Page 172 of Two Marlboros

August the 11th, August the 11th...

I tried to put the pieces together. It had definitely been before the beating, but I couldn’t remember other events. Had it been before or after the last time I had seen my father?

August the 11th, August the 11th...

...just a date to remember.

I paused.

“Just a date to remember.”

Actually, no; I had said, “August the 11th: just a date to remember.”

Yes, yes, I had said that. Or at least thought it.

“Did you remember anything, Mr. Hayworth?”

The pieces slowly fell into place, and I remembered the despondency, disappointment and bitterness about that August the 11th. I sensed moans in my head and remembered the pain of that too-violent relationship - and the humiliation of being used, of being served as a body in which to discharge myself, no more and no less.

Harvey’s hands flowed over me, but without stroking me; his only purpose had been to arouse me just enough to make me consent. And I had consented, oh yes, because the excitement of seeing him again had swept away all my rationality.

“Mr. Hayworth?”

I got comfortable in my chair again, as if that physical pain was still there and I was trying to banish it. I looked Church in the eye and felt naked.

“Yes, yes, I remembered something. I was with Harvey Walker that day. I don’t remember until what time, but we were together.”

“What did you do during that time?”

I partly expected such a question, but my reaction was not what I had anticipated. I imagined blushing and remembering it with a thread of bitterness; instead, all I could think of was that I felt like throwing up.

“Nothing much, we stayed at home at my place, making small talk. He then left in a hurry because he was busy.”

“And you stayed home all night?”

I remembered his gentle voice, that thread of apprehension as he said my name, the invitation. Some part of me imagined physical pain disappeared.

“No, I called Officer Scottfield and went to his house.”

Both Church and Ashton turned in unison to Alan. He merely nodded barely, a gesture that produced a grimace of surprise in Church’s face.

A strange feeling of relief allowed me to relax, and only a moment later I understood why: Alan was my alibi. I had no certainty that the police wanted to charge me with anything, but I had a feeling that going to Alan that night had caused me to lose positions in the suspect rankings for their investigation.

Thank you, Harvey, for treating me like shit.

Thank you, Harvey, for fucking me with so much indifference that it made me list August the 11th as a day to remember.

Thank you, Alan, for inviting me to eat at your place.

And thanks to myself, of course, for running to him without a moment’s hesitation.

The longest and most full-bodied parade of thanks in my life.

My nerves relaxed. Physical pain became imaginary again. I abandoned myself to that chair again and closed my eyes for a moment, time to gather my strength to get out of there alive. By now the worst was over, I could feel it. The room no longer seemed aseptic and stuffy, just a little too white and empty, as did Church’s expression, who seemed to feel lost because of my statements and Alan’s confirmations.

I cast yet another glance at that man behind the glass and thought it impossible that he had anything to do with that phone, given also how quickly he had confirmed my version. For all I knew, however, it could also have been the work of any criminal. Someone hired by Ryan? Forcing the front door or French window was certainly not difficult: the building where I lived was at least twice my age.

However, I also thought back to Harvey, to the last time we had seen each other, to the fact that we had been on that very couch. Could it be that...?

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