“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said. He groped for the door handle. His hand closed on it.
“Listen, louse,” Bella said. She was off the bed and coming toward him. She gave him a shove that sent him away from the door. She pointed to the bed and said, “Get back in there.”
“You talkin’ to me?”
She put her weight on one leg and clapped a hand to her hip. Then, shifting slightly, so that she blocked his path to the door, she said, “You might as well make yourself comfortable. We’re gonna have a discussion.”
“Not now,” he said.
“Right now.” Her eyes dared him to make a move toward the door. “We’re gonna have it out here and now.”
“For God’s sake.” He pointed to the alarm clock. “Look what time it is. I gotta get some sleep. Gotta get rid of this hangover.”
“That’s what I want to talk about,” she said. “How come you got drunk last night?”
He didn’t reply. He dropped the shoes to the floor, flipped the clothes aside, and walked slowly to the bed. As he sat down on the edge of the mattress, his hands were pressed tightly to his temples, as though trying to squeeze the whisky fog from his brain.