He sat down. He used his handkerchief to wipe sweat from his face and neck. He laughed, and it was almost his booming, confident laugh. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. And then he began to tremble again. Against all logic, all reasoning, the horror of being totally alone in the world returned.
He got up and went to the door. He put his hand on the knob.
No, he couldn't open it!
He laughed. It was a cracked and shattered sound. He said, "Listen. Out there are the typists and writers and executives. Just listen to them. Just listen to the noise...." His voice slid upward in a strangled scream. He heard no noise.
He looked at his watch. Two-twenty. There had to be noise!
He put his ear to the door. Nothing. Not a sound of any sort.
He backed from the door, both hands over his mouth. He bumped into his desk. His phone rang. He listened to it. It rang and rang, the only sound on the 36th floor. Finally, he turned and picked it up. He heard Tzadi's voice. "Der, could you come to my office for a moment?"
He said, "What's happening?" He heard himself sobbing, and didn't care. He said, "Am I losing my mind? What's happening?"
"No, Der, you are not losing your mind." Tzadi's voice sounded as if he, too, were weeping. "It's just ... what I tried to tell you before."
"Yes, before. Listen, I've changed my mind. If it's the only way.... Listen, Ed, I'll do ... I'll do what you said. You know, Mercy. I'll...."