided. I need a baseline reality.
He picked up the phone again. I have the right to do this, he thought.
He punched in the Florida number. On the third ring, a woman's voice croaked, 'Hello?'
'Is this the home of Christina Welles?'
'I'm her mother,' came the reply.
'Anita Welles?'
'Yes. Where is she?'
'She's here in New York,' said Charlie, relieved. 'She's fine. I apologize about how early it is.'
'Oh, I've been up an hour, sugar,' said her mother agreeably, as if talking to an old friend. 'Had too much coffee already. We might get another hurricane. I'm sick of them. Last one wrecked my garage. This her friend? She's been trying to reach me. Tell her I'm here, will be here all day, and I want to talk to her.'
'Sure,' Charlie answered, feeling much better.
'You're calling from New York, you say?'
'I'm a friend.'
'She's fine?'
'She's asleep right now.'
The mother was getting curious. 'You sound like an older friend.'
'I suppose I am.' He wanted to get off the phone. 'Would you like her to call you at any certain time?'
'I'll be here all day. Maybe I should call there, just so I don't miss her.'
'Oh.'
'May I have your number?'
He stared at the phone. Christina might not want her mother to know where she was. On the other hand, she might be glad. On the third hand, they'd be leaving the room soon anyway.
'I have a pencil,' said her mother, prompting him.
He gave her the hotel number. 'Ask for Suite 840.'
'You tell her I can't wait to talk.'
Now he stood over Christina for a few minutes, watching her affectionately. He wanted to see her naked again, especially her smooth breasts, but didn't dare pull away the sheet. The night came back to him. It'd be better for all concerned, he realized, if he just somehow forgot the sex, particularly if he wanted to be able to putter along with Ellie once a week or so, go back to old-people sex. And maybe it was better if Christina did not see him naked in the morning light.
In the bathroom, again with the door shut, he canceled the wake-up call, then dialed his apartment to see if Ellie had left a message, which she hadn't. In the game here, Charlie told himself. He showered then, letting the hot water pound him as he soaped and resoaped his crotch. He'd be walking into his apartment building unshaven, he realized, in the same clothes from the day before, but so be it. He toweled off and dressed in the steamy bathroom, and when he finally emerged, he found Christina sitting awake in the bed.
'You want some breakfast?'
'Sure,' she said groggily.
'I let you sleep a little longer.'
She pulled a pillow toward her. 'What time is it?'
'Almost seven-thirty.'
'That's nice.'
'I did a sort of ridiculous, paranoid thing,' he confessed with a smile.
She rolled over, as if to drift back to sleep. 'What?'
'I called your mother.'
She frowned. 'Say that again?'
'I called your mother.'
She looked at him in horror, no longer sleepy. 'When?'
'Maybe an hour ago. I just wanted to check to see if you were who you said you were. She said she might give you a call here.'
'You gave her this number?'
'I didn't think it compromised me much.'
'You?' She suddenly threw back the covers and looked for her clothes. 'You? I can't believe it.'
'What?' he said.
'That was incredibly stupid,' she cried hatefully, wriggling into her panties and bra. 'Who gave you the right? Now they know where I am! God! For someone who makes fucking phone parts, you're pretty stupid!'
'Wait, now-' he began, confused and hurt.
She was shaking, eyes wild. 'I have to get out of here.'
He put his arms around her. 'Now, look-'
'You fucking jerk!' she screamed, breaking loose from him and pulling on her heels. 'They're probably downstairs, waiting!'
She stuffed her remaining things in her bag and walked straight out the door. He looked around the room quickly, gathered up his watch and wallet and the picture of the boyfriend, since it seemed somehow incriminating, and followed her.
In the elevator down, she shook her head in fury. 'Tony or the cops or somebody has her phone bugged.'
'You didn't tell me that.'
'I didn't think you would fucking call my mother, Charlie!' The elevator doors opened. Christina stalked quickly toward the hotel entrance, head down. 'I can't believe you did that,' she hissed.
They exited the hotel on Sixty-first Street, and he was about to suggest they find a place to eat breakfast when she hurried away from him.
'Hey!' Charlie called. ' Hey! '
She waited at the curb for two taxis to pass, taking the opportunity to slip off her heels, then ran barefoot across Fifth Avenue into Central Park, dark hair bouncing behind her- too fast, Charlie thought, I couldn't catch her in a million years. He watched her run with one shoe in each hand, then disappear through the trees. He looked up and down the street, feeling confused. What was the problem? Except for calling her mother, hadn't he comported
