Everything Changes

floor.
    After about fifteen minutes, Hope emerges with two women I don’t know, the three of them immersed in laughing conversation. She looks magnificent as always, in dark dress slacks and a light, formfitting cardigan. I watch her for a few seconds, reveling in the grace of her walk, the swing of her hair, and the furtive and not-so-furtive glances she elicits from the men she passes. Observing her in this manner, I feel a rush of pride and inevitable skepticism. I still can’t get over the fact that someone this beautiful would have any use for me. It occurs to me that Hope might have made plans, and will not appreciate my spontaneous arrival, but when she sees me, her face brightens gratifyingly, and she charges across the lobby to give me a kiss.
    “What are you doing here?” she says happily.
    “I had an appointment in the area,” I say.
    “Fantastic!” She kisses me again in a rare public display of affection.
    “You’re in a good mood,” I say.
    “And why shouldn’t I be?”
    I could give her a reason or two. At this point, she remembers her two friends, who are now hovering behind her with anticipatory so-this-is-him grins. “Oh, sorry,” Hope says, stepping out of my embrace. “Zack, this is Dana and Jill.”
    Nice to meet you, heard so much about you, congratulations on the engagement, isn’t it so exciting? Under Hope’s watchful eye, I smile and charm to the best of my abilities, wishing that I were taller and better dressed, more for her sake than mine. After all, I’ve already gotten the girl.
    As we walk uptown, I find out what has her so excited. “I’ve been asked to help catalog a private collection for the nineteenth-century group,” she tells me. “It’s the first time they’re sending me alone.”
    “That’s great,” I say. “Where’s the collection?”
    “In London.”
    “London, England?”
    “The very same.”
    “When do you leave?”
    “Tonight,” Hope tells me animatedly. “I’m heading home right now to pack and get a cab to the airport. Isn’t it insane?”
    “Yeah,” I say. “How long will you be gone?”
    “I’ll be back Friday evening. That will give me all day Saturday to rest up for the party.”
    Hope stops walking and looks at me. “What’s with you?”
    The anesthetic has now completely worn off, and it feels like someone jammed a knitting needle into my crotch. “I had a procedure done today,” I tell her.
    “What kind of procedure?” she asks, concerned. I tell her about the blood in my urine and the cystoscopy, but leave out the part about the biopsy. “Turns out it was nothing,” I say offhandedly.
    “Well, you needed to be sure.”
    “Yep.”
    Hope takes my hand and smiles. “Well, I was going to suggest a bon voyage quickie at my place, but it sounds like you’re not up for it.”
    I nod, shuddering at the thought of intercourse in my current state. I suspect it would be something akin to putting my penis through a meat grinder. I think about my near infidelity at the WENUS gig, and thoughts of poetic justice and divine retribution run briefly through my head. “I’m not,” I say. “Thanks for the thought, though.”
    “Why don’t I get us a cab,” she says. “You drop me off, then go home and rest.”
    “Okay.”
    In Manhattan’s Darwinian traffic sprawl, only someone who looks like Hope can get a cab so quickly on Fifty-third and Park. I collapse into her on the seat, and she puts her arm around me, rubbing my back sympathetically, while her perfume puts up a valiant but futile struggle against the redolent stink of the driver’s body odor.
    As we ride uptown, I tell Hope about my father’s return. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she demands.
    “I don’t know,” I say. “It just didn’t seem real.”
    “What’s he like?”
    “I don’t know. Still a mess, I guess.”
    She nods. “Well, did you invite him to the party?”
    “No.”
    “Are you going to?”
    “He doesn’t belong there.”
    “He
is
your father,” she says. “Don’t you think I should meet him?”
    “Trust me, you don’t want him there,” I say.
    Hope gives me a look, and seems poised to say something, but then doesn’t, choosing instead to give me a soft kiss on my neck. “Well, you have a few days to think about it, I guess.”
    The cab drops her off in front of her building, on Eighty-ninth and Fifth. “ ’Bye,” she says, and gives me a long hard-lipped kiss. “You get some rest.” She pats my crotch