The Night Listener : A Novel

This is strictly between us.”
    “Okay, then. Do you know anyone who’s actually met Pete Lomax?”
    The line was so quiet I thought we’d been cut off.
    “Ashe?”
    More silence and then: “Hang on a minute. I have to close the door.”
    What can I tell you about that moment? It was beyond unsettling; it shook me to my very core, then left me standing on quicksand, holding my breath. It must have done the same to Findlay, because he was gone much longer than it would have taken to close a door.
    “Gabriel?”
    “I’m here,” I said.
    “First of all, let me say I know exactly what you’re going through, because I went through it myself three months ago.” Don’t say a word, I thought. Just let him talk.
    “It’s important to remember how dedicated Donna is to the protection of this child. Pete went through things that aren’t even hinted at in his manuscript. Terrible things. Donna’s a total professional, but she’s also a mother, and that makes her a tigress when it comes to shielding Pete from strangers. And the poor kid has such low immunity right now that even the mildest flu bug is potentially threatening to his—”
    “Ashe?”
    “Yes?”
    “I’d really like an answer to my question.” He waited a moment, then said, “No,” in the most subdued tone imaginable.
    “You don’t know anybody who’s ever met him?”
    “No. Except her, of course.”
    “What about his AIDS counselor? Warren something.”
    “Warren Bloch.”
    “Yeah. What about him?”
    “Well…he’s nice fellow. Dropped by the office last month.”
    “Then you do know someone!” The relief I felt was so profound that I almost laughed. “Warren and Pete used to listen to my show together all the time! One of them must’ve mentioned that to you.”
    “Actually…they both did. But you’re making an assumption, Gabriel. As natural as it is.”
    He had lost me.
    “They listened to your show on the phone.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “They listened to it at the same time. While they were on the phone with each other.”
    “Surely, at some point, they must’ve…”
    “No. Warren did all his counseling on the phone.”
    “But… why? ”
    “As I was saying, Donna has been very circumspect about who meets the boy at this stage of his recovery.”
    “But surely a therapist …”
    “It’s just another person, Gabriel. Pete trusts voices more than he can ever trust a face. That’s why your show was so humanizing for him. He could invent faces that didn’t threaten him.” I remembered reading as much in Pete’s galleys. I just hadn’t guessed how thoroughly the concept had invaded his life. With a sudden shiver I recalled how I’d once remarked to Pete that life wasn’t radio. In his case, it seemed, that was pretty much all it had been.
    “Tell me something,” said Findlay. “How did…these issues…arise for you?”
    I told him that Jess had been skeptical about the high melodrama of Pete’s life, and that he’d later noticed similarities between Pete’s voice and Donna’s. Once he’d passed these thoughts to me, a tiny, troubling doubt had begun to inhabit me like a virus.
    The editor sighed. “I’ve been down the same road, my friend.”
    “You’ve noticed it, then? Their voices?”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “And you didn’t think…”
    “No. It’s just that Wisconsin thing. There’s a sort of hokey music to it that’s quite distinctive.”
    “That’s what I told Jess!”
    “You betcha!”
    I laughed at his impersonation of Marge Gunderson in Fargo , though Pete and Donna sounded nothing like her. I laughed because I desperately needed the release, and because I wanted to regain the purity of my relationship with Pete. I laughed because I wanted my son back.
    “Look,” said Findlay. “It’s easy enough to build a case for a hoax until you have to provide a motive. There’s simply no reason for her to do this. To invent a child and impersonate him for well over a year and write a book in his name. They’re getting a minuscule advance, I can assure you. And we both know that this little memoir will never reach a huge audience. Not to mention the fact that Donna is a decent woman who is thoroughly dedicated to her profession.” I said that she certainly seemed that way.
    “You’ll feel that even more so when you meet her.”
    “You’ve met her?”
    “Oh, yes.” The editor chuckled to himself. “Stupid of me. I should’ve mentioned that first. She came to New York for