• I’ll never see her alive again. The thought gets into his head by eleven. Then he can’t get rid of it. The more he tries not to think it, the more it’s there.
Robert can’t concentrate on the projects in the office. Stories, messages, meetings, it’s all a blur and he’s not sure which of it is real and which is something he should have done or intends to do later in the day. He starts trying to construct Kathy’s timetable, what she’ll be doing at each minute. He rummages in his desk for a train schedule. Let’s see, if she leaves on this train, she’ll reach Bronxville at this time, reach the house six minutes later, it’ll all be over at this time. . . . Oh, God, I’ll never see her again.
The big wall clock’s at 11:54. It’s all starting to happen. . . . He begins wondering if there’s some way to call it off. Theoretically speaking. Anne’s home, I can just pick up the phone, stop it. Just call her and say . . . what? Let’s see. . . .
“Anne, this might be a big shock. Be calm. This woman I know is coming there to talk to you. Tell her to call me before she says one word. . . .”
“Anne, I have a terrible confession. I’m having an affair. Well, not an affair exactly. But this woman thinks it is and she’s coming there to talk to you. Don’t worry. I love you. All that matters is that you tell her, right at the door, that I called, and she has to call me immediately. . . .”
“Anne, this is Robert. I love you. Get out of the house immediately. Go out the back door. Go to the Griswolds’ house. I’ll call you there. . . .”
“Anne, this is Robert. Do not open the front door. Not for any reason. There’s a crazy person loose in the neighborhood, it’s on the news. I’m on my way. . . .”
The minute hand moves to sixteen minutes after twelve. He studies the timetable again. There’s a 12:15. That’s probably the one. She’ll be in Bronxville at 12:45. At the house by 12:52. That’s my deadline. . . .
He stares at the second hand. It seems to be whirling. Amazingly fast.
He thinks of the things he can say . . . editing the words . . . anticipating the things Anne will say—“What! . . . Oh, Robert, this is horrible. . . . How could you?”
“Never mind all that, Anne. Let’s deal with the present.” Yes, take command. . . . I like the crazy-person idea, but eventually she’ll find out there’s no crazy person, and I’ll have to explain why Kathy was at the door. But I can save her for sure. If she lets Kathy in the house, God only knows. . . .
Hey, what about the cordless phone? I’ll tell Anne to take it to the door, hand it out to the person at the door. Don’t talk to her, Anne. Don’t let her in. Make her stand back four feet. Put the phone out on the stoop. Yes, that’s it. Alright, I’d have to tell her the truth, some of it, but at least I can stop everything. Then the truth’ll be out. And we’ll deal with that. Kathy can say, I’m here to talk things over. No mention of . . . anything else. Anne never has to know.
Oh, dear God, how did I ever get into this position? I mean, this is really crazy. I’m an accessory. . . . I do love Anne, that’s the amazing thing. Maybe not as much as I love Kathy. But if you add everything up, it’s not all that different. Maybe she’d have let me go. Why didn’t I just ask her straight out? Damn it, Anne, I need this! Lay down the law. That’s what I’ll do.
The clock’s at 12:34. Not much time, Robert thinks. My back’s against the wall. The worst call I’ve ever had to make. Damn. I’ve just got to. It’s just no good. I can’t do this. . . . Can’t live with it. Probably go wrong somehow anyway. Dear God, please, I need a lot of help here.
A reporter knocks and comes into Robert’s office.
“Tom. No way. Big family problem.” Robert waves him back. The same hand keeps going, comes down on the phone, and gets the receiver up to his ear. He winces as he dials. He’s shaking from his head to his feet as the number goes through.
Anne’s voice, he thinks, let me just hear it.
Busy! Oh, fuck no. I got the courage up, and then it’s busy.
Robert waits twenty seconds and pushes the REDIAL button. . . . Busy.
He punches O. “Operator, I need to interrupt a call. A press emergency. Totally urgent. . . . Lady, just make it happen. Life and death. I’m not kidding.”
Good, Robert thinks. I’m on a roll now.
He springs up so he can pace by the desk. Listening with angry impatience to the process of breaking into a call. Two minutes go by before the operator comes back and says, “There’s no call in progress. Either the phone is off the hook or there’s a malfunction. Would you like to report this problem to Service?”
Robert stares at the phone, the operator’s words just a grating whirr. Please no, he wants to scream. . . . Don’t tell me this. . . . What’s it mean? Tell me that! . . . “No,” he finally shouts. “I mean yes! You know the damned number. Get it fixed.”
He hangs up the phone. His face feels hot and prickly. His body seems to be collapsing, the strength rushing out of him.
Alright, I call the police, send them there for a domestic disturbance. Some bullshit. Anything, just disrupt Kathy’s plans. But no, hell, it’d have criminal written all over it. How could I make this call? How’d I know enough?
Robert lurches out of his office. Somebody has a cellular phone, who is it? It’s lunch. Where is everybody? Why’s the phone busy but nobody’s on it? He moves to the center of the open area, shouts. “I need a cellular phone. I’ve got a . . . big story. Now. Now, damn it!”
There’s only three people, all staring at him. One of them says, “Here you go. Hey, you people are my witness. The boss has my phone. . . . Whoa . . .”
Robert snatches the phone and starts toward the elevators. He punches in the number, hears the busy signal. He goes down to the street, walking through the soft drizzle toward Grand Central, carrying the phone in his left hand, punching REDIAL every half minute.
What the hell am I doing? . . . I can’t stay still. I’m supposed to be over on Sixth a little later for the alibi. Fuck it. Why is the phone off the hook? . . . Maybe it’s all over. They had a fight, knocked the phone off. . . . Yeah, but Kathy would put it back, wouldn’t she? . . . It’s just one of those stupid accidents. That damned cordless phone we’ve got. The receiver doesn’t nestle properly. . . . Hell, we’ve talked about that. We’re both careful. . . . I’ve just got to start out. I can’t stay here.
He reaches Track 23, realizes all his clothes are damp. But not from the light rain.
“Christ,” he mutters, pacing six steps one way, then six steps back, “I’m sweating like a man with malaria or something.”
Anne, he thinks, I really do like you. I love you. You have to understand that. This whole thing just got out of control. Can you forgive me?
He stares down the empty track. I could take a cab, all the way up there. No. The train’s got to be faster.
Maybe it’s all over now.
He pushes the REDIAL button again.