Chapter 32
Morning sunlight snakes through the blinds.
When Paul blinks awake, he hears the telephone, ringing and ringing.
He was dreaming of wandering through a ragged old house—a nightmare version of the Stanley home with the same furniture, the same blue carpeting—searching for Judith.
There were signs of her everywhere: her Nikon sat on a side table, her winter coat hung limp in a closet above a pair of worn leather boots.
She must have just left, he kept telling himself, turning in circles.
But he couldn’t concentrate with that shrill ringing sound somewhere in the background—where was it coming from?
When he rises up on his elbows, the headache descends.
Once home, he fell into bed without remembering to unplug his telephone.
He’s paying for it now as he reckons with the wrenching noise, his wrecked head, and the swift return of unwanted—if foggy—awareness.
He wants silence and peace—only silence and peace!
—but knows there can be none, not after yesterday.
The phone’s endless screaming is the sound of his longed-for success.
And, speaking of that, damn it all, the caller could be someone important.
He groans and swings his legs out of bed, stumbles in his underwear to the phone.
“Hello,” he croaks, then clears his throat. He can’t sound like some hungover slouch.
“Fuck you, Paul Sorenson,” a woman’s voice hisses. “Fuck you and your lies about Judith Stanley.”
“Fuck you, too, you loony bitch!” Paul shouts, banging the receiver down.
He almost said, Fuck you, too, Charlie, even though it didn’t sound like her.
Even though he’s probably incited a whole mob against him after his TV appearance, and any of them—not just Charlie—could ring him up.
He sighs and shuffles into the kitchen. He needs coffee and a cigarette.
Coffee first. As he’s waiting for it to brew, he spots the day’s printed schedule Tasha gave him; it’s chock-full of interviews.
Today’s task will be to rehash his suicide theory all over again, for one outlet after another.
Though the first sips of coffee bring a jolt of energy, he still longs to hide in bed in the semi-dark until the whole day has passed.
The first thing he’ll do, after coffee, is call the telephone company and change his number.