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“Better. Tony came up with some good ideas. We’re going to work late next week to go over them.”
“Right.”
I no longer believed a word she said. I analyzed every sentence, the way I would with a patient. I was looking for subtext, reading between the lines for nonverbal clues—subtle inflections, evasions, omissions. Lies.
“How is Tony?”
“Fine.” She shrugged, as if to indicate she couldn’t care less. I didn’t believe that. She idolized Tony, her director, and was forever talking about him—at least she used to; she hadn’t mentioned him quite so much recently. They talked about plays and acting and the theater—a world beyond my knowledge. I’d heard a lot about Tony, but only glimpsed him once, briefly, when I went to meet Kathy after a rehearsal. I thought it odd that Kathy didn’t introduce us. He was married, and his wife was an actress; I got the sense Kathy didn’t like her much. Perhaps his wife was jealous of their relationship, as I was. I suggested the four of us go out for dinner, but Kathy hadn’t been particularly keen on the idea. Sometimes I wondered if she was trying to keep us apart.
I watched Kathy open her laptop. She angled the screen away from me as she typed. I could hear her fingers tapping. Who was she writing to? Tony?
“What are you doing?” I yawned.
“Just emailing my cousin ... She’s in Sydney now.”
“Is she? Send her my love.”
“I will.”
Kathy typed for a moment longer, then stopped typing and put down the laptop. “I’m going to have
a bath.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
She gave me an amused look. “Cheer up, darling. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I smiled and nodded. She stood up and walked out. I waited until I heard the bathroom door close,
and the sound of running water. I slid over to where she had been sitting. I reached for her laptop. My fingers were trembling as I opened it. I re-opened her browser—and went to her email log-in.
But she’d logged out.
I pushed away the laptop with disgust. This must stop, I thought. This way madness lies. Or was I mad already?
I was getting into bed, pulling back the covers, when Kathy walked into the bedroom, brushing her teeth.
“I forgot to tell you. Nicole is back in London next week.” “Nicole?”
“You remember Nicole. We went to her going-away party.” “Oh, yeah. I thought she moved to New York.”
“She did. And now she’s back.” A pause. “She wants me to meet her on Thursday ... Thursday night after rehearsal.”
I don’t know what aroused my suspicion. Was it the way Kathy was looking in my direction but not making eye contact? I sensed she was lying. I didn’t say anything. Neither did she. She