He jumped in again, quick, before I had time to call an end.
"All right, but is there anything else odd? Something that may not in itself appear significant. Any discrepancies in the sequence of the crash. Any inexplicable item found in the wreckage. Most particularly, anything having to do with time."
Once again I thought of the watches, but I was distracted by someone in the back of the big room having a coughing fit. It was a woman, and she had her back to me. Somebody was holding her arm and leaning toward her as she doubled over, dearly concerned that she was going to choke to death. She was waving him away.
"I still don't know what you're driving at," I told Mayer.
"I can't be more plain without sounding like a fool," he said, wryly. "I'm simply looking for the inexplicable. I usually find it."
"You won't here," I said. "In a few days or weeks I'll be able to tell you exactly what happened last night. No doubt about it. There's ... "
The woman in back had straightened up at last, and it was her. The one who wouldn't give me any coffee in the hangar and then gave me entirely too much of it a few hours ago. She was on her way out of the room.
"There's nothing inexplicable in my line of work, Mister Mayer. And that's the end of the press conference, ladies and gentlemen."
I stepped off the platform and hurried toward the back of the room.
She wasn't in the hallway outside. I went down it a little ways, to where it made a right angle, and looked around that. There were some reporters straggling away, but she wasn't among them. At the end of that corridor was the door to the public part of the terminal. No point in looking for her out there.
"What are you in such a hurry for?"
I glanced back at Tom. He looked about as tired as I felt. We stood there at the side of the hallway while the last of the reporters went by us, including Mayer, who gave me what might have been a wink.
"I saw her again. I thought she came this way."
"Who? Oh, your mystery woman. You think a cup of coffee in the lap is a sufficient introduction?"
"Hell, I don't know. I just wanted to talk to her."
"Sure." He shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know how you hold up. I'm half dead, and you're looking for a party."
"It's not like that. It's just ... " I realized I didn't know just why l wanted to talk to her. But I did want to. l thought about calling up United and seeing if I could trace her down, decided to put it off until tomorrow.
"Is that all for today, boss-man?" Tom asked.
I glanced at my watch. "Damn right. The night crew's got their orders?"
"They do. Want to go get something to eat?"
"No, thanks. I'll just head back to that motel room I heard a rumor about seven or eight days ago. See if I can make it to the bed."
Two to one you don't sleep alone."
13 "As Time Goes By"
There's not much more depressing than to be alone in a crowd listening to Christmas carols.
I shuffled through the terminal, feeling about ninety years old. It was about 9:30. Just about time for three or four drinks in the motel bar and then to bed.
I didn't put much stock in Tom's odds. Even if he'd been right, I wasn't sure I'd know what to do with my good fortune in my present state. The one thing about Tom that irritates me is his belief that I live some kind of wild bachelor life.
Hell, in Kensington, Maryland? I'm not saying it hadn't occurred to me to take an apartment in town. Washington is and always has been blessed with an abundance of lovely, young government workers. Plenty of them will go to bed with you for a couple drinks and a turn around the dance floor. Then they'll get up in the morning, peck you on the cheek, and you never see them again. Quick and easy and fun, and no strings attached. I know what I'm talking about; I tried it a few times not long after the divorce.
The thing is, it was good, athletic fun at night, but it always left me feeling shitty. I wanted to know the girl, I wanted to use a devalued word a relationship. I didn't insist on marriage. I wasn't that far behind the times. But I thought we should get to know each other.
My wife would have had a good laugh over that.
I patronized a certain massage parlor on Q Street. I didn't do it more than once every two or three weeks; my sexual urges didn't seem to be what they once were. What I liked was the no-nonsense atmosphere. It was quick and efficient, and though I felt bad when I left, it wasn't so bad as the one-night stands had been.
That was the wild and free bachelor life that happily married Tom Stanley seemed to delight in thinking about. And that's what had happened to the carefree jet-jockey too young for Korea and out of the service by the time of Nam but who had so goddam much of the Right Stuff he could have written the goddam book. Somehow, he didn't quite remember how, he'd ended up at a desk. For a good time he got drunk and went to bed with whores.
In that frame of mind I hardly noticed where I was going. Keeping my eyes on my feet, I stepped on a down escalator, and a pair of low-cut brown shoes stepped on with me. I looked up the nylons to the skirt, then quickly to her face.
"We do keep running into each other, don't we?" she said, with a smile.
I was still staring at her when there was a jolt. I had one hand on the rubber rail; with the other I grabbed her arm. For one wild moment I thought earthquake! Then I looked around and realized the escalator had stopped.
"Maybe we'd better get acquainted," she said. "We might be stuck here for hours."
I laughed. "You've got the advantage on me," I said. "You know my name, but I've never had time to ask you yours."
"It's Louise Ba " She covered her mouth and coughed. There was a cigarette going in her other hand. "Louise Ball." She looked at me with a tentative smile, like she wanted to know if that was okay with me, her being Louise Ball. Well, I don't meet a lot of Louises anymore, but it was better than Luci or Lori or any of the cutesy names moms were giving their girls these days.
I smiled back at her, and her full-blown smile emerged. You could have used it to light candles. I became aware I was still holding her elbow, so I let it go.
"No relation to the famous redhead?" I asked.
She looked blank for a moment and I thought I might have dated myself with a reference to ancient history, then she had it. It was only later that I thought it odd she'd miss a reference to "I Love Lucy." With a name like hers, wise guys like me must have brought it up a hundred times.
"No relation. I hope I didn't embarrass you. I'm always doing thin s like that."
I thought we were still talking about Lucille Ball, then realized she was referring to the coffee she'd spilled on me. It seemed like a trifle compared with the privilege of sharing an escalator step with her.
"No problem."
The people below us were moving, so we started down the unnaturally high steps.
I considered and rejected several things to say to her. I was attracted to her as I hadn't been attracted to a woman in a long time. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to dance the night away with her, sweep her off her feet, laugh with her, cry with her, say bright, witty, gay things to her. Okay, I wouldn't have minded going to bed with her, either. To do any of those things, I should start by enchanting her, fascinating her with my wit, deliver some of those fine lines movie stars toss off with such ease in screwball comedies.
"You live around here?" I asked. Brilliant conversation opener number 192. I've got a million of 'em.
"Uh-huh. In Menlo Park."