Hellgoing by Lynn Coady Page B

at my age it’s just crippling.
    And Sam had ignored him for most of the night.
    He found her at a table drinking with a couple of interns from another house. He had to lean past her chair and insert himself into the frothy, college-girl conversation, which was mostly gossip about older — but not too much older — colleagues where they worked. I think it’s time to go, said Marco, sounding as if he was the one minding Sam instead of the other way around. She got up without a word — busily draining her drink as she stood — and followed him to the parking lot.
    I shouldn’t drive, I am completely shit-faced, explained Sam. But how about I call you a cab.
    She grabbed her phone and saw there was a voicemail from her brother.
    Actually, she told Marco, it’s pretty easy to flag one down.
    He gazed down the street. The hotel sign was blazing in the distance like a signal fire. It might be nice to walk, he said.
    Oh, they’d kill me if I let you walk home by yourself.
    Then, Sam, said Marco. Please don’t let me walk home by myself.
    They walked. Sam hobbled along for a moment, taking off her high heels, and went from being about even with Marco’s armpits to meeting him at mid-chest. Now she was at nipple height. Psychic text to Marie — Hey Marie: nipple height .
    I want to say, Marco told her once Sam had worked her shoes off. I appreciate your care these past couple of days. I’m sorry, if I ever seemed distant at all.
    Oh — distant, repeated Sam.
    These junkets, continued Marco, they actually require a great deal of energy and concentration for me. I’m an introvert by nature. To be chauffeured around, speaking into microphones, getting up in front of crowds — it’s wearing. I feel I have to conserve energy at every spare moment.
    Uh-huh, said Sam.
    Marco turned his liquid eyes toward the looming hotel sign, which didn’t seem to be getting much bigger as they advanced. I’m saying if I was rude to you at any point. Or inconsiderate.
    Sam waited. But Marco had stopped talking. He was just stopping there. He wasn’t even going to finish the sentence.
    Rude, repeated Sam.
    Or inconsiderate. Of your feelings.
    Sam sounded a giddy little snort.
    Then I apologize, finished Marco at last, frowning like invisible fingers were actually pulling at his face; like it was painful, but he was helpless not to do it.
    Sam noticed they were walking alongside a police fence. She fell against it briefly just to feel the metal and hear it jangle.
    There is insult, Marco, said Sam. Insult is no problem. I am insulted every day, by all sorts of people, because that is what it is to be short. That is what it is to be human , as you would say — ha ha. There is insult, and then of course there is full-scale attack.
    Attack, repeated Marco.
    I shouldn’t say full-scale attack, no. I should say covert attack. Which is secret and dirty and vicious. And cowardly.
    You think I, said Marco.
    Sam’s phone jumped in her purse, nuzzling away at her thigh through the leather.
    It’s all couched , Sam shrieked, piercing the night with the chipmunky, short-woman’s voice she acquired whenever she became upset. She jerked a little when she shrieked, bouncing against the fence again and causing the three bottles of hot sauce, which she still hadn’t taken out of her purse, to clack together like bones. Now Marco looked like he wanted to throw his hands over his ears. You sit there, said Sam, on the other side of the glass, accusing me while pretending I’m not there.
    Not at all, said Marco, blinking his great eyes as rapidly as someone with such big eyes was capable.
    And I started reading your book. I know I was supposed to read it before now, but I didn’t. But I started just today, once I realized what you were doing. And I just can’t believe it, Marco.
    Something wet and warm fell into her cleavage. Sam knew it was her own saliva. She was