MONDAY
evening: dinner, TV, argument
TUESDAY
7:00: still in bed
9:00-ish: took call from Dr. Erling
9:00–9:17: sent emails
9:30: hung out at café
11:00-ish: left for 42nd Street
Before 3:00: possibly witnessed someone get injured???; lost phone
3:00–3:30-ish: called WorkSpace
9:00–6:00A.M.: spent night at WorkSpace
WEDNESDAY
Noon-ish: bought food at Eastside Eats, East 7th St.
Afternoon: walked near Tompkins Square Park
Maybe evening: ate at Pairings
THURSDAY
8:05: arrived at Greenbacks
Finished, I flop back onto the couch and think for a second. Was that charge really posted late or did Hugh decide not to share it with me for some reason? It can’t be the latter. There’d be no reason for Hugh to lie.
Though he lied to me about Ashley Budd, didn’t he? A revelation that in my panic tonight I’ve let slide out of view. He said she was simply a law school acquaintance whom he’dbumped into at a lecture, so why would he have her number in his phone?
Of course, as I’d tried to convince myself earlier, he could have taken it down that night, simply to be polite. Which means he hasn’t deceived me. And why would he? Hugh’s a straight arrow.
And then I’m on my feet again, practically flinging myself at his closet. I tear open the door and drop onto my haunches, peering at the area on the floor where he stacks his clothes for the dry cleaner. There’s a neatly folded pile of about seven or eight items.
I lean closer and rifle through it, hurling each item of clothing behind me one by one until I’ve gone through everything.
There’s no sign of the fucking suit pants. The ones that supposedly became unwearable because of the cup of coffee dumped in his lap.
24
Afew minutes after nine the next morning, I’m barreling south in a taxi I had the doorman hail for me. Before darting into the cab’s backseat, I’d quickly scanned the immediate vicinity. Everything looked perfectly normal.
It just doesn’tfeelnormal.
As I promised Mulroney, I’m going to look for clues that might explain what I was doing at WorkSpace Tuesday night.
Surely if Dr. Erling knew about this, she wouldn’t be pleased, but I’m not only going there to hunt for clues. It’s my chance to finally catch up in person with Nicole—who must be wondering what in the world is going on with me—before heading to my MRI appointment on the East Side.
And if I were actually playing amateur sleuth, I justify to myself, I would have shown up at WorkSpace as soon as I was off the phone from Mulroney, but I was still too unsettled and anxious to leave the apartment last night, and besides, Hugh would have nailed the door shut if I’d tried to leave.
I still cringe when I think of the pathetic scene in our apartment. Hugh arrived home without my hearing him, and when he stepped into the bedroom, I was still squatting on the floor with his dirty clothes strewn behind me. I must have looked like a dog caught rooting through the trash bin.
