"You look terrible," Tully said the next day, dropping a stack of tapes on Kate's desk.
The clattering sound startled Kate. She realized she'd been staring at the clock again. "Yeah, well, your singing sucks."
Tully laughed at that. "Everyone has something they can't do." She put her palms on Kate's desk and leaned forward. "Chad and I are going to the Backstage tonight. Junior Cadillac is playing. You want to come?"
"Not tonight."
Tully eyed her. "What in the hell is wrong with you? You've been moping around for more than a week. I know you're not sleeping—I hear you up walking around in the middle of the night—and you won't go anywhere. It's like living with the Elephant Man."
Kate couldn't help glancing at Johnny's door and then up at her friend. Longing welled up inside her, sharp and strong; if only she could tell Tully the truth: that she'd accidentally fallen in love with Johnny and now she was worried about him. It would take such a load off of her. In ten years, this was the first thing she'd ever hidden from Tully and it physically hurt to conceal it.
But her feelings for Johnny were so fragile; she knew that Tropical Storm Tully would rain all over them, ruin them.
"I'm just tired," she said. "This producing is hard work. That's all."
"But you love it, don't you?"
"Sure. It's great. Now go on, meet Chad. I'll close up." After Tully left, Kate lingered in the dark, quiet office. The strange thing was, she liked being here; she felt close to him.
"You're an idiot," she said aloud. Truthfully, she said it to herself at least twice a day lately. She was acting like—felt like—a left-behind lover, but it was all in her imagination. At least she wasn't so far gone that she'd forgotten that.
She went home by herself. The bus dropped her off at the corner of Pike and Pine. Amid the colorful crowd of tourists and weirdos and hippies, she picked up some food for dinner. Back in her apartment, she curled up on the couch, ate her dinner out of white cardboard containers, and watched the nightly news. Afterward, she made some notes on story ideas, called her mom, then turned the channel to NBC forDynastyandSt. Elsewhere.
Halfway through the medical drama, the doorbell rang.
Frowning, she went to the door. "Who is it?"
"Johnny Ryan."
The jolt Kate felt almost knocked her off her feet. Relief. Joy. Fear. She experienced all three emotions in a heartbeat of time.
She glanced in the mirror hanging on the wall beside her and gasped. She looked like a fashion magazine "before" photo—limp hair, no makeup, eyebrows untrimmed.
He pounded on the door again.
She opened it.
He stood there, leaning heavily against the doorframe, wearing dirty Levi's and a tornBORN IN THE USAtour T-shirt. His hair was long and uncombed, and though he was tanned, his face looked worn, older. She could smell alcohol, too.
"Hey," he said, opening his fingers from along the doorframe in greeting. At the movement he lost his balance and almost fell.
Kate moved toward him. Holding him up, she guided him into the apartment, kicked the door shut, and led him to the sofa, where he half stumbled to a sit.
"I've been sitting over in the Athenian," he said, "trying to get up the nerve t' come over here." He glanced blearily around the place. "Where's Tully?"
"She's not here," Kate said, feeling a clutch in her heart.
"Oh."
She sat down beside him. "How did it go in El Salvador?"
When he turned to her, the look in his eyes was so devastating that she reached out, put her arm around him, and drew him close.
"He was dead," he said after a long silence. "Before I even got there, he was dead. But I had to find him . . ." He pulled a flask out of his back pocket and took a long drink. "Y' want some?"
She took a sip, felt it burn all the way down her throat and settle like a hot coal in the pit of her stomach.
"It's damned heartbreaking wha's going on. And not enough is getting on air. No one cares."
