The Guilty - Jason Pinter [4]
22
Jason Pinter
when I'd lied to her to save my skin--she'd been as lost as I
was. Her entire life existed in a trunk full of notebooks she'd
kept since she was a little girl. Notebooks she used to catalog
every single person she met, writing down superficial details,
mirroring the abandonment in her real life.
When she picked me up in her car, thinking I was a student
named Carl Bernstein, Amanda wrote down her thoughts
about that nonexistent man. I wanted her to know life wasn't
something to be cataloged. With me, she could actually experience it. Soon after she moved in, the notebooks disappeared. One night, after making love, I'd asked about them.
She said she didn't need a stupid pen and paper anymore. She
said real memories were good enough. And that's what I
promised to give her. Even if it meant her playing practical
jokes with my ring tone.
I clicked the answer button and waited. I could hear
breathing on the other end. It was the fifth time this month
Mya had called after midnight, in addition to the myriad
calls to my office, always from unlisted numbers or pay
phones. At night, I could chalk it up to her being drunk.
During the day, I didn't know what to make of it. A week ago
Mya had called at 3:30 a.m. She asked if I'd meet her for a
drink. To talk about stuff. We'd never really had a chance to say
goodbye, she'd said. I told her we did. And still she kept calling.
"Hehlo? Izzis Henry?"
"Yes, Mya," I whispered, watching to see if Amanda
would wake up.
"Where are you?"
"At home."
"Why are you at home?"
"I was sleeping."
"Why are you sleeping?"
The Guilty
23
"Because I have work tomorrow." I waited. She said nothing. "Listen, Mya, you need to stop calling me."
"Oh, stop it," she said, and I could picture her waving her
hand dismissively. "You're not sleeping now. It's early, silly.
Come out for a drink."
"Mya, there's no way..."
"Who is that?" I felt Amanda stir, her eyes fluttering open.
"Is someone on the phone?"
"It's me," I said softly. "Go back to sleep. It's Mya again."
"Again? Does she think you deliver pizza or something?"
Amanda said through a yawn. "Tell her to call Domino's and
get out of our life."
I waited a moment until Amanda's breathing evened.
"Listen, Mya, I'm going back to sleep. Please. Stop calling."
"I miss you, Henry." Her voice had changed, choked up. I
closed my eyes. Tried not to think about the last time I'd hung
up on Mya late at night. I couldn't do it again. She had to
choose to let it go.
"Come on, Mya, I'm with someone else now. You know
that. Please. Hang up the phone. Go back to your friends."
"I have no friends. Please, Hen. I really want to see you."
"Good night, Mya. I have to go. You should go."
"Fine," she said, and then I heard a dial tone.
I swallowed. Felt Amanda stir. Wished Mya hadn't gotten
so screwed up after the whole mess last year. Wished she
could be happy.
And then the phone rang again. Amanda bolted upright.
"Don't bars in this city have a closing time? I swear you
need to get a restraining order. If you answer it you're sleeping
on the couch."
"I don't fit on the couch."
24
Jason Pinter
"Then you get the refrigerator. I have an eight-thirty tomorrow. It's hard to convince a child that their future is in good
hands if their counsel shows up looking like Morticia Addams."
I pressed Answer. "Mya, I told you I'm with someone--"
"That's none of my business or concern, Henry, but if it
makes you feel better Jack asked me to blow you a kiss."
Crap. It was Wallace Langston, the editor-in-chief of the
New York Gazette. My boss. And he definitely wasn't calling
because he missed me. Wallace was a good man, had hired
me out of college, but I learned quickly that New York had a
way of chewing up and spitting out its good men. Few
newsmen were more respected, but readers didn't care much
about professional courtesy. They wanted juice, gossip, and
sadly often the lowest form of both. And that was one thing
Wallace refused to give.
I'd gotten used to late-night calls from the office.