Episode Six
From Pete's Notebooks:

                Pete and the Overheard Conversation

The hotel was called The Palace, but it wasn't.

Pete smoked cigarettes in the third floor hall, listening
through the door of the room.  It was a cheap hotel, so the door
was flimsy.  He'd been raising his hand to knock when he'd heard
Jenny ask, "So, who's the lucky girl today?"

Pete stopped his knuckles an inch from the door as Henshaw
laughed and said, "No girls today.  I'll have to have two
tomorrow."  Pete stayed completely motionless, just taking a
little pause before knocking, not wanting to interrupt.  He
remained in the pose of someone about to knock, just in case
somebody should come by and wonder why he was standing there. The
television was on in the room, but the sound was low and he could
hear the voices clearly through the door.  As he listened, he
visualized the two people inside. Philip Henshaw: tall and rangy,
with a hawk-like face and dark, curly hair to his shoulders.
Jenny Owens: long blond hair framing a round, inscrutable face,
with a lush, voluptuous body.  From the squeak of the mattress
springs, it sounded like she was still in bed, probably wearing
only the much-washed T-shirt that she always slept in.

Pete started looking at the dingy wallpaper and discolored
ceiling fixtures, wondering why anybody would ever have selected
this particularly unpleasant shade of peach.

"Now, seriously," Henshaw went on, "if Pete comes by today,
see if he's learned anything about this gig.  He's usually got
his ear pretty close to the ground.  Tell him I'll be back
at—"

"If I'm your secretary, how come the salary is so lousy?" she
asked sweetly.  The bedsprings creaked as she rolled over.

"Working isn't that great," Henshaw said.  "Just be glad you
don't have to do it.  Hey, someday we'll be fighting with each
other in a huge mansion."

She sighed.  "Except when you're off on tour, and then I'll
still be sitting at home, taking your fucking messages." She
looked around the room, squinting against the bright morning
light which streamed in through the window.  She could hear birds
chirping, and she could smell the fresh coffee and warm muffins.
She felt like throwing up.

"We're rehearsing tonight," Henshaw said, watching the
television news.  "I'll catch you here around six so we can get
some dinner—"

"I'm not going," she said, rolling over to face the wall.
From that position, she could see four dollar bills held together
with a paper clip.  Those were for her, she knew, in case she
should need something while Henshaw was out.  Which meant he
would be out for most of the day.  She knew there wasn't any
point in asking where he was going, or what he'd be doing
there.

"Not going?" he asked, and she could tell that he had turned
to look at her.  "Why not?"  His tone indicated that he wasn't
taking this very seriously.  She shrugged, tugging the blanket
more tightly around her.


After a moment, she felt him sit on the bed behind her,
and he lightly touched her hair, pulling it back so he could get
a glimpse of her face.  He leaned over her, and she rolled onto
her back so he could kiss her.  After a moment, she drew in a
breath and closed her eyes, pulling him closer.

"Sorry," Henshaw said, straightening up, "I have to go."  He
turned to stand up and she suddenly realized that his moving to
the bed had coincided with a commercial, which was now ending.
As he got up to return to his chair, she picked up a water glass
and threw it at the door.  It shattered, but Henshaw ignored it,
sitting down and returning his attention to the television.

He knew she'd go to the rehearsal with him.  Why wouldn't she
go?  There wasn't any real reason, and they both knew it.  Jenny
sighed and kicked off the covers.  She sat up on the edge of the
bed and reached underneath, pulling out her suitcase.  She
rummaged through it, pulling out clothing, tossing things into
the air and letting them fall where they would, knowing she'd
have to pick them up later on, along with the broken fragments of
the water glass.

If Henshaw turned from the television he'd have another veiled
comment about how fat she was getting, or maybe it would just be
a look, but he didn't turn his head.  She stood up with an armful
of clothes.  "I'm getting dressed in the goddamn bathroom!" she
announced.

Henshaw laughed as the bathroom door slammed.  "I don't care
if you go down and get dressed in the lobby," he called, putting
his empty coffee cup on top of the television and turning the set
off.  "I've got to go."  He opened the hall door, nudging a piece
of broken glass aside with his toe. "I left you a couple of bucks
on the . . .  Oh, hi, Pete."


As the door opened, Pete had his hand up, doing a good
impersonation of somebody who's about to knock on a door. Henshaw
winked as he asked, "Have you heard anything about the gig?"

Pete shrugged.  "I was just coming by to ask you the same
thing."

Henshaw shook his head, clapping Pete on the shoulder.
"Nothing yet. I've got to run.  See you later."  He strode down
the hall toward the stairs.  Pete hesitated there for a moment,
watching him leave. He was trying to think of a plausible excuse
to step inside the room. Nothing came to him, though, so he
pulled the door closed, put out his cigarette with the toe of his
sneaker and walked down the hall to the stairs.




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