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"Gentlemen's Quarterly."
"No. I've seen him around. I know it." Tad nods his head up and down, as if trying to dislodge a memory. "I saw him at a party. Note the coke spoon dangling betwixt his hairy pecs."
"I don't want to hear about it."
"He wasn't with Amanda. Some other bimbo."
Stevie returns from the bathroom. "Here's the dancing fool," she says.
"I don't need to dance to be foolish."
Tad says, "Batten down the hatches, Coach. She's coming at you."
Sure enough, here's Amanda.
She says, "Ciao, hello," and before you can react she kisses your cheek.
Is she out of her mind? Doesn't she know that you desist from strangling her only through the exercise of heroic restraint?
She kisses Tad with the same formal benevolence. Tad introduces Stevie to Amanda. You can't even believe this is happening. Shouldn't someone say what a nice party this is?
"Is that your Italian stallion?" Tad says, nodding in the direction from which Amanda has come. "Or your Greek peak? Your French mensch? Or some other species of wetback?"
"That's Odysseus," Amanda says. "My fiancé."
"Odysseus," Tad says. "Odysseus. Right, the Greek." You wish Tad would shut up.
Amanda smiles at you as if you were an acquaintance whose name she is eager to remember. Won't she at least berate you for trying to trash her fashion show?
"So, how's it going?" she says. You stare at her, craving a glimmer of irony or shame in her big blue eyes.
"How's it going?" You start to laugh. She laughs too. You slap your thigh. She wants to know how it's going. A very fu
"Drink," Tad says. He is holding you up with one arm and holding a plastic cup with the other. "Let there be space," Tad says to the faces around you. You don't see Amanda's.
"What's the matter," Stevie asks.
"He's epileptic," Tad says. "I know how to handle this." She retreats, understandably.
"I'm not epileptic," you say.
"No, just an emotional quadriplegic."
"I couldn't believe it," you say. "How's it going? Can you believe she said that?" You start to laugh again.
"Take a breather, Coach." Tad deposits you in a Mies van der Rohe chair. "You think that's fu
"What?"
"Odysseus, right? You remember who he is?"
"How could I forget?"
"I finally figured out where I saw him before."
"With his hand on Amanda's ass."
"No. Listen to this. I have this account at the agency. No need to name names. But there's this old babe in Atlanta who runs a company and comes up to New York two or three times a year for a face lift and free meals on the agency's expense account. Naturally, she expects company for the evenings. So we provide this service through a little outfit called 'Dial a Hunk.' Male escort service, very top drawer. And when I say escort I am being uncharacteristically discreet. Anyway, about a year ago we dialed a hunk and voila Odysseus."
"Don't try to cheer me up."
"It's true. I had to go out with these freaks two nights ru
When you start to laugh, Tad says, "Careful." But it's under control.
"Dial a Hunk."
"That's it."
"Dial a Fucking Hunk."
"Now that," Tad says, "is fu
"Amanda's finally got the right number," you say, wishing you found it fu
"I don't know," you say. "Actually, it's not that fu
"Don't pour good sympathy after bad," Tad says.
"Where's Stevie?"
"That's another sob story. You want to steer clear of that, Coach."
"Why?"
"Stevie, aka Steve, had his third operation a few weeks ago. Convincing, isn't he?"
"You expect me to believe that?" You replay images of Stevie in your mind. "Bullshit."
"Would I lie? Ask Jimmy Q if you don't believe me. What do you think the scarf around the neck is for? You can't remove an Adam's apple."
You have no idea whether Tad is serious or not, having been taken in by him on numerous occasions. Your curiosity about Stevie's chromosomes is by now exhausted. It is too late in the night to care.
"I was going to tell you."
"Thanks." You stand up.
"Take it easy. Coach." He puts his arm around your shoulders.
"I just realized something."
"What's that?"
"You and Amanda would make a terrific couple."
"I suppose that means that you get Odysseus all to yourself."
"Later, Tad."
A set of bedrooms is tucked away in a corner of the loft. The first two rooms are full of coke fiends and earnest conversers. The third is free, and a phone sits on a table beside the bed. You find the number in your wallet.
"What time is it?" Vicky says after you identify yourself. "Where are you?"
"It's late. I'm in New York. I just wanted to talk."
"Let me guess; you're with Tad."
"I was with Tad."
"It's a little late for a chat. Is something wrong?"
"I just wanted to tell you my mom died." You hadn't meant to be so abrupt. You are moving too fast.
"Oh, God," Vicky says. "I'm sorry. I didn't know she was… when?"
"A year ago." The Missing Person.
"A year ago?"
"I didn't tell you before so I wanted to tell you now. It seemed important."
"I'm sorry."
"It's all right. It's not so bad. I mean, it was." You can't manage to say what you mean. "I wish you could've met her. You would've hit it off. She had hair like yours. Not just that."
"I'm not sure what to say."
"There's something else I didn't tell you. I got married. Bad mistake, but it's all over. I wanted you to know, in case it makes a difference. I'm drunk. Do you think I should hang up?"
In the ensuing pause you can hear the faint hum of the long-distance wire. "Don't hang up," Vicky says. "I can't think of anything to say right now, but I'm here. I'm a little confused."
"I tried to block her out of my mind. But I think I owe it to her to remember."
"Wait. Who?"
"My mother. Forget my wife. I'm talking about my mother. I was thinking today, after she found out she had cancer, she was talking to Michael and me… "
"Michael?"
"That's my brother. She made us promise that if the pain became unbearable we'd help her, you know, end it all. We had this prescription for morphine so there was this option. But then it got really bad. I asked her and she said that when you were dying you had a responsibility to the living. I was amazed she said that, the way she felt. And I was just thinking that we have a responsibility to the dead- the living, I mean. Does this make any sense?"
"Maybe. I can't tell, really," Vicky says.
"Can I call tomorrow?"
"Yes, tomorrow. Are you sure you're all right?"
Your brain feels like it is trying to find a way out of your skull. And you are afraid of almost everything. "I'm fine."
"Get some sleep. Call me if you can't."