“Thanks,” he said and stuffed a crumpled note into Michael’s hand. Michael nodded and was gone before Todd could register that he had just given him his last fifty dollars.

*  *  *

Todd did all the things people do in penthouse suites. He ran the bath, and emptied all the little bottles in the bathroom into it. He changed channels on the TV while eating pretzels in a toweling robe. He took a tiny bottle of bourbon out of the minibar, looked at the tariff and put it back again. Finally he unpacked his clothes, filled the washbasin with hot soapy water and dropped in a pair of dirty socks and his boxer shorts. It was only then that he felt able to lie down on the enormous bed and, before his head sank into the squashy grip of the enormous pillows, remember to pick up the phone and call Sara.

She answered on the second ring.

“Todd? Is that you?”

“How did you know?”

“I recognized the heavy breathing.”

Todd laughed.

“How are you, Sara?”

“Oh, you know. Just trying to make my house look like a home again. I swear, I haven’t been outside all day.”

“I wish you were here.”

“Believe me, I wish I was there too. How’s it going?”

Todd looked around the room. It seemed to have no horizon.

“Okay, I think,” he said. “All right so far, anyway.”

Then he saw it. A low table, with a stack of magazines on it. Magazines, and newspapers.

“Good, I’m glad. So where are you now? Chicago, right?”

“Yeah,” said Todd, vaguely. He was on his feet now, still holding the phone but moving toward the table.

“How’s the hotel?”

“Good. It’s good,” said Todd. He could almost reach the table, but the phone cord was too short. He lay the receiver on the bed and crossed the short distance to the table. On top of the pile were a couple of newspapers.

The top one was the Chicago Sun-Tribune, but the one below it… Yes, thought Todd. The New York Times. He sat on the bed and was about to open it when he remembered the telephone.

“—not sure if I’m actually going to go ahead with it,” Sara was saying. “What do you think?”

“Um,” said Todd. “What do you think you should do?”

Silence for a second.

“You’re tired,” said Sara. “Maybe I should call back later.”

“No!” Todd almost shouted. “I got distracted. I’m sorry.”

“Are you alone in there?” asked Sara, teasingly.

“Of course,” said Todd. “There’s nobody here but me. I swear. Listen.”

And he held the telephone mouthpiece up high.

“Well, that’d stand up in court,” Sara said.

“Ho ho,” said Todd. His eyes lit on the New York Times again.

“Listen, seriously, we should talk about the house,” Sara said. “But not now. You’re tired and I know you have an event.”