It’s nighttime, almost ten. I’m reading The Art of Seduction and set it aside. I call the hotel Nanda’s staying in. A girl receptionist answers; she seems young. I ask for room 313. There’s no answer. I pick up the book again and read until about ten thirty. I try calling Nanda again, but there’s still no answer. I try to read again, but have a difficult time focusing. Where’s Nanda? I want to think she’s out getting a late bite to eat or maybe she’s still working. I want to think these things, but my mind goes another route. I imagine Nanda. I imagine another man. I know I shouldn’t, but that’s where my mind takes me. I try to read. It’s pointless. Eleven. I try calling again. Nothing. Eleven thirty. I apologize to the receptionist. “Don’t worry,” she tells me, “Call as often as you’d like.” Midnight. Still nothing. When I can’t reach her at twelve forty-five, I call her cell phone. No answer.
If this had been a year and a half ago, there’d be no problem. She’s busy, I’d think, She’ll call me back when she’s available. But now things are different. One o’clock. Two o’clock. I can’t read. My chest hurts. I give up calling, close my book, and try to fall asleep. I toss and turn. I take my phone out from under my pillow. It’s three forty-five. I try calling again. Nothing. The hours pass and finally I’m able to fall asleep.
My phone rings and I’m shaken from my sleep. Morning light is shining through the window. I reach torpidly under my pillow for my phone. It’s Nanda.
“Did I wake you?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, I missed your calls last night—“
“Everything okay?” My mind is quick to flash images of her with another guy. My chest hurts again. I want to ask her where she’s been. Who she’s been with. Has she been fucking around again. But I know, even in my half-sleep, that’s not a good idea.
“I was so tired last night. I forgot to turn on the ringer on the phone in the room. My phone was in my purse on vibrate and I couldn’t hear it. I saw your missed calls just now.”
“I was worried,” I say.
“Everything’s okay, Babe. A lot of work as always. I’m getting ready to head on out.”
“Were you able to get some rest?”
“I must have fallen asleep like at nine and slept the whole night through,” she says. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call you tonight.”
I struggle to fall asleep again. I want to believe what Nanda said. That she fell asleep at nine. That she couldn’t hear her phone. It’s probably true, but there’s that lingering doubt in my mind. That doubt that she created a year and a half ago. Later—I don’t know how much later—I’m asleep again.
Chapter 4
