the Third Twin (1996)

When it came they bundled him in and Jeannie pressed the button for the lobby.

As they went up, Mr. Oliver punched Harvey in the stomach again.

Jeannie was shocked: there had been no provocation.

Harvey groaned and doubled over just as the doors were opening. Two men waiting for the elevator stared at Harvey. Mr. Oliver led him stumbling out, saying: “Excuse me, gentlemen, this young man has had one drink too many.” They got out of the way smartly.

Another elevator stood waiting. They got Harvey into it and Jeannie pressed the button for the eighth floor. She sighed with relief as the doors closed.

They rode to their floor without incident. Harvey was recovering from Mr. Oliver’s punch, but they were almost at their destination. Jeannie led the way to the room she had taken. As they got there she saw with dismay that the door was open, and hanging on the doorknob was a card saying “Room being serviced.” The maid must be turning down the bed or something. Jeannie groaned.

Suddenly Harvey began to thrash around, making noises of protest in his throat, swinging wildly with his bound hands. Mr. Oliver tried to hit him, but he dodged and took three steps along the corridor.

Jeannie stooped in front of him, grabbed the cord binding his ankles with both hands, and heaved. Harvey stumbled. Jeannie tugged again, this time with no effect. God, he’s heavy. He raised his hands to strike her. She braced herselfand pulled with all her might. His feet flew from under him and he went down with a crash.

“My goodness, what in heaven’s name is going on?” said a prim voice. The maid, a black woman of about sixty in an immaculate uniform, had stepped out of the room.

Mr. Oliver knelt at Harvey’s head and lifted his shoulders.

“This young man been partying too hard,” he said. “Threw up all over the hood of my limousine.”

I get it. He’s our driver, just for the maid’s benefit.

“Partying?” said the maid. “Look more like fighting to me.”

Speaking to Jeannie, Mr. Oliver said: “Could you lift his feet, ma’am?”

Jeannie did so.

They lifted Harvey. He wriggled. Mr. Oliver appeared to drop him but put his knee in the way so that Harvey fell on it and was winded.

“Be careful, you’ll hurt him!” the maid said.

“Once more, ma’am,” Mr. Oliver said.

They picked him up and carried him into the room. They dumped him on the nearer of the two beds.

The maid followed them in. “I hope he ain’t going to throw up in here.”

Mr. Oliver smiled at her. “Now how come I’ve never seen you around here before? I have an eye for a pretty girl, but I don’t recall noticing you.”

“Don’t be fresh,” she said, but she was smiling. “I ain’t no girl.”

“I’m seventy-one, and you can’t be a day over forty-five.”

“I’m fifty-nine, too old to listen to your jive.”

He took her arm and gently led her out of the room, saying: “Hey, I’m almost through with these folks. Do you want to go for a ride in my limousine?”

“With puke all over it? No way!” She cackled.

“I could get it cleaned up.”

“I have a husband waiting for me at home, and if he could hear you talking now there’d be worse than puke on your hood, Mister Limo.”

“Oh-oh.” Mr. Oliver put up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I never meant no harm.” Miming fear, he backed into the room and closed the door.

Jeannie fell into a chair. “God Almighty, we did it,” she said.

61

As SOON AS STEVE HAD FINISHED EATING HE STOOD UP AND said: “I need to turn in.” He wanted to retire to Harvey’s room as soon as possible. When he was alone he would be safe from discovery.

The party broke up. Proust swallowed the rest of his scotch, and Berrington walked the two guests to their cars.

Steve saw an opportunity to call Jeannie and tell her what was going on. He snatched up the phone and called information. They took a long time to answer. Come on, come on! At last he got through and asked for the number of the hotel. He misdialed the first time and got some restaurant. Frantically, he dialed again and at last reached the hotel. “I’d like to speak to Dr. Jean Ferrami,” he said.

Berrington came back into the den just as Steve heard her voice. “Hello?”

“Hi, Linda, this is Harvey,” he said.

“Steve, is that you?”

“Yeah, I’ve decided to stay over at my dad’s place; it’s a little late for a long drive.”

“For God’s sake, Steve, are you okay?”

“Some business to take care of, but nothing I can’t handle. How was your day, honey?”

“We’ve got him into the hotel room. It wasn’t easy, but we did it. Lisa contacted George Dassault. He promised to come, so we should have three, at least.”

“Good. I’m going to bed now. I’m still hoping to see you tomorrow, honey, okay?”

“Hey, good luck.”

“You too. Good night.” Berrington winked. “Hot babe?”

“Warm.”

Berrington took out some pills and washed one down with scotch. Catching Steve’s glance at the bottle, he explained: “Dalmane. I need something to help me sleep, after all this.”

“Good night, Dad.”