The Night Listener : A Novel

overwhelmed me. It was Jess’s compulsive sweetness toward animals that had helped me fall in love with him, once upon a time.
    He looked up as I set down his coffee mug. “He’s getting really decrepit, isn’t he?”
    I nodded.
    “Aren’t you, beastlet? You’re a decrepit old thing.” He picked a speck of crud out of the dog’s cloudy eye, then gave me a weary smile. He had shed the force field of anger that had surrounded him minutes earlier.
    “I could be wrong,” he said, shrugging.
    I tried to be generous. “Their voices are similar. I can see how you might think that if…”
    “How did this all get started, anyway?”
    I explained how Ashe Findlay had sent me Pete’s galleys.
    “Did they ask for them to be sent to you?”
    “Who?”
    “Pete and Donna.”
    “Well, yes, actually. And Pete talks about listening to my show in the book, so Findlay must have thought it was a natural choice.”
    “How did you end up talking to Pete?”
    “I asked Findlay if I could do it.”
    “It was your idea, then?”
    “Yes. Completely.”
    He seemed to ponder that as he stroked the dog’s chin. “So how did Findlay get the manuscript?”
    “Umm…” I thought hard. “Somebody at Argus House knows Pete’s HIV counselor. A guy named Warren.”
    “Have you ever talked to him?”
    “No. But he’s reachable, I’m sure.” I sat on the sofa and began to scratch Hugo’s matted rump while Jess continued rhythmically with the dog’s chin. It was something of a surrogate experience, but it was wonderful how this broken-down old creature could pull us into a circle of familial affection. “And we could always call Findlay,” I said.
    Jess looked up at me.
    “Right now,” I said, “if you’d like.”
    “It’s late in New York.”
    “He works late.”
    “Do you want to?”
    “I wouldn’t mind,” I said. “If it puts your mind at ease.” I went up to the office and brought back the phone book. I dialled the number in front of Jess, then waited while it rang repeatedly.
    Finally, a peevish female voice answered—the kind you get so often in New York. Ashe Findlay had been at a sales conference, she said, and wouldn’t be back that day. I left my name and asked her to have him call me tomorrow.
    When I hung up, Jess said: “What about that Warren guy?”
    “I don’t know how to reach him. I don’t even know his last name.”
    “Oh, well.” Jess went back to massaging Hugo’s stomach. “So much for putting my mind at ease. Huh, beastlet?” His flip tone annoyed me, and I could feel a headache coming on.
    I was suddenly tired of catering to his chronic distrust. “I think I’ll take him for a walk,” I said, indicating the dog. “Let you have your time in the office.”
    The walk lasted an hour and a half. Hugo and I went all the way to Tank Hill and back while I tried to make sense of the monkey wrench Jess had just thrown into my life. I was mostly embarrassed for him, I think, since his wild speculation had only shown how far he’d go to sabotage something that didn’t fit his skeptical vision of the world.
    Or was it just the fact that this miracle had happened to me ? It would have been different, I decided, if Pete had first made friends with Jess, if Jess had been the one gathering the facts and telling the story, the one in control. But this was just brokenhearted, bejewelling me, far too needy and vulnerable right now to know a hoax when it stared me in the face.
    When I got home, Jess was gone. He had tidied up the office, prioritized my correspondence, and posted a list of Things to Do on the bulletin board. That would have given me a sense of well-being, I suppose, had I not also seen that he’d acted on our earlier discussion.
    Both the computer and the computer table were gone, leaving a hole in the room that might as well have been in my heart.
     
    ELEVEN

    A LITTLE LIKE GOD

    IT’S HARD TO SAY NOW what I expected from Ashe Findlay when he called back the next morning. Mild amusement would probably have topped the list, followed by bewilderment, then righteous indignation. I was ready for anything, given the lunatic nature of my inquiry. I spent a minute or two issuing disclaimers and covering my tracks—or ensuring that they would be covered—once the whole silly thing had been laid to rest.
    “I’m hesitant even to ask,” I told the editor. “If anyone were to hear about this…especially Pete…”
    “Please,” he said quietly. “You have my word.