Esperanza made a noise like she was gagging on a soup ladle. «You two have such a mature relationship.»

«Can I just have the message, please?»

«She wants you to call her. At the Beverly Wilshire. Room six-one-eight. Must be the Bitch Suite.»

So much for improvement. Esperanza read off the number. Myron jotted it down.

«Anything else?»

«Your mom called. Don’t forget dinner tonight. Your dad is barbecuing. A potpourri of aunts and uncles will be in attendance.»

«Okay, thanks. I’ll see you this afternoon.»

«Can’t wait,» she said. Then she hung up.

Myron sat back. Jessica had called twice. Hmm.

The trainer tossed Myron a leg brace. Myron strapped it on, fastening it with Velcro. The trainer silently worked on the knee, starting with stretch wrap. Myron debated calling Jessica back right now and decided he still had time. Lying back with his head on a sponge pillow of some sort, he dialed the Beverly Wilshire and asked for Jessica’s room. She picked up as though she’d had her hand on the receiver.

«Hello?» Jessica said.

«Hello there, gorgeous,» he said. Charm. «What are you doing?»

T just spread out a dozen snapshots of you on the floor,» she said. «I was about to strip naked, coat my entire body with some type of oil, and then undulate on them.»

Myron looked up at the trainer. «Er, can I have an ice pack?»

The trainer looked puzzled. Jessica laughed.

«Undulate,» Myron said. «That’s a good word.»

«Me a writer,» Jessica said.

«So how’s the left coast?» Left coast. Hip lingo.

«Sunny,» she said. «There’s too much damn sun here.»

«So come home.»

There was a pause. Then Jessica said, «I have some good news.»

«Oh?»

«Remember that production company that optioned Control Room?»

«Sure.»

«They want me to produce it and cowrite the screenplay. Isn’t that cool?»

Myron said nothing. A steel band wrapped around his chest.

«It’ll be great,» she continued, forcing pseudojocular-ity into the cautious tone. «I’ll fly home on weekends. Or you can fly out here sometimes. Say, you can do some recruiting out here, nab some West Coast clients. It’ll be great.»

Silence. The trainer finished up and left the room. Myron was afraid to speak. Seconds passed.

«Don’t be like that,» Jessica said. «I know you’re not happy about this. But it’ll work out. I’ll miss you like mad – you know that – but Hollywood always screws up my books. It’s too big an opportunity.»

Myron opened his mouth, closed it, started again. «Please come home.»

«Myron…»

He closed his eyes. «Don’t do this.»

«I’m not doing anything.»

«You’re running away, Jess. It’s what you do best.»

Silence.

«That’s not fair,» she said.

«Screw fair. I love you.»

T love you too.»

«Then come home,» he said.

Myron’s grip on the phone was tight. His muscles were tensing. In the background he heard Coach Podich blow that damn whistle.

«You still don’t trust me,» Jessica said softly. «You’re still afraid.»

«And you’ve done so much to assuage my fears, right?» He was surprised by the edge in his voice.

The old image jarred him anew. Doug. A guy named Doug. Five years ago. Or was he a Dougie? Myron bet he was. He bet his friends called him Dougie. Yo, Dougie, wanna party, man. Probably called her Jessie. Dougie and Jessie. Five years ago. Myron had walked in on them, and his heart had crumbled as though it’d been molded in ash.

«I can’t change what happened,» Jessica said.

«I know that.»

«So what do you want from me?»

«I want you to come home. I want us to be together.»

More cellular static. Coach Podich called out his name. Myron could feel something vibrating in his chest like a tuning fork.

«You’re making a mistake,» Jessica said. «I know I’ve had some trouble with commitment before-»

«Some trouble?»

«-but this isn’t like that. I’m not running away. You’re pushing on the wrong issue.»

«Maybe I am,» he said. He closed his eyes. It was hard for him to breathe. He should hang up now. He should be tougher, show some pride, stop wearing his heart on his sleeve, hang up. «Just come home,» he said. «Please.»

He could feel their distance, a continent separating them, their voices bypassing millions of people.

«Let’s both take a deep breath,» she said. «Maybe this isn’t for the phone anyway.»

More silence.

«Look, I got a meeting,» she said. «Let’s talk later, okay?»

She hung up then. Myron held the empty receiver. He was alone. He stood. His legs were shaky.

Brenda met him at the doorway. A towel was draped around her neck. Her face was shiny from sweat. She took one look at him and said, «What’s wrong?»

«Nothing.»

She kept her eyes on him. She didn’t believe him, but she wouldn’t push either.

«Nice outfit,» she said.

Myron looked down at his clothing. «I was going to wear a red sports bra,» he said. «It throws the whole look together.»

«Yummy,» she said.

He managed a smile. «Let’s go.»

They started heading down the corridor.

«Myron?»

«Yeah?»

«We talk a lot about me.» She continued walking, not looking at him. «Wouldn’t kill either of us to switch roles now and again. Might even be nice.»

Myron nodded, said nothing. Much as he might wish to be more like Clint Eastwood or John Wayne, Myron was not the silent type, not a macho tough guy who kept all his problems inside him. He confided to Win and Esperanza all the time. But neither one of them was helpful when it came to Jessica. Esperanza hated her so much that she could never think rationally on the subject. And in Win’s case, well, Win was simply not the man to discuss matters of the heart. His views on the subject could conservatively be called «scary».

When they reached the edge of the court, Myron pulled up short. Brenda looked at him questioningly. Two men stood on the sidelines. Ragged brown suits, totally devoid of any sense of style of fashion. Weary faces, short hair, big guts. No doubt in Myron’s mind.

Cops.

Somebody pointed at Myron and Brenda. The two men sauntered over with a sigh. Brenda looked puzzled. Myron moved a little closer to her. The two men stopped directly in front of them.

«Are you Brenda Slaughter?» one asked.

«Yes.»

«I am Detective David Pepe of the Mahwah Police Department. This is Detective Mike Rinsky. We’d like you to come with us, please.»

Myron stepped forward. «What’s this about?»

The two cops looked at him with flat eyes. «And you are?»

«Myron Bolitar.»

The two cops blinked. «And Myron Bolitar is?»

«Miss Slaughter’s attorney,» Myron said.

One cop looked at the other. «That was fast.»

Second cop: «Wonder why she called her attorney already.»

«Weird, huh?»

«I’d say.» He looked the multicolored Myron up and down. Smirked. «You don’t dress like an attorney, Mr. Bolitar.»

«I left my gray vest at home,» Myron said. «What do you guys want?»

«We would like to bring Miss Slaughter to the station,» the first cop said.

«Is she under arrest?»

First Cop looked at Second Cop. «Don’t lawyers know that when we arrest people, we read them their rights?»

«Probably got his degree at home. Maybe from that Sally Struthers school.»

«Got his law degree and VCR repairman certificate in one.»

«Right. Like that.»

«Or maybe he went to that American Bartenders Institute. They got a competitive program, I hear.»

Myron crossed his arms. «Whenever you guys are through. But please keep going. You’re both extremely amusing.»

First Cop sighed. «We’d like to bring Miss Slaughter to the station,» he said again.

«Why?»

«To talk.»

Boy, this was moving along nicely. «Why do you want to talk to her?» Myron tried.