The waitress leaned closer. “Gina’s screwing Guido. She can do any damned thing she wants.”
“Is Guido here?” He glanced toward the register. There was no one there.
“Nah, Guido’s gone. He don’t hardly ever stay for dinner. What’d you like?”
He ordered one of the salads, and she drifted away. After a minute or two, he returned his checkbook to his breast pocket, wondering what to do until his food came. He had eaten here for years, usually alone as he was now; surely he had done something. While Lara had lived with him, there had always been things to do, someone to talk with.
Mama Capini pulled out the empty chair and sat down. “Hey, what’s the matter with you? You didn’t get full at lunch? You should of said somethin’, I’d have got you some garlic bread.”
He asked, “Do you remember the girl I brought here for lunch, Mama?”
Mama kissed her fingers. “Sure. You gonna get married?”
“If she comes in, will you tell me?”
“Sure!”
“And remember Lara? Tell me if Lara comes in. Especially if Lara comes in.”
“Sure. You lookin’ for a date?”
“No, I’m just trying to find these people. And if the big man and his wife—that’s the lady in the red dress— come in, let me know about them, too.”
He dawdled over his salad for an hour and half, drinking an espresso and a couple of amarettos. He saw no one he knew, and nothing happened.
At last he paid the check. When he counted his change, it was just money; nor had he seen any bills with strange pictures in the drawer. The man at the register was the one who had told him Guido was crazy, bigger and older than Guido. As he trudged back to his apartment, he wondered vaguely where Guido had gone. Had Guido been drawn into the other world? If so, did he know it yet? Perhaps Gina came from there; if customers could walk through the door from another world, as Joe and Jennifer had, it seemed likely enough that a waitress looking for work might walk through it, too.
Back at the apartment he put on one of his favorite albums, but found that the music that had once charmed him was harsh and ugly now. He turned on the television. After an hour or so, he realized he had no idea what the show was or why he was watching it.
The Store
He had forgotten how new the store looked, how shiny everything was. The walls were faced with limestone, and the company had them sandblasted every other year. The curving show windows had bright brass frames. Maintenance washed all those windows every morning and polished the frames until they sparkled like gold.
“It’s not open,” a fat woman told him. She was standing in front of one of the windows eyeing a sundress.
“I work here,” he said, and hoped he still did. The store would open at nine-thirty sharp, but main-shift hourly employees were supposed to clock in by eight-thirty. It was three minutes after eight. He went around back and climbed the concrete steps to the employees’ entrance, where Whitey watched to make sure no one punched in for someone else.
“Hi,” Whitey said. “Have a nice vacation?”
He nodded. “Seems like I’ve only been gone for a couple of days.”
It did, and yet it did not. Nothing had changed except for himself.
He resisted the temptation to have a look at his department and took the elevator to the administrative floor. Lie, or tell the truth? Tell them the truth, he decided; he was a bad liar, and he could not think of a story that would explain such a long absence anyway.
The next question was: Mr. Capper or Personnel? Capper was (or he had been) in charge of the department; with Capper on his side, Personnel would not be too rough with him. On the other hand, if Cap was mad—and there was a good chance of that—the personnel manager would resent his not having gone there first, and would probably kill any chance of transferring.
Besides, Personnel was easy to find. Cap might be in the office doing paperwork, but might just as easily be out in the department helping stock. Cap might not even be in yet.
Ella was at her desk doing her nails. She said, “Well … hello!”
There were folding steel chairs for job applicants. He sat in the one nearest her desk. “I’m back,” he said.
“I see.” Ella hesitated. “Mr. Drummond’s not in yet.”
“I’ll wait.”
“I carried you sick for a week.” Although they were alone, Ella lowered her voice. “Then he made me start phoning. Once he even went to your apartment at night and rang your bell, but he said nobody answered.”
“I was away. I got back to my apartment yesterday, and I could see I hadn’t been there. Everything was dusty, you know?”
“You blacked out?”
“I don’t think so. I can remember two nights, one when I was in a hospital and one—no, two—when I was in a hotel room.” Not knowing what else to say, he added, “It was the same room.”
Ella leaned toward him and held out her hand for his. He noticed then how much she looked like Fanny, though perhaps he was just forgetting what Fanny looked like. Ella said, “You’ve been gone over a month.”
