Zero History

She unlocked the door, leaving the chain in place, and peered out. Robert stood there,
smiling. Garreth looked up at her from about the level of Robert’s waist. She couldn’t put
that together, and didn’t, until she’d opened the door, although she never managed,
subsequently, to remember closing it or undoing the chain. Nor could she ever remember
what she’d said, but whatever it was, she would remember, had caused a look of relief to
flash across Robert’s face, and his smile to widen.
“Sorry I couldn’t return your call,” said Garreth.
She heard the ebony fetish hit the carpet, bounce. Saw Robert’s broad back
disappearing through one of the green corridor’s spring-loaded doors.
He was seated in a wheelchair.
Or not a wheelchair, she saw, as the fingers of his right hand moved on a joystick, but
one of those electric mobility scooters, black with gray pneumatic tires, like the offspring
of a high-end Swiss office chair and some expensive 1930s toy. As it rolled forward,
across the threshold, she heard herself say “Oh God.”
“Not as bad as it looks,” he said. “Playing the disability card for your doorman.” He
unclipped a black cane from the scooter’s side, pressed a button. A quadrangle of rubbertipped
supports sprang open at its tip. “A bit, anyway.” Using the cane for support, he
stood carefully, wincing, putting no weight on his right leg.
And then her arms were around him, one of his around her, her face wet with tears. “I
thought you were dead.”
“Who told you that?”
“Nobody. But I imagined it as I was being told you’d jumped off that hideous building.
And nobody knew where you were—”
“Munich, when you called. Intimate session with five neurosurgeons, three German,
two Czech, getting some feeling restored to this leg. Why I couldn’t call. Wouldn’t give
me the phone.”
“Did it work?”
“It hurts,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s actually a good thing, in this case. Perhaps you should close the door?”
“I don’t want to let go of you.”
He rubbed her lower back. “Better behind a locked door.”
While she was putting the chain on, he asked: “Who’s this for?” She turned. He was
looking down at the fetish head. “To do with this deep shit your lairy drummer says
you’re in?”
“Heidi?”
“Left a voice mail herself. About an hour ago.”
“How did you convince Robert to bring you up here?”
“Showed him the head-mount video of the Burj jump. Handicapped access is through
the rear here. Your man had to help me in. When you weren’t here, I said I’d wait in the