"Darling," Kay began. "Everybody knows poor Sam—"
"It was an accident." He turned to Kay and for a searing moment his eyes were more acid than hers. "Never forget that for a moment. Pass the word around."
"Yes, Jake," she whispered.
"He was a wonderful guy ... too good for this business. I wrote those crazy letters. Not Sam. He died in an accident."
Lennox left the bar and walked south on Madison, the highway of his business, the highway of his life, the quintessence of Now. And the Now was the same Now of last week, last month, last year. Nothing had changed; nothing was lost, except Cooper. The life he had fought so bitterly to hold together still stood firm, better than ever ... except for Cooper.
"I don't know how I'll ever make it up to you, Sam," he thought. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I can make the business jump through the hoop, but that's not enough of an answer."
He turned east in the Twenties, threading through the dismal sidestreets until he came at last to the little square with its sycamore trees, its Greek cross of gravel paths, its black and brass fence. He unlocked the street door of No. 33 and entered the kitchen. His heart constricted. There were the Siamese making love to what appeared to be Cooper kneeling on the kitchen floor filling their dinner plate. The figure arose. It was Gabby in blue jeans and a shirt, wearing dark glasses.
The plate was empty by the time he forced himself to release her. He looked at her, still without a word. He had knocked the glasses off in the first fierce embrace. She had a lurid black eye.
"Can you go inside?" Gabby asked. "Is it all right? We can go down to my place."
"It's all right, I think...."