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The bed was empty.
Sagging forward, he closed his eyes for a long moment; then slowly, he pushed the covers aside again and got out of bed. He stumbled into the bathroom--where he saw that Sally had written a note on the mirror. In lipstick.
Great sex
XXOO
Sally
The a in her name had a little halo above it.
The headache kicked him in the skull, pounding.
It never would have happened if Birdie had moved to New York. If she hadnt left him.
(Yeah, try that one on for size. )
The message on the mirror stared back at him.
Great sex.
It had been pretty damned good; that was true. Not jump-up-hit-your-head-against-the-ceiling great, but damned good. It had rejuvenated him, made him feel young again.
Wanted.
It had always been a weakness in him, that desperate, aching need to be wanted. In rehab, one of the shrinks had told him that his neediness was a by-product of having alcoholic parents who died too young. He didnt know about that, or care particularly. What he did know was that it had almost ruined him once, that desperate need.
And it could ruin him again.
Let me give you some advice, man to man, Tom Jinaro had said on the day hed dangled the NFL Sunday carrot. Stay away from drugs and DUIs and underage women. Opportunities can vanish in an instant.
If it got out that hed had sex with his assistant . . .
The words SEXUAL HARASSMENT came at him hard. If Sally decided to, she could ruin him.
Hed set himself up as Mr. Morality, too.
"Jesus Christ," he whispered, staring into the mirror. Sallys cherry-red love note cut across his reflection.
"Never again," he said out loud. "It was a onetime thing. A mistake. "
Elizabeth didnt have to know. Ever.
"A onetime thing," he said again, meaning it.
By the time hed showered, shaved, dressed, and walked to the office, he felt better. Stronger and more sure of himself. Hed made a mistake--a whopper of one, to be sure--but it would stand alone. A high-rise of stupidity in the vast prairie of the rest of his life.
At his desk, he sat down and immediately started to go through the notes hed made yesterday afternoon. He was working on a story about a horse camp in Poulsbo, Washington, called Blue Heron Farms, where disabled children learned to ride.
Suddenly the door opened.
Sally stood in the opening, dressed this morning in a slim black suit with an emerald-green silk blouse. Her smile was depressingly cheery.
She managed to make him feel old and young at the same time.
She closed the door behind her. "Im sorry I left while you were still sleeping. I needed to be at work early," she said.
"Dont mention it. " He felt sick to his stomach. Nervous, ashamed, and excited all at once. Really, he thought, dont mention it.
