"I'm really sorry," I said, "but it's out of my control»
"I swear, I'll sue your ass off if you run that article."
"I have to go," I said. "My other line's»
"That article's full of lies it's libel. Our company's in the midst of a major recovery, and you made it seem like we're going bankrupt, for Chrissake. Our gross revenue quadrupled last quarter compared to the same quarter last year, our balance sheet's improving»
"I'm sorry if you're disappointed with the article," I said.
"You also misquoted me in several places, and you misquoted that analyst, Kevin DuBois. I faxed him what you wrote, and he's considering legal action too if you print this shit."
"I really have to go now."
"You better not print this garbage. I'm warning you, if you print this"
I hung up and turned on my voice mail.
I continued setting up my new office, and then I checked my watch and saw that it was already ten to five. I put on my coat, making sure the ten hundred-dollar bills Aunt Helen had given me were secure in my wallet, and then headed between the cubicles toward the office's exit.
Although I didn't have to meet Charlotte until six o'clock and it would take me only a half hour to get downtown, I wanted to avoid the rush hour crowds.
I was about ten yards from the door when Jeff appeared from one of the aisles in front of me and said, "Ah, there you are."
I thought he was going to make a comment about my leaving early my first day on the job, but he said, "That CEO you wrote about called me before. He was screaming mad, talking about a libel suit."
Jeff's eyes were bloodshot, and I knew he'd probably had at least a few drinks.
"I know, he called me, too," I said.
"I told him I stick by my reporters," Jeff said. "I know you wouldn't write a story that was inaccurate."
"I only wrote it because you»
"You don't need to defend yourself," Jeff said. "He's probably just desperate. It reminds me of how it was when all those Silicon Alley companies went under. He knows his company's sinking and he's clinging to a life jacket."
"That's probably true," I said, "but»
"Don't sweat it, big guy," Jeff said, slapping me on the back. "By the way, I just fired that Chinese girl, what's her name?"
"You fired Sujen?"
"That's it. She didn't cry when I told her to get the fuck out of my office I'll give her that much."
"You didn't have to fire her."
"Why not?" Jeff said. "Theresa told me the whole story, how she faxed your article to that CEO. That girl's just an idiot."
"She's a journalism major at Columbia."
"She's a fucking intern. I'll make a phone call right now and there'll be ten more Japanese girls begging for that job."
I was going to tell him that Sujen was Korean, but I didn't see the point.
"I've got an idea," Jeff said, resting a hand on my shoulder. "I'll take you out to lunch on Monday. We'll have a drink or two to celebrate and we'll talk about your new job."
"Sounds like a plan," I said.
I left the office, thinking about Monday. I hoped I wouldn't be spending it in jail.
I made it to the Forty-ninth Street subway station by a little after five. A train came right away, and at 5:22 I was heading along Astor Place toward Starbucks. I bought a tall decaf and sat on a stool by the window, waiting for Charlotte to arrive.
All day I'd been rehearsing in my head what I was going to say and I prepared one last time. After I gave her the thousand dollars I'd look her right in the eyes and say, Look. Kenny can try to threaten me and blackmail me all he wants, but it won't do him any good, because this thousand's the only money I have. I was fired from my job today and I'm broke. If he wants to go to the cops right now he can be my guest, because he's not getting another penny from me. I figured if I spoke forcefully enough, she'd get the point, and I doubted Kenny or Charlotte was swift enough to check out whether or not I'd been fired.
Then, hopefully, they'd forget about me and go on to scamming somebody else.
I finished the coffee in several minutes, without realizing I'd taken more than a couple of sips. I bought a refill, then returned to my stool and stared outside. It was a mild evening and the sidewalks were crowded with college kids and people returning from work. A butch, militant-looking woman stood by the subway entrance shouting about the evils of pornography, trying to get people to sign a petition, but everyone passed by, ignoring her. On the island between Lafayette and Astor, near the giant cube sculpture, kids in baggy pants with cigarettes dangling from their mouths did tricks on skateboards, jumping off the curb, sometimes into traffic, coming dangerously close to killing themselves.
For the next half hour or so, I watched the activity outside and the nearly constant flow of pedestrians, waiting for Charlotte to appear.
By six-fifteen, there was still no sign of her. Uncomfortable sitting, I went outside and paced from the entrance to the subway to the corner of Astor and Lafayette. At six-thirty, I started getting the feeling that something wasn't right. I wasn't sure why I expected promptness from a slimy heroin addict, but I didn't understand why Charlotte would be late for a meeting where collecting money was involved.
I waited another five or so minutes, then remembered that there was another Starbucks a block away, on the corner of Third near St. Marks.
She'd told me to meet her at the Starbucks on Astor, but maybe she'd gotten confused.
I went to the other Starbucks, but Charlotte wasn't there either. I stood on the corner for a while, and then, during a lull in the traffic, I heard my phone ringing. I took the phone out of my pants pocket and flipped it open.
"Hello?"
"Where are you?" Rebecca asked.
Damn it, why didn't I check the caller ID?
"On my way home," I said.
"It's almost six-thirty."
"I know."
I thought I saw Charlotte, waiting to cross Third, but then the woman turned toward me and I saw that she was young and very good-looking.
"So when're you coming home?" Rebecca asked.
"What difference does it make?"
"Why are you yelling at me?" Rebecca said, acting hurt. I remembered how she'd threatened to kill me last night and how I definitely didn't have to explain my whereabouts to her.
"I hope you started packing," I said, and clicked off.
I waited awhile longer, then went back to the other Starbucks, to see if Charlotte was there. She wasn't. I stayed until past seven o'clock, then gave up. I bought a slice of pizza on Eighth Street and ate it walking toward the subway on Christopher.
Trying to ignore the schizophrenic sitting across from me who was engaged in a conversation with his imaginary friend, "Wally," and the woman next to me whose pocketbook kept jabbing into my ribs, I hoped that Charlotte's standing me up was a good sign. Maybe she wasn't involved in Kenny's blackmailing scheme after all, and she'd talked him into leaving me alone. I couldn't think of any other reason why she didn't show.
Now if I could only get rid of one more person.
Because of a track fire at Seventy-second Street, the train went out of service at Columbus Circle, and I decided to walk home rather than wait for a bus. As I opened the door to my apartment, I braced myself for another attack from Rebecca. Sure enough, it came.
"Why'd you fucking hang up on me?"
She was standing in the foyer, several feet in front of me, looking like hell. Her hair was a mess, hanging over her face, and she looked exhausted. The glassy look in her eyes told me that she was drunk, on something, or both.
"I hope you found someplace to live," I said.
I tried to go around her, but she wouldn't budge out of my path.
"You can't treat me this way," she said.
"Excuse me," I said as she continued to block me.
"Where were you?" Her breath smelled like alcohol. I glanced beyond her, at the kitchen counter, and saw the open bottle of whiskey that had been in the closet above the refrigerator.