The Fourth Hand

"That's right, Mary."

"You're in love with someone!" Mary was wailing. Naturally Sarah could hear her.

"That's right," Wallingford answered. Patrick saw no reason to explain to Mary that it wasn't Sarah Williams he was in love with. Mary had hit on him for too long.

"It's that same young woman, isn't it?" Sarah asked. The sound of Sarah's voice, whether or not Mary actually heard what she said, was enough to set Mary off again.

"She sounds old enough to be your mother!" Mary shrieked.

"Mary, please--"

"That dick Fred is looking for you, Pat. Everyone's looking for you! You're not supposed to go off for a weekend without leaving a number! You're not supposed to be unreachable! Are you trying to get fired or what?"

That was the first time Wallingford thought about trying to get fired; in the dark hotel room, the idea glowed as brightly as the digital alarm clock on the night table.

"You do know what's happened, don't you?" Mary asked. "Or have you been fucking so much that you've somehow managed to miss the news?"

"I have not been fucking." Patrick knew it was a provocative thing to say. After all, Mary was a journalist. That Wallingford had been fucking a woman in a hotel room all weekend was a fairly obvious conclusion to come to; like most journalists, Mary had learned to draw her own fairly obvious conclusions quickly.

"You don't expect me to believe you, do you?" she asked.

"I'm beginning not to care if you believe me, Mary."

"That dick Fred--"

"Please tell him I'll be back tomorrow, Mary."

"You are trying to get fired, aren't you?" Mary said. Once again, she hung up first.

For the second time, Wallingford considered the idea of trying to get fired--he didn't know why it seemed to be such a glow-in-the-dark idea.

"You didn't tell me you were married or something," Sarah Williams said. He could tell she was not in the bed; he could hear her, but only dimly see her, getting dressed in the dark room.

"I'm not married or anything," Patrick said.

"She's just a particularly possessive girlfriend, I suppose."

"She's not a girlfriend. We've never had sex. We're not involved in that way," Wallingford declared.

"Don't expect me to believe that," Sarah said. (Journalists aren't the only people who draw their own fairly obvious conclusions quickly.)

"I've really enjoyed being with you," Patrick told her, trying to change the subject; he was also being sincere. But he could hear her sigh; even in the dark, he could tell she was doubting him.

"If I decide to have the abortion, maybe you'll be kind enough to go with me," Sarah Williams ventured. "It would mean coming back here a week from today." Perhaps she meant to give him more time to think about it, but Wallingford was thinking of the likelihood of his being recognized--LION GUY ESCORTS UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN TO ABORTION MILL, or a headline to that effect.

"I just hate the idea of doing it alone, but I guess it doesn't sound like a fun date," Sarah continued.

"Of course I'll go with you," he told her, but she'd noticed his hesitation. "If you want me to." He immediately hated how this sounded. Of course she wanted him to! She'd asked him, hadn't she? "Yes, definitely, I'll go with you," Patrick said, but he was only making it worse.

"No, that's all right. You don't even know me," Sarah said.

"I want to go with you," Patrick lied, but she was over it now.

"You didn't tell me you were in love with someone," she accused him.

"It doesn't matter. She doesn't love me." Wallingford knew that Sarah Williams wouldn't believe that, either.

She had finished dressing. He thought she was groping for the door. He turned on the light on the night table; it momentarily blinded him, but he was nonetheless aware of Sarah turning her face away from the light. She left the room without looking at him. He turned off the light and lay naked in bed, with the idea of trying to get himself fired glowing in the dark.