iwenthomeandshoweredandshavedandchangedclothesandbegantofeelcleanagain.icookedsomebreakfast,ateit,washedup,sweptthekitchenandtheserviceporch,filledapipeandcalledthephoneansweringservice.ishotablank.whygototheoffice?therewouldbenothingtherebutanotherdeadmothandanotherlayerofdust.inthesafewouldbemyportraitofmadison.icouldgodownandplaywiththat,andwiththefivecrisphundred-dollarbillsthatstillsmelledofcoffee.icoulddothat,butididn’twantto.somethinginsidemehadgonesour.noneofitreallybelongedtome.whatwasitsupposedtobuy?howmuchloyaltycanadeadmanuse?phooey:iwaslookingatlifethroughthemistsofahangover.

itwasthekindofmorningthatseemstogoonforever.iwasflatandtiredanddullandthepassingminutesseemedtofallintoavoid,withasoftwhirringsound,likespentrockets.birdschirpedintheshrubberyoutsideandthecarswentupanddownlaurelcanyonboulevardendlessly.usuallyiwouldn’tevenhearthem.butiwasbroodingandirritableandmeanandoversensitive.idecidedtokillthehangover.

ordinarilyiwasnotamorningdrinker.thesoutherncaliforniaclimateistoosoftforit.youdon’tmetabolizefastenough.butimixedatallcoldonethistimeandsatinaneasychairwithmyshirtopenandpeckedatamagazine,readingacrazystoryaboutaguythathadtwolivesandtwopsychiatrists,onewashumanandonewassomekindofinsectinahive.theguykeptgoingfromonetotheotherandthewholethingwasascrazyasacrumpet,butfunnyinanoff-beatsortofway.iwashandlingthedrinkcarefully,asipatatime,watchingmyself.

itwasaboutnoonwhenthetelephonerangandthevoicesaid:“thisislindaloring.icalledyourofficeandyourphoneservicetoldmetotryyourhome.i’dliketoseeyou.”

“why?”

“i’dratherexplainthatinperson.yougotoyourofficefromtimetotime,isuppose.”

“yeah.fromtimetotime.isthereanymoneyinit?”

“ihadn’tthoughtofitthatway.butihavenoobjection,ifyouwanttobepaid.icouldbeatyourofficeinaboutanhour.”

“goody.”

“what’sthematterwithyou?”sheaskedsharply.

“hangover.buti’mnotparalyzed.i’llbethere.unlessyou’drathercomehere.”

“yourofficewouldsuitmebetter.”

“i’vegotanicequietplacehere.dead-endstreet,nonearneighbors.”

“theimplicationdoesnotattractme—ifiunderstandyou.”

“nobodyunderstandsme,mrs.loring.i’menigmatic.okay,i’llstruggledowntothecoop.”

“thankyousomuch.”shehungup.

iwasslowgettingdowntherebecauseistoppedonthewayforasandwich.iairedouttheofficeandswitchedonthebuzzerandpokedmyheadthroughthecommunicatingdoorandshewastherealready,sittinginthesamechairwheremendymenendezhadsatandlookingthroughwhatcouldhavebeenthesamemagazine.shehadatangabardinesuitontodayandshelookedprettyelegant.sheputthemagazineaside,gavemeaseriouslook,andsaid:

“yourbostonfernneedswatering.ithinkitneedsrepottingtoo.toomanyairroots.”

iheldthedooropenforher.thehellwiththebostonfern.whenshewasinsideandihadletthedoorswingshutiheldthecustomer’schairforherandshegavetheofficetheusualonceover.igotaroundtomysideofthedesk.

“yourestablishmentisn’texactlypalatial,”shesaid.“don’tyouevenhaveasecretary?”

“it’sasordidlife,buti’musedtoit.”

“andishouldn’tthinkverylucrative,”shesaid.

“ohidon’tknow.depends.wanttoseeaportraitofmadison?”

“awhat?”

“afive-thousand-dollarbill.retainer.i’vegotitinthesafe.”igotupandstartedoverthere.ispuntheknobandopeneditandunlockedadrawerinside,openedanenvelope,anddroppeditinfrontofher.shestaredatitinsomethinglikeamazement.

“don’tlettheofficefoolyou,”isaid.“iworkedforanoldboyonetimethatwouldcashinatabouttwentymillions.evenyouroldmanwouldsayhellotohim.hisofficewasnobetterthanmine,excepthewasabitdeafandhadthatsoundproofingstuffontheceiling.onthefloorbrownlinoleum,nocarpet.”

shepickedtheportraitofmadisonupandpulleditbetweenherfingersandturneditover.sheputitdownagain.

“yougotthisfromterry,didn’tyou?”

“gosh,youknoweverything,don’tyoumrs.loring?”

shepushedthebillawayfromher,frowning.“hehadone.hecarrieditonhimeversinceheandsylviaweremarriedthesecondtime.hecalledithismadmoney.itwasnotfoundonhisbody.”

“therecouldbeotherreasonsforthat.”