“I don’t know. I’ve been doing that for three weeks and it was beginning to bore the hell out of me. I just thought I’d stir things up a little, but it kind of got away from me.”

“Stir things up a little? I can’t believe you! Do you have any idea what will happen tomorrow when this gets into the papers? I can just see the headlines now: ‘World-famous mystery writer rejects Jesus as hoax!’ Every leader of every Christian group in the world will unload on you! There’ll be pickets outside the Century Plaza before you even crawl out of bed tomorrow morning. And wait until your beloved publishers hear the news. Things will really hit the fan. My God, you’ll be the first author who ever had his books recalled!”

“No, I won’t. Four cookbooks were recalled last year for containing recipes with ingredients dangerous to one’s health.”

“What a lovely time for some good old publishing trivia.”

“Kitty, you’re blowing this all out of proportion. You’re getting hysterical over nothing.”

“Over nothing, he says.”

“Listen, I’ve already left an early wake-up call so I could play eighteen holes with Lemmon at Hillcrest. Instead, I’ll get the first plane out. Be home before noon. Call you from Sky Harbor. Relax. I love you.”

“I love you too, idiot. I just don’t understand why you would do such a damn dumb thing. It’s almost as if you try, every now and then, to destroy everything you’ve worked so hard to get. You’re always tempting fate—skydiving, that crazy speedboat, climbing those stupid mountains—trying to see just how far you can push your luck. Do me one favor, please.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“You haven’t done much drinking, except for one or two at dinner or a party, for a long, long time, thank God. Please don’t go hiding in a bottle tonight.”

“I promise. Love ya.”

“Love you too, Matt.”

“Kitty?”

“Yes?”

“One more thing.”

“What?”

“Don’t miss the Carson show tonight. Great guests!”

I hung up. Hearing a lady swear always upsets me.

The phone booth had been stifling. I wiped my brow and walked into the Plaza’s downstairs lounge, a place called the Granada Room. Checked my watch. It was almost three hours before the “Tonight Show” would be aired. I ordered my favorite drink, climbed onto a stool at the empty bar, and settled back to watch prime-time television on the ancient set hanging precariously above rows of half-empty bottles.