She stripped, and standing on the cold floor in her bare feet, looking at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, she felt a thrill of risk. She sprayed deodorant under her arms and on her feet. She took the clean underpants from the plastic bag and stepped into them. She shook a little powder into each cup of the bra and put it on. She took the dress from the bag, unfolded it, checked it for wrinkles, and slipped it over her head. She poured powder into each of her shoes, brushed off the bottom of each foot with a paper towel, and put on the shoes. Then she brushed her teeth and combed her hair, stuffed her hospital clothes into the plastic bag, and opened the door. She looked both ways, saw that no one was watching her, then stepped out of the ladies’ room, tossed the bag into the car, and got in.
As she drove out of the gas station, she hunched down in her seat so the attendant, if he should chance to notice her, would not see that she had changed clothes.
It was 12.15 when she arrived at Banner’s, a small steak-and-seafood restaurant on the water in Sag Harbor. The parking lot was in the rear, for which she was grateful. On the off-chance that someone she knew might drive down the street in Sag Harbor, she didn’t want her car in plain view.
One reason she had picked Banner’s was that it was known as a favorite nighttime restaurant for yachtsmen and summer people, which meant that it probably had little luncheon trade. And it was expensive, which made it almost certain that no year-round residents, no local tradesmen, would go there for lunch. Ellen checked her wallet. She had nearly fifty dollars — all the emergency cash she and Brody kept in the house. She made a mental note of the bills: a twenty, two tens, a five, and three ones. She wanted to replace exactly what she had taken from the coffee can in the kitchen closet.
There were two other cars in the parking lot, a Chevrolet Vega and a bigger car, tan. She remembered that Hooper’s car was green and that it was named after some animal. She left her car and walked into the restaurant, holding her hands over her head to protect her hair from the light rain.
The restaurant was dark, but because the day was gloomy it took her eyes only a few seconds to adjust. There was only one room, with a bar on the right as she walked in and about twenty tables in the center. The left-hand wall was lined with eight booths. The walls were dark wood, decorated with bullfight and movie posters.
A couple — in their late twenties, Ellen guessed — was having a drink at a table by the window. The bartender, a young man with a Vandyke beard and a button-down shirt, sat by the cash register reading the New York Daily News. They were the only people in the room. Ellen looked at her watch. Almost 12.30.
The bartender looked up and said, “Hi. Can I help you?”
Ellen stepped to the bar. “Yes… yes. In a minute. But first I’d like… can you tell me where the ladies’ room is?”
“End of the bar, turn right. First door on your left.”
“Thank you.” Ellen walked quickly down the length of the bar, turned right, and went into the ladies’ room.
She stood in front of the mirror and held out her right hand. It trembled, and she clenched it into a fist. Calm down, she said to herself. You have to calm down or it’s no use. It’s lost. She felt that she was sweating, but when she put a hand inside her dress and felt her arm-pit, it was dry. She combed her hair and surveyed her teeth. She remembered something a boy she had once gone out with had said: Nothing turns my stomach faster than seeing a girl with a big piece of crud between her teeth. She looked at her watch: 12.35.
She went back into the restaurant and looked around. Just the same couple, the bartender, and a waitress standing at the bar, folding napkins.
The waitress saw Ellen come around the corner of the bar, and she said, “Hello. May I help you?”
“Yes. I’d like a table, please. For lunch.”
“For one?”
“No. Two.”
“Fine,” said the waitress. She put down a napkin, picked up a pad, and walked Ellen to a table in the middle of the room. “Is this all right?”
“No. I mean, yes. It’s fine. But I’d like to have that table in the corner booth, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure,” said the waitress. “Any table you like. We’re not exactly full.” She led Ellen to the table, and Ellen slipped into the booth with her back to the door. Hooper would be able to find her. If he came. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes. A gin and tonic, please.” When the waitress left the table, Ellen smiled. It was the first time since her wedding that she had had a drink during the day.
The waitress brought the drink, and Ellen drank half of it immediately, eager to feel the relaxing warmth of alcohol. Every few seconds, she checked the door and looked at her watch. He’s not going to come, she thought. It was almost 12.45. He got cold feet. He’s scared of Martin. Maybe he’s scared of me. What will I do if he doesn’t come? I guess I’ll have some lunch and go back to work. He’s got to come! He can’t do this to me.
“Hello.”
The word startled Ellen. She hopped in her seat and said, “Oh!”
Hooper slid into the seat opposite her and said, “I didn’t mean to scare you. And I’m sorry I’m late. I had to stop for gas, and the station was jammed. The traffic was terrible. And so much for my excuses. I should have left more time. I am sorry.” He looked into her eyes and smiled.
She looked down at her glass. “You don’t have to apologize. I was late myself.”
The waitress came to the table. “Can I get you a drink?” she said to Hooper.
He noticed Ellen’s glass and said, “Oh, sure, I guess so. If you are. I’ll have a gin and tonic.”
“I’ll have another one,” said Ellen. “This one’s almost finished.”
The waitress left, and Hooper said, “I don’t normally drink at lunch.”
“Neither do I.”
“After about three drinks I say stupid things. I never did hold my liquor very well.”
Ellen nodded. “I know the feeling. I tend to get sort of…”
“Impetuous? So do I.”
“Really? I can’t imagine you getting impetuous. I thought scientists weren’t ever impetuous.”
Hooper smiled and said histrionically, “It may seem, madam, that we are wed to our test tubes. But beneath the icy exteriors there beat the hearts of some of the most brazen, raunchy people in the world.”
Ellen laughed. The waitress brought the drinks and left two menus on the edge of the table. They talked — chatted, really — about old times, about people they had known and what those people were doing now, about Hooper’s ambitions in ichthyology. They never mentioned the shark or Brody or Ellen’s children. It was an easy, rambling conversation, which suited Ellen. Her second drink loosened her up, and she felt happy and in command of herself.
She wanted Hooper to have another drink, and she knew he was not likely to take the initiative and order one. She picked up one of the menus, hoping that the waitress would notice the movement, and said, “Let me see. What looks good?”
Hooper picked up the other menu and began to read, and after a minute or two, the waitress strolled over to the table. “Are you ready to order?”
“Not quite yet,” said Ellen. “It all looks good. Are you ready, Matthew?”
“Not quite,” said Hooper.
“Why don’t we have one more drink while we’re looking?”
“Both?” said the waitress.
Hooper seemed to ponder for a moment. Then he nodded his head and said, “Sure. A special occasion.”