“Clarice!” Charlie followed her into the street, but Clarice was on her cell phone until Julian pulled up directly in front of the abandoned church and whisked her away.

“Charlie! Charlie!” Judy Tremont began screaming from her car. Charlie turned around and Judy swung her car door open. “Hop in, Charlie. You’re making me nervous standing out here alone.”

“Have you seen Samantha?” he asked.

“She’s inside with Barry. This party could go on till morning. Get in. You could get killed standing out here.”

“Thank you, Judy. Good to see you.” Charlie walked away.

Charlie knew he wasn’t going back inside to that party and he wasn’t taking the car and driver he and Samantha had arranged for the night either. Samantha could take that car home anytime she was ready to go. She didn’t have to rely on the good graces of Barry Santorini. Even better, maybe she would wonder where he was. And he certainly had no intention of helping her figure it out by taking a ride with Judy Tremont. Samantha would just have to do a little work to find him.

Charlie pulled the gold chains off his neck and continued walking away from the party, and from all the cars stopping to roll down their windows with urgent pleas of “Get in, get in.” He dismissed Clarice’s hysteria. If she was envious of Samantha and the time she was spending with Barry, that was her problem. She clearly didn’t understand the intricacies of a sophisticated marriage.

Charlie knew that Samantha would never let someone like Barry Santorini threaten her relationship with him. Barry was a powerful man, a rich man, a player, but he needed “a wife.” And ultimately, Samantha was far too complicated and narcissistic to just be a wife. Samantha was a man’s heart and soul. And Barry, from Charlie’s point of view, had no need for either.

Charlie walked with his head down. The streets were dark and empty. He was too frightened to stand still and hail a taxi, and furthermore, there weren’t any. Finally, he saw an entrance for the Utica Avenue subway stop. Charlie had not been on a subway, except during a major snowstorm, for over ten years. He ran down the steps while his eyes shifted from side to side.

Charlie bought a MetroCard from the machine and felt his heart racing. He imagined knife wounds and emergency rooms in Kings County Hospital and his photo on the cover of the New York Post: “Dr. Butt Takes Ride in Bed-Stuy.” He only managed to calm down when he saw a cop standing at the end of the station. Charlie positioned himself directly in front of the police officer.