Sundays at Tiffany's - James Patterson [80]
Fifty-three THAT MORNING, Michael had donned his headphones and jogged over to the Olympia Diner to see Patty, to make sure she was all right, but she wasn’t there. So he sat down, had a big, greasy breakfast, and tried to make some sense out of everything that was happening. Like the fact that he thought he was falling in love with Jane Margaux. He had all the classic symptoms — pounding heart, sweaty palms, dreamy lapses in attention, a certain degree of immaturity, happiness in just about every part of his body. After last night, he had to see Jane again. Today. Worse, he had to kiss her again. He’d meet her at her office tonight. He couldn’t make himself stay away, even if it might be the right thing to do for all concerned. When he got home from breakfast, he nearly ran into Patty — and her daughter. They were leaving his building. What was this? Not good! Patty was crying, and the little girl looked sad and displaced too. Michael had seen that look many times before with his kids
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,
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’d left her office in a fury, she wouldn’t go someplace where Vivienne could easily find her. So where would she go? He kept walking, and when he got tired of walking he began running and when he got tired of running he just ran faster. People gave him a wide berth on the sidewalk, as if he were crazy, and maybe they were right about that. New Yorkers knew crazy. He slid on his headphones and listened to Corinne Bailey Rae. That helped some. Corinne was a calming influence. Not heading anywhere in particular, he ran up Riverside Drive,
Fifty-six MICHAEL TURNED OFF the music in his headphones and began to pray. He wanted answers, needed answers, but none seemed to be coming his way. Finally, he raised his head and looked around the magnificent church. He’d always liked everything about the cathedral: the blend of French Gothic and Romanesque styles; the chapels radiating from the ambulatory; the Byzantine columns and arches; voices echoing, an organist practicing somewhere. God lives here! He must, Michael thought. A calm came over him as his eye fell on the magnificent Rose Window situated over