Zero History

39. THE NUMBER
Heidi perched on the edge of the Piblokto Madness bed, like an expensively coiffed
gargoyle, pale knees protruding through the holes in her jeans, long pale black-nailed toes
extended over the scrimshawed trim. “Number’s in your phone?”
“No,” said Hollis, standing in the middle of the room, feeling trapped. The insectoid
wallpaper seemed to have closed in. All the various busts and masks and two-eyed
representations staring.
“Bad sign,” said Heidi. “Where is it?”
“In my wallet.”
“You never memorized it.”
“No.”
“It was for emergencies.”
“I never really expected to need it.”
“You just wanted to carry it around. Because he wrote it.”
Hollis looked away, through the open door to the vast bathroom, where fresh towels
were hung, warming, on the horizontal pipes of the Time Machine shower.
“Let’s see it,” said Heidi.
Hollis got her wallet out of her purse, her iPhone with it. The little strip of paper, which
he’d neatly torn from the bottom of a sheet of Tribeca Grand notepaper, was still there,
behind the Amex card she only used for emergencies. She drew it out, unfolded it, and
passed it to Heidi.
“American area code?”
“It’ll be a cell. It could be anywhere.”
Heidi dug in a back jeans pocket with her other hand, came up with her own iPhone.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m putting it in my phone.” When she’d finished, she handed the strip of paper back
to Hollis. “Have you thought about what you’ll say?”
“No,” said Hollis. “I can’t think about it.”
“That’s good,” said Heidi. “Now do it. But put your phone on speaker.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to hear it. Because you may not remember what you say. I will.”
“Shit,” said Hollis, sitting down on the bed, nearer its foot, and switching on the
speaker.
“No shit,” agreed Heidi. “Call him.”
Hollis blankly entered the number.
“Put his name on it,” Heidi said. “Add it to your numbers.”
Hollis did.