Stone pressed the “flat” button on the bed’s remote, shucked off the robe and crawled under the covers, brushing aside the unread newspaper.

The phone began ringing, and nobody was picking it up. He reached for the “talk” button. “Hello.”

“You sound like shit,” Dino said. “Are you sick or something?”

“That’s what Elaine asked about you last night,” Stone replied. “At least, I think it was last night.”

“Are you coming?”

“Coming where?”

“To dinner. At Elaine’s.”

“What time is it?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“I don’t think I’m going to make it. Remember me to Madame.”

“You want a doctor? I know a guy who makes house calls.”

“Not unless he can bring along a new head,” Stone said. “Gotta run.” He hung up. Suddenly he was ravenously hungry, but Helene was gone for the day. He got into his robe and slippers and made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

The refrigerator was oddly bare, containing only a box from Domino’s, which held three slices of desiccated pizza. He sprinkled some water on them and put them into the microwave for two minutes, while he looked for something to drink. There was, mercifully, a single Heineken in the refrigerator door shelf. He drank half of it in a gulp, burped, and attacked the pizza.

He went back upstairs and found that he was now wide awake and surprisingly un-hungover. The phone rang.

“Hello?”

“I found your sock in the bed,” Willa said.

“Where in the bed?”

“Down at the bottom under the covers. I didn’t know you wore cashmere socks.”

“Hang on to it for me, will you?”

“I may hang it on the wall, like a pelt.”

Stone managed a chuckle.

“You know, after a wild night of sex, a girl is supposed to get a phone call from the guy, thanking her.”

“I am remiss,” Stone said. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. I’m surprised to find you at home.”

“I think I’m supposed to be having dinner with Dino. He called earlier.”

“You slept all day, didn’t you?”

“Uh, most of it.”

“Did you get any dinner?”

“Leftover pizza and a beer.”

“Ugh.”

“Did you do any better?”

“A greasy hamburger and some cheap wine in the conference room. Standard work-late fare. Are you still hungover?”

“Oddly, no.”

“A hangover never lasts past dinner. Want me to come over?”

“Yes, please.”

And she did.

FORTY-EIGHT

FORTY-EIGHT

Stone woke at his usual hour with Willa’s head on his shoulder. He disengaged from her as gently as possible, then performed his ablutions in the bathroom. When he returned, Willa was sitting up in bed, bare-breasted, with the TV on.

“Breakfast, if you please,” she said.

“Of course. May I take your order?”

“Whatever you’re having,” she replied.

“You’re becoming more and more agreeable,” he said.

“About the bourbon—after yesterday I think I would throw up if I even smelled it again.”