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Show Woodworth/66 tells her cheerfully. "You should, Ned should, Megan should. You should work hard, Marty. Work is good therapy. And don't worry about me. I'm going to go now, and watch my soap opera. I think something good is going to happen today. It always gets better at the end of the week. Sorry to bother you at work. Really, I'm sorry." The line clicks, and Marty stands looking at the filing cabinets. She wraps her arms around her, and says to herself, "It's all right, it's all right, it's going to be all right." Her stomach starts to contract in spasms. She should just go ahead and cry, so that Bernie will know that it was an emergency phone call. She could say that she has to leave for the rest of the day. She could call Rachael, and they could go out and get totally loaded. No, that wouldn't be right, getting drunk because of a drunk. They could go back down to the waterfront, to that shed on Lewis Wharf, and smoke dope. No one would notice if they were behind the shed, even in the day light. They could watch the people working on the square-rigged boat, watch them climb the masts, reach out, barely holding on, against the sky. Call Dad. But he will be with a patient, unable to go home, unable to accept phone calls right now. Her stomach has turned over and over on itself, become a hard lump. She wonders if she will be sick, and thinks of the dingy employee's bathroom, shared by men and women, with the dust balls and loose hairs growing at the base of the toilet. Or call Gary. Whisper something, voice just right. Say something. Meet me here. Let's go there. Mutter in a husky voice, and watch him come to her, her silken robe dropping to the floor. He takes her roughly, shoving her to her knees. The |
