is still a liar, except now he tells women he is married in order to protect his solitude. Rachel left behind a space in his life, and Owen doesn’t want it filled by anyone else. And Edith does not require seduction, only satiation. It is simply more efficient to continue sleeping with her rather than spend time pursuing more conquests. It is a conservation of energy. It is good for the planet.
He is meeting Edith at a motel he found online. He has asked her to get a room, though he will of course pay her back. It is an elaborate ruse, as well as an indulgence. And though it is a bit ridiculous, the pretence gives him a rush—one he chooses not to examine too closely in case it gives off a hint of his own sexual neuroses, which are bound to be as small and sad as everyone else’s.
At the motel, Edith is stunning and tremulous in her desire. He usually talks dirty to her when they are together—it is his secret gift, this filthy commentary—but this time he is silent, which seems to bother her. But he likes her better when she is bothered.
The sex is hot, spectacularly so. It is one for the ages, like something out of a porno, except that, as usual, Edith refuses to perform or accept oral sex. Nevertheless, he knows how to make her come.
When they drive away from the motel, he steels himself for the inevitable conversation.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” she asks. “I’m starving.”
“I have to go home and write,” he says. He is technically in the middle of a new novel, though its progress is slow. “I’ll drop you at the subway.” He never drives her all the way home.
“Cool,” she says, turning to gaze out the window.
Edith is not the kind of girl he could love. Woman. Whatever. She exists too much on the surface, like most young people. She conceals nothing, keeps nothing back. If she has an inner life, it is as thin as a magazine. She thinks she can get to know him by quizzing him. He does admire her seeming independence and her willingness to go after what she wants even with minimal encouragement. At the same time, he wishes they could dispense with these exchanges. She talks about books she reads and asks him for recommendations. (He declines.) Then she begins filling the silence with talk of her life, her summer class, her waitressing job, and her boss, a conceited, foolish sort of man. The kind of man who is so small, in his vanity, that he is actually beneath them to mock. Owen resents that Edith does not understand this, and that certain details about this man have become etched in his brain. His variable accent. His waxed moustache. Now she is telling him that health inspectors have visited the restaurant.
“And, like, more than just health inspectors are coming tomorrow. Some government people. I think it’s actually going to be on the news.” She looks over at him, her face so eager and animated that he cannot help but stare back. “Mystery virus,” she says, over-enunciating.
Owen’s ears, which he was willing closed, now pop open. He can hear his own breathing over the muted rumbling of the car and the traffic. “I think I may have read about it, earlier today,” he says.
“Well, it all started with us, if you can believe it. They thought it was food poisoning at first, but not anymore.”
“Did you serve the people who got sick?”
Edith seems not to catch the severity of his tone, or maybe she thinks it is born out of a natural concern for her well-being.
“Maybe.” She is nonchalant. “I mean, I was working the night they’ve been asking about. But I don’t know who got sick, or if they were at any of my tables or not.”
If the traffic wasn’t so bad, he would pull over. It is almost too much, the day’s relentless insinuation of the virus upon his consciousness. But logical enough, he supposes, given his book. It is his own work that has invited the conversations. His back stiffens and his hands tighten on the steering wheel. This she notices. After the past couple of months, Edith is attuned to his body in ways that keep surprising him.
“I’m not sick!” she exclaims. “God, relax.” Then she laughs. “You would definitely already have it by now, if I was.” Her eyes are teasing, sexy, inviting him