— "That's what Crockett thinks," he said, not looking at her. "But I don't think that's the whole reason. I think part of it was jealousy. Listening to you and Rathbone in bed together was like pounding on a wound."
"You were right," she said. "You are fucked-up. What's going to happen to me now? What'll I do?"
Harker shrugged. "I'm not worried about you," he said. "You'll find another David Rathbone. Or another me," he added.
She finished her drink, and with it her breezy courage returned. "And what about you, kiddo?" she said. "No more fun and games with me on motel sheets. That was the best loving you'll ever have."
"I know."
"You'll get your allergies back," she jeered. "And your nervous stomach and your sun poisoning."
"I'll survive," he said, not certain he would. He glanced at his watch. "After twelve. They've taken Rathbone by now."
They fixed her umbrella, and he locked up and accompanied her down to their cars. They faced, not knowing whether to shake hands, kiss, or knee each other in the groin.
"Will I see you again?" she asked.
He looked upward, hoping for an omen: the muddy clouds parting and a shaft of pure sunlight striking through to bathe them in gold. He saw only zigzags of lightning splitting the sky, heard only the growl of far-off thunder.
"Will I?" Rita persisted.
"Maybe," Tony said.