“Who was the old friend? Mother Teresa?” Graham asked. “She outrun you too?”

“Some of those nuns are pretty fast, Graham.”

Some of them are, too. Especially with a ruler in their hands.

Graham asked, “Who was the friend?”

“A woman.”

Sigh. “Name?”

“Hope.”

“Last name?”

“Dunno.”

“So, can you find him?” Graham asked.

“Dad, the way he’s dressed, Stevie Wonder could find him.”

“Stevie Wonder’s blind-”

“Yeah…”

“-he’s not a moron!”

Click.

I went back to the bar. In the first bit of good luck I’d had since I got out of the hot tub the same bartender was on duty.

“The woman who was sitting here with me and Natty Silver?” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know her name?”

“Yes I do.”

My headache started to come back.

“What is her name?” I asked.

“Hope.”

“Does Hope have a last name?”

“Yes, she does.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Yes, I do.”

What have I done? I thought. What have I done to deserve all these little torments?

I decided that it was some sort of cosmic female conspiracy-that was it. Let a basically decent guy hesitate for the slightest second to instantly impregnate his fiancee, on her slightest whim, and the whole universe starts messing with him.

“What is her last name?” I asked.

“Her last name is White.”

“What do you know about her?”

“Lots.”

“Listen,” I said, “I’m just trying to help Mr. Silverstein.”

The bartender chuckled.

“Looked like he was doing all right by himself,” the bartender said. “Besides, you’re not his buddy. You were laughing at him.”

“You were laughing at him, too.”