Woke Up Lonely A Novel - By Fiona Maazel Page 0,18

Ned’s idea to be like a hybrid of the two. So when he got a call, the decision was easy. Did Ned want to do something for the Department of the Interior that had something to do with changing the weather, which itself had everything to do with snubbing his powerlessness in the world? Why yes, yes he did. Ned had been with Interior for three weeks. But no one had asked him about the weather or anything else.

“It’s boring,” he said. “Tell me about you.”

“I’m anorexic—what more’s there to say?”

“Do you want help?”

“Oh, hell no.”

They laughed until the bell.

Anne-Janet pressed her napkin into a tear blooming at the corner of her eye. You were not supposed to sit with the same person twice, but there are glitches, there is fate.

She looked at Ned and said, “My mom broke her hip yesterday morning. I got home at about six and found her on the floor. Know what that means?”

“God, that’s awful. Is that why you’re crying?”

“Seven hours on the floor. Just lying there. She’s asleep now. I hate hospitals.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Being here isn’t so bad, though. You think you’re gonna join up?” she said. “The Helix?”

He shrugged. “I’m kind of a member already. But just for stuff like this. I’ve got this twin sister now and have never felt lonelier in my life. So I’m not in it for the politics or whatever. I think that part’s bullshit, anyway.”

“Which part?”

“The armed-and-dangerous part. You hear rumors, but I don’t believe them.”

“Oh, that,” she said. “Probably right, only I have a couple friends who joined a Bond and now no one knows what’s up with them because they won’t talk to anyone but each other.”

“A Bond?”

“Like a commune. People living together in some house or building. They’re all over the country. But I gotta say, I actually think it sounds nice.”

“I bet the Branch Davidians thought their gig was nice, too.”

“No, but they were bonkers. And anyway, how do you know? Maybe they knew they were in a cult and just liked it that way.” She cast her arm like it was the line and she was fishing.

Ned tilted his head, gave her a look. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Do I know you from someplace else?”

Her face said it all. “I work four doors down from you, Ned. I see you every day.”

“Oh, jeez. How embarrassing.”

“That’s okay. I’m not all that stand-out.”

Ding.

Ned thumbed through his date cards. Five dates, one match. AnneJanet 358. He returned to the lounge for a last drink and a closing look at her because he was determined to remember her face. He found her with Bruce. Bruce and Olgo.

Ned said, “Happy birthday, Olgo Panjabi.”

Bruce said, “So what is that, anyway? Italian-Indian?”

Olgo wanted another drink. He was feeling vibrant. Sixty years old. Sixty today! Sixty at a time when sixty was the new forty, or so his wife liked to say after orgasm, which she still had, with decent frequency and élan, so that even as he thought about it now, he felt a gathering of love for her ramp up his chest and blossom across his face.

“Okay, one more,” said Bruce, as he assessed the détente in his gut—would it keep until home? He had a bad stomach.

When asked, Bruce said he once did consulting. And Olgo? “Arbitration. I used to envoy proposals between people who hate each other. I wrest accord from the teeth of hostility.”

“Wow.”

“My wife put that on a business card for me once. Just for fun. Olgo Panjabi: Wresting accord from the teeth of hostility since 1945. Year I was born.”

Bruce said, “I used to work in TV. Trial by Liar—my baby.”

Anne-Janet laughed. “And now we all work for Interior, and none of us knows why.”

A man tapped Ned on the shoulder. He was the organizer of the night. He was saying: Nine minutes, nine women. When you do eight, or four, you leave a woman in the lurch. There is a woman in the lurch, and she is demanding satisfaction.

Good grief. Ned was directed to a private room, which was empty barring a single woman at a table and, weirdly, a security detail in the nooks. These guys were so conspicuous. So maybe this woman was a higher-up. Maybe she had powers. Not that powers were such an asset if they meant having to take your security team on a speed date. This woman had a stoop—he could tell even though she was sitting. And though there was supposed to be an