Jack was in the bathtub in one of the apartments. He wasn’t taking a bath, he was taking his leave. They’d pretty much emptied the place out, and this had become sort of a farewell ritual. So there he was, Jack, stretched out in the tub, naked as a jaybird, enjoying the feel of the apartment this one last time. He was about to get up when he heard a soft knock at the front door. He shrugged into a robe that was hanging on a hook on the wall and tried not to leave wet footprints on the carpet. He squinted through the peephole. It was Mon. Right on time: a quarter of an hour late. He swung open the door and shooed her in.
“You’re all comfy,” she said.
She took a seat at the dining-room table, casual as if she lived there.
“You’re late,” said Jack.
“Why aren’t we meeting at the Ferris whe
