Sundays at Tiffany's - James Patterson [47]
Suddenly the door opened, and Owen was standing there. He looked startled to see Michael, and a guilty expression crossed his face. But he immediately wiped it away and put on a big shit-eating grin.
“Hey, Mike! What’s happening, bro?”
So Michael hit him. “I’m judging you, Owen. Consider yourself judged.”
But then, being Michael, he reached down and helped the big lug up off the floor.
“I’m telling you, Owen. You’ve got it all wrong. There’s nothing better than love in this life. This is a tall order — but find somebody to love you, and try your hardest to love her back, the best you can. And not Patty, or I’ll be back.”
Having said that, Michael hit the streets again. He needed to see Jane — now.
Fifty-four
TWENTY-THREE MINUTES LATER, maybe twenty-five but who was counting, Michael was in an elevator headed up to Jane’s office. This couldn’t wait. When the doors opened, he could tell that something was wrong. Instead of Elsie’s usual welcoming smile, she looked upset.
“I’m going back to see Jane,” Michael said.
“She’s not here. I was hoping she was with you. Jane walked out of here half an hour ago.”
Michael could hear Vivienne talking loudly behind the door. Then he recognized the shrill voice of the bad actor named Hugh. He couldn’t understand what they were saying but caught the words “Jane” and “crazy,” and they both seemed to be in some kind of panic. “That girl has no idea how much I love her,” Vivienne said, “no idea at all.”
“What happened to her?” Michael asked Elsie. “Is Jane all right?”
“Well, I’m not sure, but she had a terrible fight with her mother and her boyfriend —”
Michael began to interrupt — he’s not her boyfriend! — then he stopped himself.
Elsie continued, “All I know is . . . Jane stormed out of here, and she said, ‘Hold all my calls. Forever!’ ”
Elsie had barely finished when the door opened and Vivienne and Hugh stepped out. Hugh was holding a towel against his face. Michael hoped someone had hit him. Someone like Jane.
Vivienne’s voice was venomous as she spoke to Michael. “You! You had something to do with this. Jane has never acted this way before. You corrupted her!” She was wagging her finger at him like a stern schoolteacher at Superficial Academy.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael broke in. “Jane is an adult. And she’s incorruptible! Unlike Hugh!”
Hugh’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly he rushed at Michael and threw a haymaker sort of punch, the kind that would have been choreographed on a stage set. Michael blocked it easily and, without thinking, crunched an uppercut into the pit of Hugh’s stomach.
The actor doubled over and then sat down on the floor, more startled than hurt.
And Michael was even more stunned: two punches in less than an hour.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said, but then he changed his mind. “Well, I’m not. You’ve been asking for that, Hugh. I’m a little sorry about Owen. I’m glad I hit you.”
“Elsie, call nine-one-one!” Vivienne yelled, her face red. “Call security! Call somebody! And you!” She snarled at Michael. “You keep away from Jane, and Hugh, and don’t you dare come to this office again.”
Michael said, “How about two out of three?”
Fifty-five
THE NEXT THING MICHAEL KNEW, he was out on the street again. He experienced the same symptoms he had earlier, but in a more troubling way: anxiety, fear, an uncomfortable pressure on his chest. He had the same questions about Jane, and about himself too. One thing he didn’t have was Jane’s cell phone number. He thought of that as he passed one of the few public telephones left in New York.
There was no point in going to Jane’s apartment. If she