“Yes.”
Jesse rattled the ice in his glass. Sunny sipped her wine. Rosie looked out from her spot in the chair, in back of Sunny’s hip.
“What are you going to do, Jesse?” Sunny asked.
“About Jenn?”
“Yes,” Sunny said. “Of course about Jenn.”
“I’ll take Lloyd off her back,” Jesse said.
“I’m sure you will,” Sunny said. “And then?”
Jesse drank some of his scotch and tilted his head back with his eyes closed while it eased down his throat.
“If I said to you,” Jesse said, “ ‘Sunny, will you marry me,’
what would you say?”
“I’d say it was a lovely offer,” she said.
“And would you say yes?”
Sunny was silent for a time.
Then she said, “No.”
“Because?”
“Because I can’t quite let go of Richie.”
Jesse nodded. He drank the rest of his scotch and put the empty glass down on the little table.
“And so it goes,” Jesse said.
2 3 2
52
Lorrie Weeks still lived in the Village, in the condo she had shared with Walton Weeks, in a shiny new skyscraper that had gone up at the far-west end of Perry Street with a big view of the Hudson River. Jesse stood with Suit outside the building.
“We couldn’t afford to live in there,” Suit said, looking up at the glass towers.
“No,” Jesse said.
“Fits nice into the neighborhood,” Suit said.
“Like a hooker at a picnic,” Jesse said.
“What are we hoping, exactly, to see?” Suit said. R O B E R T B . P A R K E R
“Lorrie Pilarcik Weeks,” Jesse said.
“And when we see her?”
“We watch her,” Jesse said.
“Because she’s all we’ve got?”
“Exactly,” Jesse said.
