• Robert leaves his office at 1:15 and goes down to 42nd Street and walks west toward Grand Central. He lights a small cigar and puffs it in an obvious way. He crosses Park and continues on, staying on the south sidewalk. Trying to seem lost in his worries about a big story, hardly aware of the people around him. But he can’t resist glancing ahead. She’ll be there, somewhere, suddenly, coming from Fifth.
He almost expects her to be larger than everyone else, to be glowing, to stand out somehow. He sees her in his mind as floating toward him, smiling, naked, her arms outstretched.
He doesn’t see her until she’s thirty feet away. A woman of ordinary size, larger people all around her. The other people moving away from him and toward him in a clumsy choreography that tends not to feature Kathy but to diminish and hide her. The close-cut black hair makes her seem even smaller than when he first met her.
She’s staring straight ahead. Not looking for him at all. Or doing a better job of pretending than he is. At the last second she sees him and says, “Oh . . . Mr. Saunders . . . how are you?”
“Oh, fine . . . Kathy, isn’t it?”
She smiles only fleetingly. “Yes, that’s right. Well, duty calls. Bye.”
And she’s gone. And he almost turns around to call after her. Please, stop—hug me, kiss me, let me feel you. No, he tells himself sharply, keep walking. He crosses Madison and then Fifth. He stands on the steps in front of the big library. Smoking the rest of his cigar, staring up at the warm blue sky. Solving that big story. Thinking actually about how obsessed he is with this woman, how in love he is. Thinking what a good actor she is. Thinking of the word rehearsal, what Kathy calls this. “Today is just for me,” she said. “On the actual day you’ll leave more tracks. Tell your secretary you’re going out to think, and so on.” Rehearse . . . funny, I never noticed the word hearse in there before; are they really spelled the same? I’ll have to look that up. He grins uncomfortably. Then he comes down the steps and crosses in front of the library and heads back on East 4lst. In seven minutes he reaches Third, turns left and goes into the lobby of his building.
He comes back to his office, his desk, sits down at what used to be his favorite spot in the whole world. Now that’s wherever she is. He feels the tingle of anxiety along his arms, the worry, the fear. But at the moment they are faint and far away. Not a problem, he tells himself.
I’m fine, he thinks. Everything’s fine.
He has the sense of falling into a dark pool. But it’s not scary, it’s pleasant. A dark, tropical pool perhaps. Everything is warm and sensuous. The only texture is the way her skin feels. Her voice is the only sound he hears. The only smell is Kathy’s smell. . . .
“Mr. Saunders? . . . Hello?”
“Oh, Wilson . . . I’m sorry.” He focuses on the young reporter in front of his desk. “What?”
“You said we’d discuss the Board of Ed story.”
“Thieves and idiots.” Kathy, so real a moment before, fades.
“I’m sorry?”
“My opinion, not the paper’s. Pull up a chair. But I want you to bear down on this crew. We’ve got to have better schools.”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“Feet to the fire, that kind of thing.”
“I’d like that.” He leans eagerly toward Robert, eager for editorial guidance.
Yeah, this is definitely what I’m good at, Robert thinks. And maybe nothing else. The Peter Principle. Everybody finally reaches the level where they’re incompetent. Where they’re bound to fail. This thing with Anne, maybe that’s the level I shouldn’t try for. Kathy thinks she can just bop up there on the train, stop by to commit a . . . murder, and waltz right back. “Who’s to know?” she says. “Takes less than ninety minutes. A long lunch hour. You can say you saw me somewhere in there, so it can’t be me. And the day before, the day after, I’ll stop in shops around here, talk to people. Weeks later you think anybody can be sure which day it was?” Jesus, the audacity. Woman’s something. If anybody can do it, it’s her. . . .
“Mr. Saunders?”
“Yeah?” He focuses on the reporter again. “Just thinking it over. . . . Your story.”
God, I’d give anything to see her today. Have her right here on this desk, legs apart, drawing the skirt up an inch at a time. Slooowwww. No, faster, I have to see it. Every beautiful black hair. . . .
“Mr. Saunders . . . if this isn’t a good time?”
Robert snaps at him. “It’s a great time. Let me think.”
“I am positive.” He lets Kathy fade again, reluctantly, just as she lifts the skirt, then the sheer slip, leaning away from him. He feels a rush through his body, lust, anger, panic. He isn’t faking his sudden ardor. “Damn it, Wilson, just burn them! The biggest per capita budget in the universe, and the worst results. Sherman through Georgia—be that.”
“What is Sherman through Georgia?”
“Jesus! Are you serious? They teach anything in school anymore?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Well, you can’t have it. . . .”
Robert wants to stand up, storm around some. But he realizes he’s got an erection and better stay seated. This dope graduated from college and J school and he doesn’t know what Sherman through Georgia is. Are things really that bad? Robert feels old. Horny beyond belief and old.
His heart is pounding. Oh, just do it, Kathy. This world’s not that big a deal; people getting dumber by the month. If I can’t have you, fuck it. He glowers at the reporter.
“Wilson, feet to the fire, okay? I should’ve stopped when I was ahead. If they all call up here bitching and moaning, then you did a good job. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. . . . Uh, what will you tell them?”
“Only one thing to tell them, Wilson. . . . There’s this loose cannon on the paper. Guy’s wild. I can’t control him. You, Wilson. Get to work.”
The guy retreats in delighted panic. Robert sighs, closes his eyes, sees Kathy’s smile.