Read The Last Good Night for Free Online

name is Laura,” I said quickly.
    He looked blankly at me.
    â€œLaura,” I repeated.
    He nodded and continued to stand in silence, taking me in, as if looking for scraps whose shape and texture he could recognize, seize, and stand on as dry land.
    I took a deep breath and was just about to speak when a young couple in matching down coats walked by and turned to do a double-take, seeking my face, embracing it.
    He watched me take in the recognition, meet it, absorb it, let it go.
    â€œJack?” I said when they were out of earshot.
    â€œYes?”
    I shook my head, looked down at the street and then slowly back to him as an iciness spread across my scalp, the back of my neck, my throat. “What are you doing here?” My own voice was dim and tinny in my ears.
    â€œI saw your picture in the magazine.”
    Our eyes met and held before slipping off to a more comfortable distance. Our breath curled white between us.
    â€œIt’s been so long,” I said.
    â€œTwenty-one years,” he answered. “Twenty-one and a half years, actually. Since that night.” There was a bitterness in his tone that made me wince.
    Two men in suits and woolen overcoats were walking in our direction, their footsteps audible down the street.
    Jack did not see them, did not care. “Marta?”
    â€œNot here,” I whispered urgently.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI can’t do this here,” I said, stealing another look at the approaching men, both from the publicity department at the network.
    â€œBut I came all this way to see you. You owe me that much, at least,” he insisted. “Don’t you think?”
    My body was completely still except for my fingertips, tapping nervously against my thigh again and again. “Yes,” I admitted.
    He took a step closer. “Marta.”
    â€œPlease, Jack. Not here,” I repeated nervously.
    â€œI can’t believe I finally found you.”
    The two network executives were just a few feet away now, regarding me curiously. I stared at Jack another moment, unableto speak, and then I ran out into the street, waving my arm wildly at a passing cab. It screeched to a halt and I jumped in, slamming the door.
    The taxi raced down the avenue until, when I looked back through the rear window, Jack was lost in the traffic, in the night itself.
    Â 
    I SLIPPED MY keys quietly into the top lock.
    â€œCongratulations,” David called out. “You were great.”
    I went into the living room, still wearing my coat, and found him on the couch with a spiral sketchpad balanced on his knees, a rapidograph in hand. It’s a nervous habit of his, this continual drawing of lines, of buildings, of rough city overviews. I find them on napkins, envelopes, sometimes even on toilet paper. Tonight, there was an unopened bottle of champagne on the coffee table in front of him and he was smiling broadly. “Look,” he said, holding up a stack of yellow telegrams. He began to read the names of the senders, all people we knew well enough to give our closely guarded home address.
    I nodded and tried to appear pleased.
    â€œYou look wiped out,” David said. “Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œJust fine? That’s it? You’re jaded already? How was the dapper Mr. Hartley? Does he spit when he talks? Did you play footsie under the news desk? Should I be jealous? What did everyone say afterwards?”
    â€œI bantered.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI bantered. You know, unscripted talk that has the distinct ring of mindless chatter.”
    â€œYou mean like our dinner conversations?” He smiled, leaning forward. “Laura, don’t you think you’re being a little hard on yourself?”
    I shrugged. “David, did I have a bead of sweat on my lip?”
    Before he could answer, Sophie began to whimper. “You relax, I’ll do it,” he said, pushing his papers aside.
    â€œNo,