He had told himself that he would wait until they all were gone before he let the tears flow. But when the door had closed behind Kay he discovered his eyes remained dry. He had no tears. He was altogether calm. Numb. Burned out.
After a long while he put on fresh clothing and went out. He popped to London, found that it was raining there, and popped to Prague, where there was something stifling about the atmosphere, and went on to Seoul, where he had barbecued beef and kimchi for dinner. Then he popped to New York. In front of a gallery on Lexington Avenue he picked up a complaisant young girl with long black hair. “Let’s go to a hotel,” he suggested, and she smiled and nodded. He registered for a six-hour stay. Upstairs, she undressed without waiting for him to ask. Her body was smooth and supple, flat belly, pale skin, high full breasts. They lay down together and, in silence, without preliminaries, he took her. She was eager and responsive. Kay, he thought. Kay. Kay. You are Kay. A spasm of culmination shook him with unexpected force.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” she said a few minutes later.
“I love you,” he said.
“What?”
“I love you.”
“You’re sweet.”
“Come live with me. Please. Please. I’m serious.”
“What?”
“Live with me. Marry me.”
“What?”
“There’s only one thing I ask. No Group stuff. That’s all. Otherwise you can do as you please. I’m wealthy. I’ll make you happy. I love you.”
“You don’t even know my name.”
“I love you.”
“Mister, you must be out of your head.”
“Please. Please.”
“A lunatic. Unless you’re trying to make fun of me.”
“I’m perfectly serious, I assure you. Live with me. Be my wife.”
“A lunatic,” she said. “I’m getting out of here!” She leaped up and looked for her clothes. “Jesus, a madman!”
“No,” he said, but she was on her way, not even pausing to get dressed, running helter-skelter from the room, her pink buttocks flashing like beacons as she made her escape. The door slammed. He shook his head. He sat rigid for half an hour, an hour, some long timeless span, thinking of Kay, thinking of Group, wondering what they’d be doing tonight, whose turn it was. At length he rose and put on his clothes and left the hotel. A terrible restlessness assailed him. He popped to Karachi and stayed ten minutes. He popped to Vienna. To Hangchow. He didn’t stay. Looking for what? He didn’t know. Looking for Kay? Kay didn’t exist. Looking. Just looking. Pop. Pop. Pop.