"Well, Chip," Holly said, "this is a very weird way to meet, but cheers." She raised her glass.
58
Ham tried to sleep, but couldn't. He lay on one of the two queen-sized beds in the big room, while John slept soundly on the other. It was only ten-thirty, but John had insisted on going to bed early.
"Big day tomorrow," he had said.
He had to try to contact somebody. Ham got out of bed and in the darkened room, felt his way toward the bathroom. On the way, he got the cell phone out of his suit pocket and took it with him, closing the door behind him. He dropped his shorts, sat on the toilet and switched on the phone. He searched his memory for Holly's scrambled number. Finally, it came to him, and he dialed. It rang several times, then he heard Holly's voice.
"Hello?"
Suddenly, the door to the bathroom opened. Ham managed to close the phone and conceal it in his large hand before the light came on. John stood there, looking sleepily at him.
"What is it, John?" Ham asked, making himself sound annoyed.
"What are you doing?"
"What the fuck does it look like I'm doing? Can I have some privacy?"
"Sorry," John said, flipping off the light. "But leave the door open."
Holly was enjoying her evening. She'd had two gimlets, and Chip two martinis, and now the waiter brought a bottle of wine with their dinner. She and Chip had exchanged curricula vitae, and she had listened to his brief account of his divorce, and now she was at the point when the natural thing to do was to tell Chip about Jackson.
"What about you?" Chip asked, helping her along.
"I was engaged, but he died," she said, keeping it simple.
"I'm sorry. Long ago?"
"Not very long."
"And how did you get tied up with Harry?"
"We worked on something together last year, something on my turf in Orchid Beach."
"Wait a minute, I know about that," he said. "It was that crazy subdivision. There was a huge amount of currency involved, and it was all over the papers."
"My fifteen minutes of near-fame," she said.
"So what are you working on with Harry now? And what is it that he wants from me? He certainly didn't put us together because he's a nice guy."
"It's pretty simple," she said. "He wants to know if the president is in town."
"No," Chip said, "he isn't. Is work over now?"
"Work's over," she said, raising her wineglass. "Bon appetit."
"Bon appetit," he replied.
And then something, she didn't know what, caused her to put her hand on her small purse, which was resting on the table. She felt the vibration. How long had it been doing that?
She clawed at the handbag, got out the phone and snapped it open. "Hello?"
She heard a click at the other end, then silence.
"What is it?" Chip asked.
"Just a minute." She conjured up Harry's scrambled cell phone number and dialed it.