“Right. What do we do first? Push him off the train?”
“It’s not a joke, Emma.”
“Then stop enjoying it so much. It’s all a game to you. Spot him, lose him. See how good they are. See how good you are. My God, I wish we were done with this.”
“We’re almost there,” he said evenly, calming her.
“Can I ask you something? If no one knows we’re doing this, that means no one’s looking after us either, doesn’t it? If anything happens, I mean. There won’t be anyone. Not even the man with the hat.”
“That’s right.”
“I hadn’t thought about that. Should I be frightened?”
“Are you?”
“No. Oddly enough. But then I’m a well-known fool.”
“Nobody knows that here,” he said, smiling. “You’re just a ticket, remember?”
“Your friend knows,” she said, moving her head slightly toward him.
“He knows you’re here. He doesn’t know what you’re doing.”
“What am I supposed to be doing?”
“Having fun. Being bad.”
He reached across the table to cover her hand.
“I’m not,” she said.
“Pretend. Smile back at me. Laugh a little, if you can manage it.”
“I thought we were trying to lose him, not put on a show.”
“Not yet. Later. First we have to establish you.”
“How do we do that?”
“Finish your tea. Then we’ll go back to the compartment and hang out a DO NOT DISTURB sign and make lots of noise.”
“They listen at keyholes?” she said.
“They bribe porters.”
“You’re serious?”
“About the noise, anyway.”
“It’s hot.”
“Steaming. We’ll take some ice.”
She laughed at him now, a low murmur.
“That’s it,” he said. “Just like that.”
“How long does all this take? Before I’m established?”
“We have all day. We can lose him in New Jersey. People are always getting lost in New Jersey.”
They left the train in Newark, half hidden by a pool of servicemen greeting their families on the platform.
“Go to the ladies’, then meet me at the buses,” he said as they walked.
“Where?”
“Out to the right. Follow the signs.”
“While he follows you.”
“No, he’ll assume we’re still on the train.”
“What about the porter?”
“We left the tip-he won’t care. He’ll think we’re in the club car. Last call.”
“And if he does follow you?”
“Then you won’t see me at the bus station.”
But he was waiting for her, fanning himself with a newspaper on one of the wooden benches. The air, heavy and sticky, smelled of cheap diesel.
“What have you got in here, anyway?” he said, pointing to her suitcase.
“My trousseau.” She sat down. “So are we alone?”
“I think so.”
“Now what?”
“Bus in ten minutes. Then we find a hotel.”
“You didn’t book?”
“Yes,” he said smiling, “but if we go there, why did we bother to get off the train?”
“I told you I wasn’t very good at this. I just want a bath. I don’t care where it is. What do you think that man’s doing now?”
“Our friend? He’s running around Penn Station. Sweating.”
Emma giggled. “Goodness, he must be angry. Unless you’re wrong, of course. Maybe he’s just a man heading for a long soak in the tub and we’re the ones running around sweating.”
“Either way,” Connolly said.
The bus was crowded and Connolly had to stand, resting against the arm of her seat and holding on to the luggage rack as they bounced through the New Jersey marshes. When they swept around the great curve to the tunnel, the city gleaming across the water, he felt for the first time the excitement of homecoming. Then the overbright bathroom tiles of the tunnel and they were in the crowded streets, turning down into the basement of the Hotel Dixie with its rows of storage lockers and shoeshine stands and people holding tickets on their way to somewhere. Out on the street, he felt overwhelmed, like a farm boy in the movies. Even in the heat, everything moved quickly, taxis and boys in navy whites and khaki and lights racing through neon tubes. No one had even heard of Los Alamos.
They took a taxi to a hotel on Lexington, not far from Grand Central, where he managed to wangle a room facing the side street. When he opened the window, soot blew in with the sound of the Third Avenue el, but there was a fan and water gushed from the taps, a world away from the drought on the Hill.
“Not exactly the Waldorf, is it?” Emma said.
“We wouldn’t get into the Waldorf. Have a bath, you’ll feel better. It’s the same water.”
“At half the price. Care to join me?” she said, undressing.
“You go. I have to make some calls.”
“Old girlfriends?”
“No. About tomorrow.”
“Oh,” she said, no longer smiling, then went to the bathroom and closed the door.
He called Tony at Costello’s to arrange the next day’s meeting-“Yeah, two booths, I got it. What you got going, some skirt?”-then talked to a friend on the paper about the wire. He placed a call to Mills, smoking a cigarette by the window as he waited for the long-distance connection.
“I thought you were at the Hotel Pennsylvania,” Mills said.
“What makes you think I’m not?”
There was a pause. “Very funny,” Mills said finally.
“I never made it. It’s hot back here. I decided to cool off in the country instead.”
“Which is why the operator said the call was from New York.”
“Must be a mistake.”
“Yeah. How’d you manage the disappearing act?” Connolly was silent.
“Okay, so I’m just wasting the government’s money. Why’d you call, anyway?”
“To hear what you just told me.”
Mills paused again. “You don’t want to annoy people, Mike, you really don’t. Now what am I supposed to tell him?”
“Tell him there’s a good band on the Pennsylvania roof. He’ll enjoy it. I just want some privacy. Out here in the country.”
“Yeah, privacy. Well, you’ve got it. Unless I can trace the call.”
“Don’t even bother. I’m in a booth. But you probably figured that already.”
“Shit,” Mills said, hanging up.
When he went into the bathroom, she was lying back with her knees sticking out of the water like islands, staring ahead at nothing.
“You going to stay in there all night?” he said, starting to undress.
